Page 25 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)
Dear Lydia,
I’ve decided to fight to get my life—my identity—back. I know it’s the right choice for me. But it means I have to leave the Caldwell household… And it hurts. I need your help.
Love,
Honor
Day 1
H onoria arrived at Lydia’s townhouse with her valise, shoulders slumped, rain dripping from her bonnet, disguising the tears on her cheeks. Her gloves were soaked through, and the chill reminded her of the earl’s warm leather gloves she’d left behind.
Lydia opened the door and ushered her inside. “Come, quick. You’re soaked.”
Honoria attempted a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. She dropped the valise to the floor and struggled to remove her drenched gloves with trembling fingers.
Lydia clasped her hands, stilling the motion, and looked into her eyes, staring straight into her soul.
Honoria couldn’t hold on any longer. A choked sob tore from her lips.
Lydia wrapped her in a warm embrace, and Honoria broke. She cried—not with the delicate tears of a lady, but with harsh, body-wracking sobs that left her gasping.
* * *
Day 5
Honoria soaked in the tub, scrubbing her hair for the second time, trying to wash out the dark brown pigment.
Lydia had gone to live with her betrothed, leaving the townhouse empty and quiet, entirely at Honoria’s disposal.
She didn’t have the strength to do anything with it. She didn’t explore the townhouse properly. She barely cleaned, only tidying the areas she absolutely needed to occupy.
But she needed to pull herself together. She hadn’t left the Caldwell household to wallow in misery. She had left to fight.
To fight in the hope that one day she might return—not as a servant or a secret, but as a full member of society. Not hidden. Free.
She rinsed her hair with water from a pitcher, the cascade reminding her of the narrow waterfall from Jacob’s shower-bath.
She couldn’t help but remember their passionate encounter there. The way Jacob had touched her, his hand gliding against her wet body.
Leaning back, she slipped her hand between her thighs, imagining his touch, the way he had kissed there, caressed, devoured.
A gasp left her mouth, echoing in the empty room.
* * *
Day 7
She went for a walk late at night, just to clear her head, she told herself. Yet somehow, her path led to Caldwell’s townhouse.
Music drifted from the windows. Elise was playing the piano. The mournful, swirling notes of Gretchen am Spinnrade.
The piece she’d learned was about a young woman, Gretchen, falling madly in love with Faust and spiraling into madness from the strength of her feelings for him.
The music stopped. Honoria stood frozen in the quiet, watching the window. A shadow appeared—Elise, looking out.
Would she see her? Did Honoria want her to?
She didn’t know. After a brief moment, Elise disappeared, and the music resumed—sad, relentless, and spiraling out of control.
* * *
Day 10
Her blond streaks were more visible beneath the fading dark dye. She stood before the mirror, applying vinegar with trembling hands, trying to remove the last traces of her disguise. The smell was making her nauseous, a regular occurrence these days. She hoped her blond streaks would clear soon, so she’d be able to cease the vinegar applications.
Thunder cracked outside, rattling the windows. Lightning illuminated her reflection—neither the dark-haired housekeeper nor the blonde lady she had once been. A woman in between worlds, belonging nowhere.
The thunder rolled again, and Honoria looked out the window. Was Rosie scared? Or sleeping peacefully in her bed?
She shook her head, trying to push the thought away. But the image of Rosie, standing barefoot outside her door, asking for a story, would forever be etched in her mind.
“Hush, my wild, winter rose,” she sang softly, the first lullaby she had ever sung to Rosie. “Thorns and petals softly close.
All the secrets earth can keep,
Lie in roots that dream too deep.
Sleep, my wild, winter rose,
Safe until the morning shows.”
* * *
Day 13
Her red masquerade gown hung from the wardrobe door, clean, pressed, and repaired. Honoria ran her fingers over the fabric, remembering the night she wore it—the first night she felt Jacob’s kiss.
Her fingers moved over the bodice where he had torn it with his bare hands, the rip now invisible thanks to the modiste’s skilled work.
She remembered the sound of tearing fabric, her gasp of surprise swallowed by his hungry mouth, the cool air on her exposed skin.
She pressed the dress to her chest, inhaling deeply, searching for his scent. But it wasn’t there.
* * *
Day 17
She walked by the Serpentine at dawn, mist rising from the water like ghosts. A family of ducks glided past, trailing ripples. Even they moved as a unit, together. The emptiness beside her felt sharper than ever.
She remembered Robbie running along the stream back at the estate, searching for beetles, Jacob by his side.
She had watched from a few feet away, drinking in the sight of them, stealing the feeling of belonging to a family.
Now those days seemed impossibly distant.
She turned away, hurrying home before the fashionable crowd awoke and spotted her—her blond hair returning, her face slowly returning to the woman she once was.
As she reached her door, she saw a post boy hovering outside, shifting from foot to foot.
He thrust a folded note at her. “For you, miss. I’m told to wait for the reply.”
She opened it right there, her fingers trembling. A single word nestled inside: Help.
Honoria let out a deep breath.
Good . She hadn’t wanted to go against Lady Bradshaw’s wishes—but she would have, if necessary.
“Wait here,” she told the boy.
She hurried inside, scribbled brief, clear instructions, and returned to the door.
Pressing the paper and a coin into the boy’s palm, she said, “Give this to no one but the woman who gave you that note. Understand?”
He nodded and dashed off.
* * *
Day 21
Honoria went for a walk one last time before putting her plan into motion. Today was the day.
She aimlessly wandered the streets of London, yet her feet somehow brought her to Caldwell’s townhouse.
She hadn’t even realized where she was until she stopped a few feet away. Keeping her distance, she watched as the servants bustled about, loading trunks onto a waiting carriage.
A pang pierced Honoria’s heart. Sharp, unexpected, and enough to make her stumble.
They were leaving London. Heading to the country estate, perhaps, until the next season.
Leaving her behind, just as she’d asked them to.
But it felt too real now. The next time she walked by this house, they would be gone.
She wiped away her tears and turned, walking briskly in the opposite direction.
She needed to collect her bearings.
No more crying.
Not today.
Today was the day to concentrate on her plan.
After returning home and performing her ablutions, she put on her crimson masquerade gown, and pinned her now-blond hair into an elegant coiffure.
The woman in the mirror was both stranger and old friend—ready to reclaim her name and her story.
Tonight, the masquerade would end.
She put on her gloves, one finger at a time, as if preparing for battle.
The tears had dried. The grief remained—a constant companion—but now it was joined by purpose.
Revenge.
And revenge, she hoped, could sustain her where love alone could not.
* * *
Jacob entered the parlor where Elise sat conversing with Lady Somerville. Elise was embroidering something, which was a rare sight. She disliked the activity with a fiery passion. But perhaps she needed to keep her hands busy.
Jacob could relate. He cracked his knuckles nervously and stepped farther into the room.
“Well, the last of the trunks are packed and ready,” he said, adjusting his cufflinks and the collar of his shirt. “The carriage with the servants will leave first thing in the morning. We’ll follow after breakfast.”
“Who knew you’d be leaving before me?” Lady Somerville said with a wistful smile.
“I don’t understand why we have to leave at all,” Elise said. Her fingers plucked at the embroidery in her lap. Jacob tilted his head to get a better look. It resembled a tulip with black petals… His tulip?
“You know why,” he replied. “We’ve done what we needed—bought you gowns, introduced you to society. Now it’s time to return to our previous lives.”
“Without Nory.” Elise’s voice was flat. Accusatory.
“Without Miss Hartwell, yes…” Jacob turned toward the window, unable to meet his ward’s penetrating gaze, uncomfortably reminiscent of her mother’s in moments of confrontation. She was growing into the image of her more and more each day.
“She left to confront the man who hurt her. Alone .” Elise stabbed her needle through the fabric with unnecessary force.
“It’s how it had to be.” Jacob clasped his hands behind his back.
“Is it?” Elise stood abruptly and crossed to the window, forcing him to face her. “I don’t think you’re telling me everything in your warped attempt to protect me as if I’m a child.”
She leaned against the windowsill, arms folded across her chest.
“You are a child,” he said, more defensively than he meant to.
“I’m almost eighteen.” Her chin lifted. “I’ll be eligible to leave the house, marry, and have children of my own soon. Yet I can’t know the truth of why my dear friend, the closest person I have to a mother, left, and my guardian, the man who is meant to protect us, is dragging us away from her?”
“I am doing this to protect you!”
“How? Tell me how leaving her alone and vulnerable protects us—the children who’ve loved her from the moment she stepped through the door.”
The porcelain cup clicked against its saucer as Lady Somerville finished her tea. Jacob turned to her, expecting her to speak, but she simply leaned back, observing their conversation with open curiosity.
“Very well,” he said, facing Elise again. “I’ll tell you the truth.”
He wasn’t sure where to begin. That Honoria had lied to them about who she was? That her husband was a monster of a man who still held legal claim over her? That she insisted on staying as far away from them as possible for Elise’s sake?
The clock on the mantel ticked away the seconds as Jacob searched for words.
Finally, he met Elise’s expectant gaze, seeing in it both the child he had sworn to protect and the young woman who deserved honesty. Trust.
“The truth is,” he began, voice steady despite the thundering of his heart, “Honoria isn’t just confronting someone who hurt her. She’s revealing her true identity, and by doing so, exposing herself to one of the biggest scandals society has seen in years. And if we are anywhere in her vicinity, we will be ruined as well.”
Elise arched an eyebrow. “And what is her true identity?”
* * *
Honoria stood at the top of the stairs at the Duke of Tyrone’s ball.
She and Jacob had planned this moment in advance, before she left his house. He had enlisted the help of his friend—the Mad Duke—who was not afraid of scandal, to assist with her grand reveal.
A few allies would be present tonight, those who supported Jacob and, by extension, would stand by Honoria’s side against the disapproving stares of hundreds.
But Jacob himself would not be there. He had offered as much financial support as he could, but he couldn’t be physically by her side to shield her from the whispers.
She understood why. It had been her decision—her insistence. But at this moment, standing alone above the crowded ballroom, she wished more than anything that he was beside her.
She moved slowly toward the stairs, her eyes scanning the ballroom.
That’s when she saw the Earl of Bradshaw standing in the center of the room.
Alone .
As per Honoria’s instructions, his wife was supposed to be staying home tonight, citing a headache, waiting for Lydia to collect her and spirit her away to safety.
“Lady Aurelia Boyle, the Countess of Bradshaw,” the majordomo announced.
All heads turned toward the top of the staircase where Honoria stood.
She stepped forward, braving the weight of a hundred crushing stares.
But she didn’t flinch.
This time, he would.