Font Size
Line Height

Page 6 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

London, 1821

T he morning after they arrived in London, Honoria got up before dawn, got dressed, and hurried toward the Serpentine—the serene spot she and Lydia used as a meeting place.

Honoria stood, nervously twisting a loose strand of hair that had escaped her tight chignon. She frowned at the telltale golden streaks visible among her darker locks. Oh, fiddle! In their rushed preparations to leave for London, she’d had no time to reapply the dye to her hair. She would need to do it tonight. She didn’t need anyone questioning her poor disguise, especially not in London.

She tossed a piece of bread to the ducks, watching as they squabbled over the morsel.

Before their arrival in London, she’d written to Lydia that their plan would have to be hastened. They needed to leave London before the Caldwells joined society in full swing. Thanks to Caldwell’s rather frisky aunt, the first ball had already been scheduled— a week from now! —and the preparations were on the way.

Honoria couldn’t believe her peaceful, quiet life was so quickly tumbling out of control.

She glanced at her timepiece, yet promptly forgot what time it was. Either way, she couldn’t stay much longer. The servants would be awakening now and soon they’d be looking for her.

She wondered if Lydia had even gotten her letter in time.

Lady Somerville, the earl’s aunt, was in a hurry to reintroduce him into society. And she had reasons for doing so. Her main reason was that Elise could have her come-out unimpeded next year. Lady Somerville planned to host Elise’s come-out and be there to ensure her smooth entry into society. However her youngest granddaughter had recently married an Austrian count in Florence and was now urging her to join them in that sun-filled land—primarily to assist during her confinement, but also so she might spend her later years in warmth and light rather than in cold, drafty London.

This was all well and good for Lady Somerville, but it meant that Honoria was once again thrust into the depths of London society without her say so. As a housekeeper, she now had to help the earl and his stubborn aunt organize social events. Which meant, eventually, she would be seen by everyday guests, precisely what she had needed to avoid.

Granted, no one paid attention to servants, for the most part, and that was her only saving grace. But Honoria could not imagine what would happen if he happened to visit the Caldwell townhouse.

Would he recognize her? Or would she faint upon seeing him and give her identity away?

Her fingers curled into fists, crushing the bread in her tight grip.

The sound of hoofbeats pulled her from her troubled thoughts. She turned to see Lydia dismounting from her horse, tying it to a nearby tree. A smile broke through Honoria’s worry at the sight of her dear friend.

Lydia rushed toward Honoria, her long cloak tangling around her feet, red locks gleaming in the morning sun.

As they exchanged greetings, Lydia tilted her head, her keen gaze taking in Honoria’s appearance. “You look… dare I say happier?”

The observation dimmed Honoria’s smile. It was true—despite her present fears, these years at Caldwell House had brought her a contentment she hadn’t expected to find again.

“I am happy,” she admitted quietly. “I like the family I live with. The children are all so bright and intelligent. I shall truly miss not seeing Robbie grow into a fine gentleman and not guiding Elise during her courtship. And Rosie…” Her throat tightened unexpectedly, making it impossible to continue. She would miss little Rosie most of all. She was like the daughter she’d never had, and most likely, never would have.

And she didn’t even want to think about never seeing Lord Caldwell again… She cleared her throat and shook her head, clearing her mind. She needed to stay on target. “Can I assume your reserved demeanor to mean that your night at Hades wasn’t successful?”

“Actually, it was a success.” Lydia’s bearing was contrary to the victorious statement. “But it turns out that particular job was just a test.”

“What does that mean?” Unease crawled up Honoria’s spine.

Lydia took a piece of bread from Honoria’s fingers and tossed it to the ducks. “Miss Melissande Monroe. Does that name sound familiar to you?”

It did.

Miss Monroe was the most scandalous figure in London society. She was the first and only female hell owner, and she was not shy about announcing herself to the world. She was also considered a Queen of London’s criminal underbelly. Dealing with her could spell trouble very easily.

And now, Lydia was telling her that the notorious hell owner had tasked her with stealing a family heirloom—a ruby ring—from Viscount Thornton, a man from Lydia’s past. A man Lydia used to love. A man she had vowed to never face again.

“How much time do you have?” Honoria stepped back, already calculating their dwindling options.

“Until the masquerade,” Lydia said with a grimace. “Actually, I am supposed to hand her the jewel precisely at midnight on the night of the masquerade.”

“ The masquerade?” Excitement briefly had her heart pumping faster. She’d always wanted to attend the infamous masquerade, or any masquerade, really. Balls, soirees, evening fêtes—this was the life she was supposed to lead. Her excitement quickly dimmed as the dread crept up into her chest. A month in London with numerous guests filling Caldwell’s drawing rooms could spell trouble.

She couldn’t wait a month. As much as she loved the Caldwell family, as much as she was loath to leave them, she couldn’t stay in London a minute longer than she had to.

Yet, she still hadn’t told the family she was leaving them. A part of her had always thought this conversation could be delayed. But the time was running out.

She needed to say her goodbyes, collect her belongings, and leave this life behind.

“Yes, but the sooner the better, obviously,” Lydia remarked.

“The Caldwells are holding a ball in a week’s time,” Honoria said slowly, an idea forming. “And I can make certain that you’re both invited.”

* * *

The way Honoria made certain that Lydia and her beloved were both invited was by forging the invitations and instructing the footmen to send them out later that morning. Just a couple of extra people, surely Lady Somerville would think Caldwell was the one to send them out, and the earl would assume it was his aunt’s doing.

And apparently, the way Caldwell’s aunt persuaded him to come to London and host the ball post haste, was by sending out the invitations on his behalf for the ball he was apparently hosting a week from now.

He had no choice but to relent, which meant that everyone was working from dusk until dawn, preparing the place for the ball.

A week was not enough time to organize such a sizable event, but Caldwell’s aunt apparently assured him she’d take care of the decorations and bring her cooks and other servants to help with all the preparations both before and even on the day of the ball.

Honoria hoped that would be enough, because the time was ticking away, and the place didn’t look even half ready. She stood in the grand entrance hall, watching as servants scurried about, cleaning and rearranging the furniture in preparation of the event.

It would be a small ball, though, less than a hundred attendees, for which Honoria was grateful.

And as much as she wanted to be cross with the situation, she had to admit, she loved the buzz of people hurrying around her, the bustle of preparing the house for the upcoming ball.

She missed that part of her former life. There was a time when she’d thought she was born to be a perfect hostess. Just using Caldwell’s flowers from his own garden, they could have thrown the most elaborate ball England had ever seen. Perhaps, for Elise’s come out, they could—

Honoria caught herself, her heart giving a tiny ache. I won’t be here for Elise’s come out.

“Hart?”

Honoria turned to find Caldwell descending the stairs, dressed in his riding attire. Something about the sight of him—those tight buckskin breeches, the fitted coat, the riding crop clutched in his hand—sent a jolt through her senses. Even all these years after seeing him naked by the stream, she couldn’t help but remember the way he looked beneath those clothes. “Good, you are here. I needed to talk to you.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“I have an important… uh… engagement I must attend. But my aunt insisted on taking Elise to a modiste today.” He drew out his timepiece from his pocket and frowned at it. “She’ll be here in about an hour. And as much as I adore my aunt, she can be… well, she is much like a thistle—growing wherever she pleases, yielding to no one’s will, and treading on everything in her path.”

What a heartfelt description. “She sounds… lovely?”

“Right, yes. But I am afraid if Elise is alone with her, she will give in to her demands and end up with a wardrobe to my aunt’s taste rather than her own.”

Honoria pursed her lips. She understood the issue but didn’t understand what she could do about it. Besides, Elise was quite strong-willed. Granted, even strong-willed young ladies could be pressured into doing things they didn’t want, especially at such a vulnerable age. “Do you want me to stall her so you can go with them?”

“Goodness, no.” Caldwell gave a restless tap of the riding crop against his thigh. “I want you to go with them.”

Honoria blinked. “Me? A-a servant? You want me to go with Elise and advocate for her against a countess?”

“She’s not a countess,” he quickly interrupted. “She is a marchioness, a dowager marchioness to be exact.”

“Oh, that’s better then?” Honoria grimaced as the earl breezed past her, striding toward the door.

“Yes, very well,” he said, as usual, not paying full attention to her replies. “She will arrive in an hour and take you to the modiste in her carriage. She knows you’ll be joining them and is looking forward to meeting you.”

“My lord.” Honoria instinctively stepped forward, her hand outstretched.

He paused, a hand on the doorknob, glancing back over his shoulder.

Honoria could not help but admire the beauty of his face and the grace of his posture. The way he stood there, with sunlight streaming through the window to catch the gold in his brown hair and illuminate his features, would have made a beautiful portrait.

She wished she could capture the moment, a keepsake to remember this part of her life… to remember him .

“Yes?”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I needed to speak with you about…” She faltered, uncertain how to phrase it. “A private matter.”

Both his brows flew up in surprise. She had never asked for his time to discuss anything if it didn’t concern the children or the household. Technically, her private matter would affect both of those things. She was going to tell him that she was leaving the household by the end of the month.

“We can discuss this later, can we not? I am already running late.”

“Of course.” Honoria gave a little smile and a nod, although her stomach was tied in knots.

The moment he closed the door behind him, Honoria let out a deep sigh, her knees buckling. She had to steady herself against the wall lest she crumble to the floor. Her body’s strong reaction to bringing up the subject of her departure surprised her. And she hadn’t even told him anything yet.

Another deep breath. She definitely needed to prepare for the actual confrontation better. Perhaps, it was for the best that she hadn’t been able to broach the subject now.