That meant that the annual soiree at Longmeadow began without him for the first time. Barring some miracle, it likely would be the last time the earl attended the Longmeadow spring soiree, and the realization cast a pall over the entire family.

Prudence and Mercy took to disappearing to the stables to escape the somber mood, which, Grace opined, was not because of a sudden interest in all things equine, but a sudden interest in the strapping young men employed to keep the horses and the stables.

When the guests began to arrive, Grace kept a diligent eye on their mother, taking her for long walks in the gardens. It was clear that their mother was slipping further and further from them, and familiar pieces were disappearing every day.

Honor would do anything to have her loving, confident, sophisticated mother back. She thought of the carriage accident that had injured her mother. That had been the start of her mother’s troubles, and Honor believed that she would give up all that they had to go back to that day, forgo the material things, the haut ton, the soirees—anything to keep her mother from that carriage. If her mother had never married Beckington, if they’d remained in the modest house with only Hannah to tend them, would they not have been happy and whole?

Honor was determined to keep her mother from the Hargroves if at all possible this week, but it was difficult to do, as Monica had made it her task to advise Augustine on the preparations for the next three days.

Honor stumbled upon the pair of lovebirds and another gentleman in the green salon, which happened to be her favorite room in the sprawling Georgian mansion. The house itself was one of the largest manors in England. It was so big, four stories high, that there had been plenty of places four young girls had found to escape in years past. It was built on a square with a central courtyard and had been lovingly tended; ivy covered the front entrance, roses the back.

The green salon overlooked the private rose garden from a pair of floor-to-ceiling French doors through which the heavenly scent wafted into the room during the spring and summer, when the doors were left open. The walls of the salon were painted a soft green, the draperies sheer white silks. It was cozy and comforting, bright and airy. Of the twenty-some odd guest rooms, as well as salons and drawing rooms and morning rooms, none appealed to Honor more.

“Honor!” Augustine said delightedly when he saw her. “Thank goodness you have come,” he said, looking relieved. “You really must have a word with Mercy. She’s got Mrs. Hargrove in quite a dither with her gruesome tales of ghosts.”

“Longmeadow lends itself to gruesome ghost tales, Augustine.”

“Perhaps. But dear Mrs. Hargrove assured me she scarcely slept a wink last night.”

Having been subjected to Mercy’s tales for many years now and being very familiar with Mrs. Hargrove, Honor couldn’t imagine that she was the least offended by Mercy’s tales of headless ghosts with bloodied necks.

“You’ll speak to our Mercy, won’t you? I mentioned the problem to your mother, but she merely laughed and didn’t seem inclined to help.”

Honor’s breath hitched at the thought of Augustine speaking to her mother for any length of time. “My mother is occupied with the earl. I will be happy to speak to Mercy.”

“Augustine?” Monica said softly.

He looked at his fiancée, then said, “Oh, yes! Forgive me. Honor, I should like to introduce you to Mr. Richard Cleburne. He is the new vicar at Longmeadow.”

The young man straightened, clasped his hands behind him and bowed reverently.

“How do you do, Mr. Cleburne,” Honor said. “Welcome to Longmeadow.”

“Thank you.” He smiled.

Honor shifted her gaze to Monica. “I hope the fine weather at Longmeadow suits you?”

“I daresay everything at Longmeadow suits me.”

Honor hadn’t the slightest doubt of that.

“And Monica suits Longmeadow!” Augustine said proudly. “She’s had some wonderful notions for how to improve this room.”

Honor had already begun to back out of the room, but that remark gave her pause. “Improvements?” She looked around at the room with its floral chintz furnishings and paintings of serene landscapes. “But it doesn’t need the slightest improvement. It’s perfect as it is.”

“I thought perhaps it might be better suited as a breakfast room,” Monica said.

“She’s right,” Augustine agreed enthusiastically. “I can’t believe we’ve not thought of it ourselves.”

Honor suddenly had visions of guests trampling in and out of her favorite room in search of sausages. “This room, a breakfast room!”

“Yes, this room,” Monica said airily. “The garden is the perfect vista for breaking one’s fast, and it’s not too terribly far from the kitchen.”

“But neither is the current breakfast room, which has a lovely view of the park,” Honor pointed out.

“Yet not enough room to accommodate all,” Monica countered.

“And it’s drafty,” Augustine said, wrinkling his nose.

“Nothing that can’t be repaired,” Honor insisted. “Perhaps you and Monica might turn your attention to supper arrangements rather than worrying about this particular room.”

“We’ve already done so,” Augustine said proudly. “Monica and Mrs. Hargrove determined the seating this morning.” He smiled as if that were perfectly brilliant.

But Honor was appalled. “Where was my mother?”

“Indisposed?” Augustine said uncertainly. “My father, you know.”

“Don’t fret, Honor,” Monica said soothingly. “I personally saw to it that you will be seated next to Mr. Cleburne.” She smiled, and it was a devilish one. Mr. Cleburne’s smile, on the other hand, was uncertain.

“What a pleasure,” Honor said sweetly, nodding at the vicar. “And where will you sit, Monica? In my mother’s chair?”

“Honor!” Augustine said, glancing at his fiancée to see if she was offended.

But Monica merely laughed.

A footman stepped into the room. “My lord, Mr. Hardy asks that you come to the foyer.”

“Oh, dear, probably something to do with the horses again, do you suppose?” Augustine said to Monica, wincing. “I beg your pardon, ladies. Cleburne, what do you know of horses?” he asked.

“I am woefully uneducated, my lord.”

“Oh, you surely know more than me. Come, will you?” he asked, and walked briskly out of the room, forcing Mr. Cleburne to hurry along behind him, leaving Honor and Monica alone.

Honor frowned when they’d gone. “My mother is not yet a widow, Monica. Aren’t you a bit too eager to take over as mistress?”

“What are you implying?” Monica asked indifferently. “Lady Beckington was quite agreeable this morning when we suggested it. She scarcely seemed to care what the seating should be. She seemed more interested in planning an excursion to Scotland.” She paused. “At least I think that’s what she meant.”

How Honor managed to keep from gasping with alarm was a feat of her iron will. “Augustine should have consulted with her.”

“He did, Honor. We have all consulted with Lady Beckington, and as I said, she is quite agreeable. Perhaps she understands that I shall be mistress here one day, and that there is no point in resisting it. Perhaps you should do the same.”

Small truths like that made Honor feel defeated...almost. “I should like to think I’d not brag of it until I had stood at the altar.”

“Don’t be cross, dearest,” Monica said sweetly. “I am confident you will scarcely give this room, or the supper, or even Longmeadow another thought once you have an offer for your hand and are planning your own wedded bliss.”

Honor could feel herself bristling, which was precisely what Monica wanted. She forced herself to smile. “I beg your pardon—am I in imminent danger of receiving an offer?”

“One never knows,” Monica cheerfully avowed. “Sometimes, things have a way of happening that defy all reason, do they not? People appear in our lives so suddenly and change things about completely.”

“What are you talking about?” Honor asked, a sense of foreboding growing in her.

“Nothing! I am merely supposing that someone will appear to you, and then happily you might put the business with Rowley behind you.”

Honor could smell something quite foul in this room and in those words, and folded her arms defensively. “There is no business with his lordship. I’ve not seen him in more than a year. I understand he is ensconced in the country with his lovely wife and their new son.”

“I know you were stung by it, Honor,” Monica said with great condescension. “But you can’t allow it to color your opinion of all gentlemen.”

“For heaven’s sake!” Honor complained. “You’ve not the slightest idea what you are talking about!”

“I am only trying to impart that times are changing. The earl is quite seriously ill. Augustine will marry—even if it were not me, he’d marry someone, wouldn’t he? You can’t avoid the natural progression of things. You really should think of marrying a good man.”

“A good man such as Mr. Cleburne, I suppose?” Honor said wryly.

Monica smiled broadly. “He does seem very kind, does he not?”

How Honor wished Monica was standing next to a window so she might push her out of it. “I am so thankful to have you looking out for my happiness,” she said. “And while you impatiently wait for that happy moment that I am wed, I shall leave you to your renovation of Longmeadow and seek out Mercy. Good day, Monica.”

“Good day, Honor,” Monica responded, her voice singing with delight.

Honor walked from the room, leaving not the slightest trace of unhappiness behind her, lest Monica sense it. She would find Mercy and suggest that her tales of ghosts and goblins were not gruesome enough.