On the third day after their return, Honor was very relieved when Augustine arrived with the earl. Three footmen carried the ailing earl to his rooms, and his painful coughing once again settled into the fabric of the house. Lady Beckington, who had removed the embroidery from yet another sleeve, disappeared into his chambers to see to him.

One cloudy afternoon, Honor found Grace in a pensive mood, staring out a window, her gaze distant.

“Grace? Is something wrong?” Honor asked.

Grace curled a tress of hair around her finger as she once had done when they were girls. “I am cross with you, if you must know. I asked Jericho to give Mamma the laudanum, but you told him he should not.”

“Of course he should not,” Honor said flatly. “I can’t believe you would think otherwise, not after Longmeadow. We agreed.”

Grace’s jaw clenched. “We didn’t agree, Honor. Only you. I suppose you think we should allow Mamma to continue wandering about, muttering to herself and picking at the embroidery in her sleeves.”

“If we must,” Honor said stiffly.

Grace dropped the strand of hair and whirled about. “You’re impossible! We wouldn’t be in this predicament had you allowed anyone to court you and accepted an offer of marriage along the way! But no, you preferred to pine away for Rowley.”

“I beg your pardon? Our mother’s madness is my fault?” Honor cried indignantly.

“I didn’t say that!” Grace shot back angrily. “But were you capable of thinking of someone other than yourself, we might not be in the predicament we are today!”

Honor gaped at her sister, feeling each word slice painfully into her heart. It was dreadful enough that Honor had thought the same thing herself, but to hear Grace say it... “What of you?” she demanded.

“You know very well Mamma would never allow me to marry before you,” Grace said angrily. “And now we have waited too long! We have squandered the time we might have had to make a good match, and we are facing an uncertain future with a mother that neither of us can properly care for and no one—no one—will take!”

Honor felt foolish enough for believing that her ridiculous plan would ever work. The only thing that had come from it was that now she longed for a man she could not possibly engage. “And what exactly was I to do, Grace?” she asked, angry with herself, with life. “You didn’t help.”

Grace’s shoulders suddenly deflated. “I know,” she said flatly. “I’ve been quite useless. But, Honor, one of us must marry, and marry quickly!”

How could she think of marriage when she loved George Easton? Just hearing the word made her stomach clench painfully. “Very well. Who would you suggest I marry?” she asked, resigned.

“Not you. Me,” Grace said, and before Honor could roll her eyes, Grace said, “If you have a better idea, say it now, for I am to Bath—”

“Bath!”

“Yes, Bath! Amherst is in Bath.”

“Amherst!” Honor cried. “There is not a worse rake in all of England. Everyone knows it! Dear God, Grace, don’t be as foolish as me! You won’t succeed!”

“He’s not a bastard, and at least he has a name,” Grace shot back.

Honor stilled. She took great offense to that and pressed a fist hard against her roiling belly. “This is absurd,” she said, turning away, intending to argue, but Mercy suddenly burst into the salon and threw herself facedown onto the settee, sobbing.

“Mercy!” Grace cried, dipping down, her hand on her sister’s back as sobs racked her small frame. “Good Lord, what is it, what has happened?”

“It’s Augustine!” Mercy said, gasping through her sobs. “He raised his voice! He said I was never to mention grave robbers again and sent me from the room!” She pushed herself up and removed her spectacles to swipe at the tears on her face. “It wasn’t a very frightening story. I promise, it wasn’t!”

Honor’s bleak mood was pushed into full-blown anger by Mercy’s tears. “I will speak to him,” she said briskly, and reached down to stroke her sister’s hair before she swept out of the room, her fist still clenched at her side.

Her slippers were almost silent on the stairs as she hurried down them. In the foyer, she heard voices down the hall and walked purposefully in that direction. As she neared the main salon, she heard Augustine’s laugh mix with Monica’s. But there were other voices, too.

At the door, she saw Monica and her mother sitting together on the settee, and Augustine and Mr. Cleburne standing. Mr. Cleburne instantly straightened when he saw her and smiled a little nervously.

“Honor!” Augustine said when he saw her. “I was about to send Hardy for you.”

“I beg your pardon, I shan’t interrupt. Good afternoon,” she said to everyone in the room. “My lord, might I have a word?”

She did not miss the look that passed between Augustine and Monica before he said, “Yes, indeed, darling. I should like a word with you, as well. If you will excuse us?” he asked his guests.

“Of course!” Monica sang out. “Take all the time you need.”

Augustine came forward, clasped Honor’s elbow and wheeled her about, escorting her down the hall and to the butler’s office. He ushered Honor inside, then closed the door behind them and opened the curtains to the courtyard for light.

“Why are we in Mr. Hardy’s office?” Honor asked, the soft drumbeat of wariness beginning in her chest. “You have your guests, and I want only a moment—”

“But that’s just it, dearest,” Augustine said, interrupting her. “The guests—well, at least one of them, that is—have come for you.”

The wariness she’d been feeling began to take wings, trying to fly.

“Mrs. Hargrove and Monica were kind enough to deliver Mr. Cleburne to Beckington House all the way from Longmeadow. He’s to be our guest for a fortnight.” Augustine’s smile was apprehensive, and he nervously drummed his fingers on the edge of Mr. Hardy’s desk.

“What has that to do with me?”

Augustine touched his neckcloth and cleared his throat. “Mr. Cleburne is the third son of Lord Sandersgate. You know Sandersgate, don’t you? Tall man, crop of ginger hair?” he asked, gesturing to the crown of his head. “He’s brought six sons into this world. Can you imagine it? Six sons! What a challenge that must be to see them all properly situated!” He said it as if it were an impossible feat.

“That is quite a lot,” Honor agreed. “Still, I—”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Richard Cleburne, his third son, is in London to study with the archbishop for a fortnight. Fancy that, Honor, a vicar in our service with personal ties to the archbishop.”

She glanced at the door. Her wariness was now a caged bird, flapping its wings and squawking for release. If she could somehow maneuver herself around Augustine, she might escape before he said whatever dreadful thing he was trying to say.

“My point is that Mr. Cleburne is a good man, an educated man, with an untarnished reputation and a perfectly respectable occupation.”

That sounded so rehearsed that Honor’s heart was suddenly in her throat.

“Will you say nothing?” Augustine asked.

Honor shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

Augustine frowned thoughtfully and began to walk in a tight little circle, given the lack of space in the office. “I think we must accept certain truths, mustn’t we, dearest? My father is not long for this world. God willing, he will see me happily married, starting a family of my own, but in recent days, I have come to doubt he shall live as long as that.”

“Oh, Augustine, you—”

“That means,” he rushed ahead, “that it will be up to me to determine how best to settle you and your sisters.” He smiled, clearly proud of himself for having delivered his speech properly. “Oh! And naturally, your lady mother,” he amended quickly.

“Augustine, what are you saying?” Honor said, choosing a new tack. “Are you turning us out?”

“What?” Augustine looked horrified. “No! No, no, no, of course not,” he said anxiously, and reached for her hand, grasping it tightly. “How could I turn you out? You are my sister, Honor, in my heart as well as in name. But don’t you see?” he pleaded. “I shall be making my home with my wife, and it wouldn’t do to have six adults under one roof, what with different opinions and...and schedules,” he said, as if he were uncertain what conflict there was between six adults.

Honor’s heart was now sinking away from her throat, passing through her chest, falling, falling, falling. “Don’t say it, I beg of you,” she said. “Don’t say that you will put us away from you.”

“I would never!” he said, seeking to assure her. “But surely you must understand my dilemma.”

“And surely you must understand that we’ve no place we might go, Augustine. We are entirely dependent on the earl, as we have been for many, many years. You know that we are.”

“Yes, I know,” he said with a sympathetic wince and squeeze of her hand. “Which is why we—that is, me—would like to see you and Grace properly matched as soon as possible. That’s the best solution for all, I think. You must admit, you’ve had quite a lot of time to settle things, and now it is time. Really, it rather solves all of our problems, does it not? And frankly, Mr. Cleburne is as fine a match as you might hope to make.”

She jerked her hand free. “No!”

Augustine’s expression changed. He looked as hard and stern as she had ever seen him. “You will have the husband you need in Cleburne, and he will make you comfortable at Longmeadow. And if you are at Longmeadow, we will see each other quite often.”

He couldn’t mean it. “A vicar, Augustine? Do you think that is the best I might expect? You might at least let the Season take its course!” she said, reaching for anything that might give her time to think her way through this sudden problem.