In the end, he lost, quite literally, everything.



CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

HONOR HAD GRAND plans one brilliantly sunny morning to visit some shops. If she were to be destitute, she was determined to at least be the most stylish of the destitute.

She was fitting her gloves when Hardy opened the front doors, and Mrs. Hargrove and Monica walked in. “Oh, good morning, Honor!” Mrs. Hargrove said as she removed her bonnet and handed it to Hardy as if she were the lady of the house. “And where are you off to?”

Honor stuffed her black bonnet onto her head. “To Bond Street, actually.”

She saw disapproval glance Mrs. Hargrove’s features before she walked on. Monica startled Honor by slipping her arm through hers and pulling her away from the door. “I’ve something to tell you,” she said quietly, glancing back at Hardy.

“What is it?” Honor asked indifferently.

“I mean to help you,” Monica whispered.

Honor stilled. “Help me?”

“Listen to me, Honor. I am aware that you are not particularly pleased with Mr. Cleburne’s interest, but you must agree he is a perfect match for you. And you will lose all hope for it if you do not put an end to the rumors.”

Honor’s heart leaped. Mamma. She decided instantly she would appeal to Monica’s sense of decency, to their mothers’ mutual affection all those years ago. “Please, Monica,” she said softly, mindful that the walls in this house had the hearing of an elephant. “You must see how difficult this is for me. Put yourself in my shoes.”

Monica blinked. “You yourself have tried to put me in your shoes, and without success. I will marry Augustine, Honor, and you must marry, too!” She glanced nervously at Hardy again and dragged Honor deeper into the foyer. “You know you must, so why you resist it I cannot fathom. I am warning you as a friend to be mindful of the company you keep before all hope is lost.”

Honor was set to argue, but something about Monica’s reasoning didn’t make sense. “Pardon?”

Monica rolled her eyes. “I would that you not pretend to be so innocently unaware, at least now with me. You’ve never been innocent or unaware.”

“And I would never pretend to be so, with you especially. But I have been rather occupied with my sister’s departure and my stepfather’s death, and I honestly haven’t the slightest idea what you mean or whose company I have kept.”

“For heaven’s sake! Easton, of course.”

Now Honor’s heart leaped even harder. She could feel it racing as she imagined Monica standing on the street, watching her go into Easton’s house. “What of him?” she asked as evenly as she could.

Monica blinked. She looked at Honor, wide-eyed. “You’ve really not heard?”

“Heard what, for God’s sake?”

“That he tried and failed to win an abbey.”

“A what?”

“An abbey. Montclair Abbey, to be precise. He tried to win it in a gambling game of some sort from the Duke of Westport. But he didn’t win, and moreover, rumor has it that he lost everything in the attempt.”

The news sent Honor reeling. What had happened? Why had he done something so precarious? She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, darling. It was witnessed by many. I would not like to see your reputation tarnished by association. And Mr. Cleburne... Well, he is above reproach. You must be mindful of that. He’s heard the rumors, and now you’d best assure him.” She smiled sympathetically and let go of Honor. “I truly am trying to help,” she said, and walked on.

Honor blinked after her.

Her plans to shop abandoned, Honor sent a note round to Easton’s house on Audley Street with Foster. When the footman returned, she was waiting anxiously for him in the foyer. “Is there a reply?”

Foster shook his head and held out the note she penned. “Mr. Easton sent it back unopened.”

Honor flushed; she snatched the note from his hand. “He did, did he?” she asked smartly, and whirled around, bounding up the steps in high dudgeon.

The following afternoon, Honor walked out the front door of her home and marched across the square, bound for Audley Street. This time she would not take the alleys and mews. She would walk straight up to his door and demand entrance. He would not refuse her.

George didn’t refuse her, but Finnegan did. At least he had the decency to look pained when he said she was not to enter.

“Mr. Finnegan,” Honor said, trying to appear innocent and sad. “You surely don’t intend to leave me standing on the steps and reject me for all to see, do you?”

“I would never, madam,” he said with a wince. “But Mr. Easton is just as determined not to see you as you are determined to see him.”

“Why?” she demanded, all pretense of innocent flower gone out of her. “What have I done?”

“He’s not confided in me, Miss Cabot. But I would speculate that you smiled at him and insanity ensued.”

“I smiled—”

“Good day, Miss Cabot. Please, do hurry home before even more talk flies about London.”

She glared at him. “London has not even begun to talk, Mr. Finnegan,” she said, and whirled around, bounded down the steps, and brushed past two gentlemen who were staring at her with surprise.

How dare he. How dare he!

Honor was so angry she could not take tea. She paced her rooms while Prudence sat on the chaise, watching her, and Mercy went through her jewelry, trying on this necklace and that bracelet.

“Why are you so anxious?” Prudence asked curiously. “Has something happened?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” Honor said, and wished, for once, her sisters would find some other diversion and leave her be. How she longed for Grace!

“You might try to explain,” Prudence groused.

Honor whirled around to the both of them. “Would you like to know what vexes me, Pru? Then I shall tell you. I am hopelessly, completely, irreversibly in love with a man whom society frowns upon and Augustine would never agree to allow me to marry. Does that answer you?”

Prudence was taken aback. But not silenced. “Must you have Augustine’s permission?”

Honor groaned. “Of course I must. He is the one who has charge of our dowries now.”

Prudence and Mercy exchanged a look. “And if you marry him, is that the worst you might expect? To lose your dowry?” Prudence pressed.

Grace was so much better than she at explaining these things to their sisters. She tried again. “If I do not marry someone of standing, I will lose my dowry. Furthermore, without a husband of some means, there will be no money to properly present you and Mercy into society, and therefore, who would you marry? And there is the question of Mamma,” she said. “You surely understand that with Mamma’s...problems, it will be difficult enough to find matches for any of us.”

“I don’t care,” Mercy said with a shrug. “I will never marry. I mean to sail on ships and search for ghosts.”

Honor rolled her eyes.

But Prudence stood from the chaise and folded her arms, and looked uncannily like Grace when she did. “If you would like to know what I think—”

“Not now—”

“I think you should marry who you love, and the devil take the rest of it.”

Honor gave her sister a dubious look. “Even if it means that you will not be presented? Even it means that no gentleman of standing and fortune will offer for you?”

“If what you say is true, I won’t have to make the right match, will I? I shall be free to marry who pleases me.”

Prudence had a point, Honor thought. But still, she shook her head. “I can’t do that to Mamma.”

“Don’t be silly, Honor. Mr. Easton would care for her, would he not?”

“I quite like him,” Mercy agreed. “He likes ghoulish tales. He thinks them diverting.”

“How...how have you guessed?” Honor exclaimed.

“Oh, really, Honor.” Prudence sighed. She held out her hand to her younger sister. “Come along, Mercy. Honor wants to be alone without bothersome children underfoot.”

“Pru!” Honor said as Mercy willingly followed Prudence out.

But it was too late—her sisters had gone, leaving Honor alone in her misery.

For a half hour.

The more Honor thought of it, the angrier she became. How dare Easton cast her aside? She grabbed her cloak. He wouldn’t allow her in his house, which meant that she would have to stand on the sidewalk until he came out. If she had to stand all night, she would. Grace was right—Honor could be very stubborn when she was of a mind, and, by God, she was of a mind.



CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

IT HAD BEGUN to drizzle when George rode up to his house and tossed himself off his horse. The weather, he mused, was as bleak as his future. He’d just come from Sweeney’s offices, and had finally conceded—his ship was lost. The men he’d sent with his fortune and his hopes were no doubt in their watery graves.

Everything was lost, including his bloody heart.

He swung down off the horse and threaded the reins through the iron loop. He went up the steps, opened the door to his house and stepped inside, removing his cloak to hand to Finnegan.

But Finnegan wouldn’t take it.

George looked at him. “What?” he demanded.

“Will you allow her to stand in the rain?” Finnegan asked, his voice full of censure.

“Who?” George demanded.

“You know very well who,” Finnegan said, and turned about, marching from the foyer.

George jerked around, pulled the door open and looked down to the street. He saw Honor then, standing across the street from his house, an umbrella high over her head.

She was as persistent as a curse, and George had had quite enough. He stormed out through the open door, striding down to the walk. “Go home, Honor,” he said sharply.