An Affair of Honor Read online

  With a quick glance into the oval mirror on the wall near the door, Nell smoothed her slim, pale yellow skirt and pinched her tiny puffed sleeves into shape, then twisted a chestnut side curl firmly into place. A damped forefinger tidied an eyebrow, and she was ready. She smiled at Lady Agnes.

  “Shall we go down, Mama? I confess I am anxious to see how Rory has turned out. And to see Clarissa and Crossways, too, of course.”

  Lady Agnes smiled vaguely as she gathered her vinaigrette and lace handkerchief. Thus armed, she preceded her daughter to the landing. On the first step, she turned.

  “Did Kit say when he would join us, dear? I am afraid I don’t remember. We’ve scarce seen the wretched boy all week.”

  “He didn’t say,” Nell replied, her own irritation with her errant brother carefully masked under a placid tone. “He knows perfectly well that Clarissa and Crossways must leave directly after dinner, however, so I daresay he will dine with us.”

  “I wish they would stay the night,” Lady Agnes said fretfully, turning to continue her way downstairs.

  “Well, they won’t, so don’t press them to do so,” Nell warned. “You know Crossways has requested that dinner be put forward in order that they shall be able to reach London before midnight. He has business to attend to there before they go on to Chatham.”

  “I know,” her ladyship returned over one shoulder. “’Tis merely that—Clarissa, darling!” Her tone changed dramatically when the doors into the drawing room were flung open by the young footman, Jeremy. Lady Agnes held out her hands—vinaigrette, lace handkerchief, and all—to her elder daughter.

  While they exclaimed their greetings, Nell noted only that her sister had grown plumper since their last meeting before her attention was claimed by the fact that there were four people in the room, and not three as she had expected. Despite her desire to renew her acquaintance with her niece, her gaze was drawn, perforce, directly past the young girl, toward the darkly handsome gentleman behind her.

  He was easily six feet tall, and his lean, muscular body was clad in buckskins, highly polished top boots, a buff waistcoat, and a dark brown coat. It was apparent, even to Nell, that his tailor possessed a skill far superior to that of her brother’s man, for the dark coat was perfectly cut to fit a pair of the broadest shoulders she had ever seen and then nipped in again to hug the gentleman’s lean waist and narrow hips. No ordinary tailor could have achieved such splendid results. The extraordinary breadth of shoulder gave the dark gentleman the appearance of being slightly top-heavy, but the buckskins did nothing to conceal the rippling muscles in his thighs and calves, so one could not doubt that his long legs would capably support his magnificent torso.

  Nell realized she was revealing unmaidenly curiosity by staring at the gentleman’s fine form and, with heightened color, lifted her gaze to his face. His thick, dark hair was brushed forward so that tapering locks and heavy sidewhiskers framed his tanned, strong-featured countenance. His jaw was pronounced, and the chin that rested upon the well starched folds of his neatly tied cravat gave the appearance of being firm to the point of stubbornness. His wide, straight mouth was, in Nell’s opinion, well formed, though his lips showed a marked tendency to twitch just as her gaze came to rest upon them. Hastily, she forced herself to look away, noting only the way his dark brows seemed to knit together in a natural frown above deep-set hazel eyes and high, well-defined cheekbones before she smiled an absent-minded welcome at her sister and the Earl Crossways. Nevertheless, a sharp tug at her memory seemed to suggest something familiar about the stranger’s face. It was Clarissa’s high-pitched laughter that finally recalled her to her senses.

  “Really, Nell, you look quite bemused. I told Huntley you would remember him, but he was as sure as he could be that you would not.”

  “Huntley?” Uncertainly, she looked back, only to find her gaze locked with a pair of twinkling eyes. The memory chord was plucked again, but the memory itself eluded her.

  “Yes,” Clarissa replied, clearly delighted. “Mama … Nell, forgive my manners, won’t you, and pray allow me to make known to you the seventh Earl of Huntley, our darling child’s betrothed husband.”

  Nell was still perplexed. The name meant nothing to her.

  “Philip Radford at your service, Miss Lindale.” He bowed, watching her closely with a lurking twinkle still evident in those deep-set eyes. His voice was low and a little gruff, but having heard it she wouldn’t have needed the name to guide her. She remembered the voice, and the sound of it took her back over the years to her own short-lived social whirl.

  Making her curtsy, she awarded him a dazed smile, striving to conceal the mixture of emotions washing over her at the memories his voice had stirred, and trying at the same time to discover a hint of the boyish face she remembered beneath the heavy sidewhiskers and the thick mop of hair. At that moment the penny dropped.

  “Did you say Lord Huntley and Rory are to be wed?” she asked, astonished to hear her own voice firm and clear.

  “Indeed, yes,” Clarissa replied. “Philip and Crossways signed all the necessary papers before we left home, but our darling has insisted upon a proper come-out, and Huntley has kindly agreed to indulge her wishes. Fortunately, he has business in the area, so it will be an excellent opportunity for them to become better acquainted, will it not?”

  “Indeed.” Nell’s voice did not sound quite so firm this time. She glanced doubtfully at her mother.

  “I should think they would already know each other if they are betrothed,” that lady stated, putting Nell’s own thoughts into words.

  “Well, we don’t, Grandmama,” said the Lady Aurora flatly, speaking for the first time. Nell’s eyes were brought to focus upon her niece at last. Though she could still see vestiges of the ragtail hoyden of bygone years in the slightly narrowed, golden eyes and the stubborn tilt to the pointed little chin, she had to admit that Rory had turned out better than anyone might have dared to hope five years before. She was taller than Nell, and her slim-skirted, spotted muslin frock concealed none and, in fact, emphasized all of her slender, well-curved young body, from her high, full breasts to her rounded hips and long, tapering thighs. Her thick golden hair had not fallen victim to the merciless cropping so much in fashion with the younger set, but had been allowed to fall loosely in natural ringlets about her pretty, marble-like shoulders. Her only hair ornament was a bright red ribbon, matching the wide sash that nipped her dress in just under those magnificent breasts. Red gloves, sandals, and reticule completed her outfit. She swung the reticule by its tie-strings as she gazed directly at her grandmother and continued in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

  “Huntley’s estate marches to the north of Papa’s, and they determined between them to consolidate the two by making this match. So, it is merely a marriage of convenience, you see, and that is why his lordship has graciously agreed that I might cut a dash before settling down as his countess in Kent.”

  “Very gracious, indeed,” commented Lady Agnes weakly.

  But Lady Crossways took her at her word. “You may well say so, Mama, but then Huntley is always considerate.” She smiled condescendingly at the dark gentleman, a gesture that caused Nell’s own lips to twitch slightly.

  Clarissa appeared to have changed very little over the years, except for her increasing waistline. But the added pounds seemed to have kept the lines of age at bay, for her rosy complexion, despite her thirty-five years, was as flawlessly smooth as ever. The present penchant for narrow, Grecian gowns did little to enhance her figure; however, she used her elegant India shawl to advantage, its deep folds and drapes doing a good deal to conceal the faults of her figure. Her light blue, dark-rimmed eyes were as lovely as ever, and no one could deny that the artless tumble of red-gold curls à la Titus was anything but vastly becoming to her.

  Nell realized Huntley was watching her and felt sudden warmth invading her cheeks, but if he meant to speak to her, he had no chance, for her brother chose that auspicious moment to ma
ke his entrance, followed shortly thereafter by the arrival of Sir Henry Sinclair, who had been invited to dine. The latter gentleman’s appearance on the scene, though he claimed to have arrived before his appointed hour, reminded Lady Crossways that she and her daughter required some time to freshen up before dinner. Crossways and Huntley likewise begged their hostess’s indulgence and retired with Kit to change for the meal. Nell took her sister and niece upstairs, thus leaving Lady Agnes to entertain Sir Henry as best she might.

  “Still just as fusty as ever,” stated Clarissa once they had entered the pretty yellow bedchamber allotted to Rory.

  “Do you mean Sir Henry?”

  “Of course. Who else? ’Pon rep, Nell, I am astonished the old gentleman don’t still powder his hair. He wears it long enough.” She patted her own stylish curls with an air of self-satisfaction.

  “He has been very kind to us,” Nell said evenly. There were two other women, unknown to her and clearly of the serving class, already in the room, and she did not wish to continue such a conversation in their presence. “I do not mean to change my gown, Clarissa, but I’m certain my hair needs attention, and my woman will be waiting. So if there is nothing further you require …”

  “Run along, my dear. Alice and Sadie will see to our wants, I assure you. But first let me say how pleased I am that you have agreed to show Rory just how to go on. The pretty puss has been cast into transports these weeks and more at the very thought of seeing Brighton under her favorite aunt’s guidance.”

  Nell gave a wry smile. “Since I am her only aunt …”

  The Lady Aurora chuckled appreciatively. “Aunt Nell, I think we shall deal together famously,” she said, stepping forward with both slim hands extended. Nell found her own clasped warmly within them. “I was so afraid you’d be an antidote, but I can see at once that you are nothing of the sort.”

  “Th-thank you.” The words rode on a gurgle of laughter. “I think that must be a compliment. I shall certainly accept it as one. Now, do bustle about, you two, or Mama will soon be in a fret. Cook does not approve of odd dining hours, you know, and will be in a rare taking if you are not standing ready when her dinner is announced.”

  Clarissa’s high-pitched laughter sped Nell on her way to her own room where she found Madge, the tirewoman who had served her since her come-out, awaiting her. Quickly, she seated herself at the dressing table, relaxing while Madge’s skilled fingers dealt with the fashionable tangle of curls and plaits that adorned her head. Removing pins and brushing ruthlessly, Madge chattered as she always did, but Nell knew from vast experience that it was mostly rhetorical and required nothing more of her than an occasional murmur of interest. Thus, she was able to indulge her own thoughts without fear of offending her maid. That she might, as mistress, simply tell Madge to hold her tongue never occurred to her, which was just as well, for after years of similar indulgence, it would probably have done little good. Madge would merely think her out of temper and try to scold her into a more cheerful frame of mind.

  Fortunately, such drastic steps were unnecessary, and as the brush strokes became a sort of underbeat for the drone of Madge’s chatter, Nell found her thoughts returning to the seventh Earl of Huntley. There had certainly been more of a change in him than the mere change of title, she thought.

  Philip Radford had been about twenty-four when she had first met him. He had been handsome enough then, too, although his looks had been a good deal more boyish and his hair, minus the sidewhiskers, had been tied back neatly at the nape of his neck. Of all the young men she had met that Season, he, with his easy sense of humor, expressive, penetrating eyes, and friendly smile, had made the greatest impression. He had been kind and attentive, easier for her to talk with than most of the others, and he had made her feel quite grown up. She thought they had become excellent friends, despite the fact that he had been merely the younger son of an earl and therefore not precisely the sort of young man her parents might have expected her to marry. Her grandfather, after all, had been a marquess, and that fact added to her father’s very respectable fortune meant that Nell could look where she chose for a husband. It did not matter, however, for Philip Radford had not offered for her, and neither he nor any of the others had made an attempt to seek her out after her father’s untimely death. She had no idea what had become of him, and she had managed after a passage of time to convince herself that it did not matter.

  But now she recognized a strong sense of curiosity. What had he been doing these past years to change him so? The heavy, dark brows knitting together in a near shelf over those still expressive eyes seemed almost alarming now where once they had been merely interesting. Initially, to be sure, there had been that twinkle of amusement at her failure to recognize him. But the twinkle had faded rather quickly, replaced by a more cynical glint. He spoke little and seemed a good deal more at ease conversing with Lord Crossways, Sir Henry, or even Kit than he did when speaking to his intended wife or to the two older women. With Nell, he had exchanged not so much as a word after the introduction. It would be interesting, she thought now, to see if he would speak to her at dinner.

  Madge brushed her hair up into a twisted knot at the crown of her head and confined it there with two jeweled combs and a slim braid of Nell’s own hair. As a final touch she combed out a few curling tendrils to frame her mistress’s face, then stepped back to view the results of her handiwork, while Nell checked to be sure her pearl eardrops were firmly fixed in place.

  “That will do nicely, Madge,” she said, smiling into the looking glass. “I shall want my lace scarf, and then you may go. I’ll ring when I’m ready to retire.”

  “Certainly, Miss Nell.” The woman returned the smile, then turned away to do her bidding. A moment later, looking precise to a pin with her lovely lace scarf caught up at her elbows, Miss Lindale descended the stairs to join the others in the drawing room. The gentlemen had preceded her, and Lady Crossways and Rory followed some five minutes later.

  Scarcely thirty seconds after their arrival, Pavingham entered to announce that dinner had been served.

  Sir Henry, nattily attired in proper evening dress, with his curling gray hair confined at the nape of his neck with a black silk ribbon, took his place opposite his hostess at the foot of the table. Crossways, of course, was seated at Lady Agnes’s right hand next to Nell. Rory sat at her grandmama’s left, while her mama and Huntley flanked Sir Henry. Kit sat opposite his younger and next to his elder sister. Nell concealed a little smile at the table arrangement. Unless Huntley’s manners had suffered a great deal in the time that had passed, he would be forced to converse with her even if the conversation did not become general. She bided her time while helping herself to dishes from the first course as they were offered to her.

  Crossways’ attention was claimed almost immediately by his hostess, whose company manners were always above reproach. Nell overheard Lady Agnes saying quietly that she hoped the early rains hadn’t depleted his crops entirely. His reply was lost to her, however, when Jeremy presented a dish of oyster patties and turbot garnished with crisp fried parsley sprigs, gherkins, and lemon butterflies. Nell helped herself to a slice of the fish with overlapping gherkin slices, then nodded to the maid carrying the fish gravy in a heated sauce boat. No sooner had Katy spooned some over her fish, however, than Huntley spoke to her.

  “You are looking well, Miss Lindale.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she replied politely. “Do try some of the turbot. ’Tis excellent.”

  “No doubt. I prefer the oyster patties, however. Do you care for some of this spinach soufflé?” He indicated the side dish nearest his elbow.

  “Thank you, sir.” She allowed him to serve her, but when their eyes met, she felt as if his gaze went straight through her, numbing her. It made her feel nearly giddy, like a young girl again. Color rushed to her cheeks before Huntley’s gaze slid away. It was a moment before she could speak. “I-I trust you had a pleasant journey.” The moment the words were out she w
anted to kick herself. What an inane thing to say! She had been out of the schoolroom for years and was practically mistress of her own home, yet she sounded quite as shy and tongue-tied as she had consistently sounded during her come-out. Despicable behavior!

  Huntley answered her smoothly enough, saying that the journey had been no more wearing than one might expect. “The town seems already quite full,” he added.

  “Indeed, yes,” she replied, smiling. “The Duke of Marlborough’s house is nearly overflowing. They say that his highness has already complained of the noise, saying they will have to acquire better manners before Mrs. Fitzherbert arrives.”

  “Maria has not yet arrived, then?”

  “Not yet, but both she and little Minnie Seymour are expected on Sunday week. It begins to look as though she will be able to keep the child, after all, you know.”

  “So I heard. The guardian angel wins through at last.” He raised an eyebrow. “What do you think of that case, Miss Lindale?”

  Nell was perfectly willing to discuss Maria Fitzherbert’s efforts to adopt the eight-year-old child entrusted to her care some years earlier by friends. It was a topic that had fascinated her for some months. Other powerful members of the Seymour family, for many reasons, had been unwilling to agree to the adoption and had steadily refused to leave Minnie with the prince’s mistress for longer than certain specified periods of time. At one point the prince himself had even offered to settle ten thousand pounds on the child if the head of her family, Lord Hertford, would agree to leave her to the care of himself and Mrs. Fitzherbert. Unfortunately, the offer had only made matters worse. Nell had not understood why at the time, but Huntley explained with a grin that it was because of an earlier friendship between a Seymour lady and the prince.

  “The family feared his gift might be misconstrued, you see.”

  Nell chuckled. She had known only that the offer had been declined, the official reason having been that young Minnie would one day possess a fortune of her own.