Page 30 of My Lord, My Rogue
“I respect that. I admire your standing behind your daughter, when sadly, many in our social circles might have abandoned their child to her fate. It is my hope she will accept my offer. I plan to ask her soon.” He stood before sitting back down.
“Ah . . . the chair will not allow your leave.” The earl smirked.
“That, and I need to make you aware of one other thing,” Benjamin rejoined. “Lady Beadberry has taken it upon herself to promote a rumor she has crafted on her own. She spouts to anyone listening that Honora lives here with her son. How she came upon the information, I cannot say. My mother made me aware, and I, myself, heard Lady Beadberry cajoling the modiste in Bath to confirm what she knew. The modiste firmly kicked her out of the shop, threatening to alert you to her mischief. I overheard this myself.” He omitted saying the modiste had shared it with his mother, choosing to believe his mother’s description of the woman’s motive. “She is trouble, and I cannot discount the possibility she alerted the new marquess to Honora’s existence here.”
Lord Radcliff’s face stippled with anger. “That woman dislikes my wife, and therefore, by association, Honora. I have never understood the reason. It seems a jealousy on some level, yet, at this point I no longer care. I will not tolerate her besmirching my family and will speak to her. It will not be the first time. However, this is more serious.”
“I feel there is also a connection to the dowager marchioness, who only likes people that do her bidding—a most disagreeable woman.
“You are right,” the earl said, sitting straighter. “By God! They are sisters! I had forgotten.”
“I would not have known that. It answers much.”
“Son, I hope this match works out. You will be a most welcome addition to our family and make me the happiest of fathers.”
“I understand your family plans to attend the queen’s masked ball. I will be there and look forward to seeing Honora. I will have a domino mask, although I doubt it will be the only one. However, your daughter described hers and I know no one that can hold a candle to her beauty, even behind a mask. I shall have no problem locating her,” he said, smiling.
Chapter 12
Two days later
Just as quickly as the sun rose, it dipped and sought refuge behind the thick grey clouds, adding to the chill in the air. Thankfully, rain did not threaten—only cold and wind. Honora spent the day anticipating the ball, and indeed, it flew by. The ball was her first event in years. Nervous, she had ridden Biscuit, ignoring the overcast and chilly temperatures, allowing the ride to provide quietude. Aunt Violet, while she meant well, had driven everyone crazy, especially Honora, foisting every idea imaginable upon her, even encouraging wearing a white wig she found in the attic. Although, what her aunt had been doing climbing around amongst the trunks of dead relatives, Honora had no notion. However, the wig would ensure more anonymity.
Perhaps she should consider that. And the beauty patch Aunt Violet had shown her.It was a masquerade, after all.Insisting Honora consider it, her aunt asked Bridget to clean and style it.Would Benjamin recognize her with the wig, patch,and mask? She giggled.
Honora patted her horse’s neck, then urged her to run. As they passed the pond, her mind recalled the magical picnichehad arranged.Benjamin.Thoughts of him warmed her in ways never imagined. Not even the damp chill in the air could mar the charmed memories. Life felt hopeful again, despite fear of her first public outing. She had debated the wisdom of going over and over, finally adhering to her earlier acquiescence to attend. While she doubted her ability to make life decisions—for good reason, considering her disastrous life—Honora felt alive again. The irony of her rogue thought made her laugh out loud, knowing only she could laugh at that.
She slowed Biscuit to a canter until they crested a small hill along the lake and were in sight of Lord Willington’s property. She could see the greenhouse on the hilltop directly across from where they stood. It looked empty. The decorations of ivy and flowers were gone but the glistening beauty of her glass palace remained.
Briefly, she wondered about the conversation her papa and Benjamin must have had. What had they talked about? Papa had mentioned nothing these last two days, which bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She had tried to tease the information from him, making remarks or asking questions. He had only smiled and kept about his business.
The whole of it frustrated her, and she turned her black and white horse around and headed back to the house. Upon her return, she realized she had spent far more time riding than she should have. She needed plenty of time to dress, especially with all of Aunt Violet’s grandiose ideas. Luckily, Bridget had anticipated her needs and had the bath and clothing ready.
“Mama, you wuk pwetty,” Oliver said when he and Riggs bounded into her room. Fortunately, she already had the dress on. Bridget was deciding about her hair.
“Do you like my mask?” She pulled it over her face, fastening it with the ties her maid had fashioned.
Oliver’s mouth formed an ‘O’.
“I take that as a yes,” she laughed and kissed her son on his cheek. “We will not be gone too long. You must be a good boy and do as Mrs. Hadley asks.”
“Yes, Mama,” he responded, intent to sit and watch Bridget do her hair.
“M’lady, perhaps we should try the wig,” her maid whispered. “If ye dunnae like it, we can still style ye hair.”
“You have convinced me, Bridget. Let us give it a go. My aunt will not be happy until I do,” Honora said, nibbling her bottom lip.
Her maid carefully placed the styled white wig on her head, adjusting areas slightly. Bridget had changed the style to a smaller bouffant of hair on top, while longer hair formed a single braid on the right—consistent with the early century fashions. Wisps of small curls framed her face and neck. Picking up the beauty patch, she placed it on the lower right side of her face, just below the lower edge of where her mask would sit.
Stepping back, she aimed her handheld looking glass at the back of the head, allowing Honora to see the front and back in its reflection. “M’lady, I have to agree with the young master. Ye are lovely.” Bending down she whispered, “Yer going to leave Lord Willington longing to kiss you.”
Fighting the blush that colored her neck and decolletage, Honora chanced another glimpse. She was grateful the clean white wig needed no powder and pomatum. “Are you sure it will not flop off my head during a dance?”
“Aye. That I am. I secured it with pins,” she said, tugging the braid softly to show.
“It is pretty,” Honora conceded, satisfied and suddenly looking forward to the mystery she presented for Benjamin. Her Grecian-style dress allowed her to leave off the uncomfortable padding. Not having dressed up so for these past three years, she cringed at the thought of discomfort for what would be a long evening. The gold gossamer and satin matched her blonde coloring perfectly. Wearing gold matching kid gloves and a white wool pelisse, she felt like someone in a fairytale. No one would recognize her except Benjamin,she hoped.
Her father insisted on using the family’s black lacquered carriage, which Honora found most comfortable. It was a luxury she had missed these last three years. The conveyance was well sprung, had the family’s crest on the door, and lush leather seating behind black curtains. Her woolen pelisse and gloves were all the added warmth needed, with her nerves already on edge—even with the strong, icy winds that occasionally rocked the carriage. Papa felt sure they were in for a rainstorm overnight, which was another reason she was happy to be in this carriage.
