Chapter Eleven

Honoria was glad she hadn't kissed Oscar. Walking out of the pit with her head held high had felt like another victory.

In fact, she'd lain awake all night thinking about... not kissing him. And what it might have been like not to have his

lips on hers without any mustachios in the way.

The following morning, however, she was a bit sleep-deprived and, according to Thea, too curmudgeonly to bear . After her sister trounced away from the breakfast room to write a play in which a fair-haired ogre met a gruesome end, Honoria

decided she'd rather speak with someone who appreciated her.

So she went to talk to Ernest.

Thin bands of fog accompanied her sojourn over the lawn and down the hill beyond the hedgerow where the walled garden stood.

The door was buried beneath a cage of ivy so thick that it was almost impossible to find. At least, if one didn't know where

to look. But beneath years of overgrowth, a heavy lock waited, the iron blistered with rust and age.

After the accident that had taken her twin's life, her father had sealed the entrance. He didn't know that she'd been sneaking

in ever since.

Of course, she'd tried to be strong as everyone had told her to do. Be strong for your parents , they'd all said. And by the time of her fifth birthday—her first without him— she had learned what an accomplished actress she was by putting on a brave face. And she had continued to do so every day.

But her nights had been a different story.

The nursery—which had once been filled with giggles and whispers past bedtime, followed by twin sleepy heads sharing the same

pillow till morning—had become a room of yawning quiet and dark shadows hovering over the empty bed across from hers.

There had been no one to share secrets with about stolen biscuits from the kitchen, frogs that escaped pockets at dinner or

splinters from slides down the banister. No one to creep beneath the covers with when the house creaked and the wind wailed

through branches that scraped against the windows like unearthly claws.

During those endless months, the loneliness had grown too great to bear. So she'd crept out of bed and gathered up his coverlet,

breathing in his smell—a fragrant mix of wonderful things like puppies and meadow grass and mud puddles. Then she'd padded

outside and up the hill toward the family plot to curl beside his mounded grave.

But even with the blanket over the two of them, it had felt too cold. Too final. She'd needed to be someplace he had lived.

Someplace he had loved.

That was when she'd first started coming to the garden.

She'd stolen the key that Father tucked away at the back of his desk drawer. When she was old enough to bat her eyes at the

blacksmith, she'd had her own made. And just in case someone checked on the entrance, she kept the timeworn patina on the

lock, but the inner chamber was well-oiled.

Plunging her hand beneath the curtain of ivy, she found the lock. The key turned with a decisive click. Then, casting one

glance over her shoulder, she squeezed in through the narrow opening, careful not to disturb the underbrush.

Even after all this time, she still kept her visits a secret. She couldn't tell her parents. It would only break their hearts all over again, and she knew this because no one ever talked about Ernest or that terrible day. And all the lack of talking about it weighed on her heart.

Honoria dragged the door closed behind her and stepped beneath the low-hanging branches of a hawthorn tree and into the garden,

the walls edged with roses, hollyhocks and climbing clematis. Spears of sunlight shone through the clouds, turning the last

remains of mist into a cascade of crystals. And she smiled as if this were proof of her brother's presence here.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, she reclined on a cushion of dewy clover, beside the hexagon base of stone where the fountain

had once stood.

"Do you remember when I mentioned that man I met in Paris?" she asked without preamble as though they were always in the middle

of a conversation. "No, not Lord Holladay. The other one. The gambler."

She waited for Ernest to consider this. Even though he wasn't present in physical form, that didn't stop her from sharing

her deepest secrets as they'd always done.

"To be clear, even though I may have mentioned him on occasion, that doesn't mean I ever wanted him to appear on my doorstep.

Quite the opposite. Remember that trip to Brighton Beach when we were little and came away with all those pesky sand-flea

bites? Well, he's like those, a constant source of irritation."

Unfortunately, her vehement declaration only reminded her of last night and the way his eyes had darkened, his hands flexing

on her hips. And since she had been on her toes, all it would have taken was one small tug and her mouth might have collided

with his. Accidentally.

Not that she'd given the matter any thought.

"I suppose one might consider him somewhat attractive. If one preferred the tall, dark and dangerous sort. Which I do not. At all. And no, I'm not crossing my fingers. That's just how I hold them when I'm thinking." Casually, she uncrossed her fingers, then scoffed as if in outrage of a ghostly accusation. " Someone is rather impertinent today. Very well, I may have kissed him once in Paris, but only as a means of escape. And no, I am

not—absolutely not—obsessed with the notion of kissing him again. Oscar Flint can go to the devil, for all I care."

A breeze rustled against the decaying silk and wood frame of a forgotten kite, tangled in the branches. To her, it sounded

like mocking laughter.

"Fine. He's the only one who's ever given me moths. There. Are you happy?"

The kite rustled again, and she stuck out her tongue at the cloud-dotted sky.

She was quiet for a while, absently plucking the leaves from a stem of clover.

Years ago, she'd made a vow in this very garden, to live life for two because Ernest never had the chance to live one. She

intended to keep it. Therefore, she couldn't— wouldn't —allow this unfortunate attraction to Oscar Flint stand in her way.

"Though, to be completely honest, I'm worried that it's more than moths," she said quietly, half-afraid of the words coming

true. "He sees through me in a way that no one ever has. And if this blackmailing scoundrel ever displayed a true redeeming

quality, I'm afraid that I could actually begin to... like him."

She expelled a rush of breath as if the confession stole some vital force from within her.

"Oh, Ernest. Please help me send him away before I do anything foolish."

***

"And why did we have to walk into the village on the hottest day of the year?" Thea asked, trudging along the road beside

her, a parasol in one hand and a fan in the other.

"To distract us from the insufferable heat, of course."

The misty morning had cleared away in time for the sun to steam the earth like a pudding in a copper pot, and Honoria was

a sweaty plum in the batter.

Though, unlike Thea, she decided to forgo wearing a hat in addition to carrying a parasol. And if she happened to freckle,

she would consider the blemish a badge of honor, a salute to her decision to be away from home in case Oscar paid a call.

"We might have waited for Mother to return with the carriage," her sister grumbled.

Honoria blotted her forehead with a lacy handkerchief. "She is with Lady Broadbent plotting your debut and will likely not

return for hours."

Thea groaned. "Pray do not remind me."

"I thought you were eager for your first Season."

"I was until Mother told me there would be no pockets in my ball gowns. What will be the purpose of going if I cannot list

my observations for future plays?"

"I believe the purpose is to dance and enjoy oneself."

"I thought you didn't enjoy your Season," she said, her dark brows lifting as if in question.

Honoria considered her response. "It was... entertaining. However, because of the scandal, there were many members of the

ton who'd made it clear that the sole reason I was invited to parties was because of my beauty." Which had been rather tiresome

to hear. Repeatedly. "There were also gentlemen who made offers for me that were—shall we say—less than respectable. And I

tell you this only because the black mark upon our name is not completely scrubbed clean. Therefore, you may encounter the

same. Just be on your guard. Though, I highly doubt Lady Broadbent will permit you to be in the company of such men."

"In other words, I am not to encounter any man interesting enough to inspire a future character."

Honoria shifted her parasol to her other hand and laid an arm around her sister's shoulders. "Trust me, in London you shall encounter a multitude of characters."

"It's too warm for placating," she said, shrugging out of the partial embrace. "Ugh. How I wish the weather wasn't so—Oh,

look! Our saviors have arrived."

Thea waved merrily to the Culpeppers, Percy on horseback with Peter and Carlton in the phaeton. The three of them lifted their

hands in greeting.

But then they stopped and exchanged looks between them. And for some peculiar reason, they turned around on the narrow road

and went back in the other direction.

"That's odd." Honoria felt her brow pucker. "I wonder why they did not come toward us. Perhaps they are returning with a more

suitable conveyance for all of us?"

"I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you."

"Whyever would you say that?"

"I saw Vandemere talking to them by the pond yesterday. Then the Culpeppers left directly, and they looked rather pale, too,

as though someone—and I'm not saying who—might have dangled a threat over their heads if they should happen to flirt with

a certain someone betrothed to him."

Honoria was already shaking her head. "Oscar would not have done that. And before you romanticize whatever it is you're thinking,

he has no cause to put on a pretense of jealousy, for that is all it would be, a pretense. We are barely acquainted."

"I don't understand. What about the letters? Not to mention the fact that, for years, you've turned down countless proposals,

citing your betrothal to Vandemere as the excuse."

"I wouldn't call it an excuse." It was absolutely an excuse. "Furthermore, I have no intention of marrying him just because

he happens to be here. For all I know, he'll be gone next week."

Oh, please let him be gone next week.

"But you have to marry him."

"There is nothing in the contract stating that I must marry, only that if I do, it will be to him. Otherwise, he means nothing to me whatsoever."

"If you say so." Thea slid her a dubious look. "Though, to be honest, I cannot imagine why our parents allowed our grandmother

and his to set the contract in place. It is all so very archaic."

"Believe me, I've asked that question countless times. The only answer I've received is that one day I will understand."

"Whatever the reason, we'll never discover it since we'll soon be reduced to nothing more than puddles beneath listless parasols.

Unless..."

Thea turned toward the sound of wheels trundling on the road behind them. And Honoria closed her eyes on a brief wish that

it wasn't Oscar.

Her wish came true. Turning, she saw Mrs. Brown, the baker's wife, along with her two sons. Twins with mops of curly brown

hair. She hadn't seen them since they were infants, but they must have been nearly five years old by now. The same age Ernest

had been.

At the thought, a sharp ache pierced the center of her chest.

Somehow, she summoned a smile as the horse cart stopped beside them. The back was filled with empty breadbaskets and two rambunctious

boys who were hanging over either side to watch the wheels turn. "Mrs. Brown, what an unexpected pleasure to see you. I hardly

ever have the chance to see you out making deliveries."

"Good day to you, Miss Hartley and Miss Hartley. Aye, Mr. Brown went to see his brother. Our little Charlie and Henry are...

assisting me with deliveries. Ain't ye, boys?"

In response, the boys giggled and proceeded to tell all about their adventures in being chased by geese, climbing trees, dusting off every loaf they dropped—except for the ones that landed in horse dung—and how they'd fooled their mother into thinking they disappeared when they were hiding inside the baskets all along. After recounting their tales in a great rush, they both leaped up and began a sword fight with two baguettes, making the cart jostle from side to side.

With the patience of a saint, Mrs. Brown let out a breath. "Oh, but it's a dreadfully hot day to be out for a stroll. If you'd

like, I could drive you into town."

Honoria shook her head. "We wouldn't want to be a bother."

"We'd be in your debt," Thea said over her.

"Think nothing of it. There's not much room up here, but plenty in the back."

"That would be lovely," Thea said, tugging her sister along. "Thank you."

By the time they reached the bakery, Honoria was eager to be home again. Not that she minded the bumbling cart, for it was

fun to dangle her feet over the road as she'd done as a child when her father had driven them into the village for a ha'penny

sweet at the merchant's.

And her reason wasn't because she found Charlie and Henry too rambunctious either. Quite the contrary. Their exuberance reminded

her of all the fun that she'd had growing up in a house with an eldest brother who rode the stairway railing all the way down,

hoisting a sword above his head and daring his sisters to battle to the death. On stage, of course.

But it was the combination of those memories, along with a host of others, that only served as a poignant reminder of the

life that had been cut short.

The life that Ernest should have had.

The carriage rumbled onto High Street. They passed the ice cart, the back heaped with straw. Immediately, the twins started

begging their mother for a chance to get a sliver of ice.

"No," she said as they stopped in front of the bakery. "You've bothered half of Addlewick today. I'll not have ye beggin' for an ice chip."

But then her sons turned their big brown eyes on her, clasped their hands to their chests and said " Pleeeeeease " so prettily that Mrs. Brown rolled her eyes and handed them the last quartern loaf to trade with the ice man. Then she shooed

her hands in the air. "Off with ye now. But come back straightaway."

Charlie and Henry darted off in a flash, while Honoria and Thea helped carry the empty baskets into the bakery.

When Honoria came out the second time, she saw the boys lingering by the ice cart, happily slurping their slivers... until

one brother bumped teasingly into the other and made him drop his ice. A tussle followed, and both lost their prizes in the

dirt.

Ah, the joy of siblings, she thought with a grin.

While the ice man was inside the shop, the boys searched the cobblestones beneath the cart. And they must have found only

one ice chip because a tug-of-war over it ensued. Back and forth, heaving and tugging.

No one heard the mail coach until it was too late.

Honoria's gaze darted down the street. To her horror, the frantic driver was reaching for the ribbons that had dropped from

his grasp, and the four black horses galloped untethered.

Her attention veered to the boys. Charlie shouted in victory as he tugged the ice free... and staggered back into the street.

A nightmare unfolded before her eyes.

In her mind, the flower-boxed shopfronts turned into a walled garden. And it was Ernest with his halo of golden-blond curls,

laughter bubbling out and echoing around her, bright as the sun.

A light snuffed out too soon.

Honoria tried to shout, to move, but she couldn't break free of this nightmare. A raw and gaping terror trembled inside her, opening the void like a dark chasm. Her blood turned to ice, freezing her to the pavement.

"No!" The scream that was lodged in her own throat came from Mrs. Brown beside her.

The four horses continued to charge down the lane, the loose reins just out of the driver's reach, his face a mask of dread.

A sudden motion blurred in front of her. A shape sprinted into the path of the horses—a man dashing into danger.

Oscar , her mind whispered as she registered the color of his hair, the outline of his form.

A new terror filled her when she knew there would soon be two casualties that day.

She wanted to look away, to cover her eyes, but she remained frozen in place, watching as he scooped up the boy under one

arm and then—

He disappeared.

As the horses rushed on, she couldn't see him any longer. Was he ... ? Were they both ... ?

What had to have been mere seconds seemed to pass like eons as the coach went by.

Then she saw the huddled, lifeless forms on the other side of the lane. Saw the stricken, haunted expression on the twin who

survived.

A bleak, choked sound came from Mrs. Brown. The driver slowed his horses. And Honoria still couldn't move. Still couldn't

look away.

Only then did one form move, a slow unfolding from a crouch to a stand.

Only then did Oscar lift the boy to his feet, turn and offer a jaunty salute.

Only then did the villagers, who'd poured out from shopfronts, cheer with gladness as the twins tightly embraced.

Honoria couldn't breathe. Her chest ached. It felt as though she was trapped at the bottom of the sea and she'd never reach the surface.

But then a breath shuddered through her, that first gulp of air burning her throat. And suddenly she wasn't frozen any longer.

Raw emotion scorched her insides, threatening to erupt in a torrent of the pain she'd kept locked away for so long.

So she did the only thing she could do... She ran.