Chapter Fourteen

Honoria's father arrived home in time for dinner that evening. And because Conchobar Erasmus Hartley possessed a silver tongue

that had once earned him a place on the stage, his cheery "Halloo" boomed to all corners of the house.

His wife was the first to greet him with undisguised affection, no matter how uncomfortable it made everyone else. But they

weren't the typical couple, especially among the aristocracy.

According to the tales spoon-fed to their children, theirs had been a fated match that no force in heaven or on earth could

have stopped. And, after Con had wooed and married the toast of the ton —a debutante of famed beauty whose wit and skill in entrancing an audience matched his own—they started an acting troupe and

toured the English countryside together. Which they had done, all the way up until Thea was born.

They'd settled into a quieter, mostly modest life, limiting their stage performances to the drawing room or the pit. And,

even though society frowned upon dramatic displays that were typically seen as common , Con and Roxana had managed to retain the respect of their peers.

At least, until the scandal.

At the thought, Honoria wondered how his reception had been in town. He'd been in London ensuring that Truman was settled in new lodgings as he prepared to take a post in an architectural firm. But whatever concerns she had dispersed at the sight of the broad smile on her father's face.

He drew in a deep inhalation of the scents of home, as if all were right in his world... until his gaze fell on his eldest

daughter, her eyes red-rimmed as she stepped into the foyer to greet him, and her husband nowhere to be found.

Whatever affection he might have felt for his new son-in-law extinguished in that instant.

"I'll kill him" was all he said before turning on his heel and ordering one of the grooms to saddle a fresh horse.

Verity rushed forward and tearfully clung to him. "No, please don't. Magnus did nothing wrong. The fault is mine alone. Please,

Father."

After exchanging a speaking glance with his wife, he stroked his daughter's honey-blond hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Very well, then. If that's what you wish."

"It is." She straightened her spine and smoothed her skirts before gesturing woodenly to the stairway. "In the meantime, I'd

better return to my search."

He watched Verity with concern as she fled up the stairs, a hand pressed to her mouth. Then he turned to Mother. On an exhale,

he bent his forehead to hers for a moment of unspoken communication. Then Mother stepped away to speak with the servants about

readying a bath.

Knowing that the entire story must wait, he turned to Honoria in eagle-eyed appraisal. "According to the missive I received

from your mother while I was in London, Viscount Vandemere has returned, and his first order of business was to see you."

"Then, you are well-informed," she said with careful evasion and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Whenever possible, she tried not to lie any more than she had already done. After all, if the vicar was correct and there was a golden scale in front of the pearly gates, with one side bad and the other good, then St. Peter was surely only a pebble or two away from sending her bad-deed pan plummeting with such force that it would set all the good-deed pebbles flying.

Father stared at her for a beat as if expecting her to say more. In that fraction of a second she wondered if, heaven forbid,

he'd seen the letter Honoria had written to Truman. The very letter with the first line in bold letters: WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LET FATHER READ THIS , the contents including all of the details—well, most —concerning Mr. Flint and his unexpected arrival in Addlewick.

It had been a plea for advice. Though, as of yet, her brother had still not written a reply.

Since her father waited for her to speak, she decided a change of topic was in order. "What news of Truman? Did he find suitable

lodgings?"

"He did, indeed." Father handed his coat and gloves to Mr. Mosely. "A flat of rooms on Bond Street near a tailor's shop, in

fact. I daresay he'll be the sharpest-dressed architect London has ever seen."

"Splendid," Mother said, hearing this as she descended the stairs. "Your dinner will be sent up. Then, after you're settled,

we'll have pudding in the parlor, and you can tell us all about it."

As the servants bustled the portmanteau away and Mother and Father went up the stairs hand in hand, Honoria breathed a sigh

of relief.

Her father had always had an uncanny way of producing a line of Shakespeare that seemed inspired by the contents of his children's

thoughts, the thoughts that none of them wished aired. And she had done her level best not to think about Oscar, the blackmail,

the kiss—especially not the kiss—or the fact that Mr. Flint had the power to send the family into scandal. Again.

It appalled her to know that, even with all the power he held over her head, she'd still kissed him. What had she been thinking?

Clearly, she hadn't been thinking at all.

Turning, she saw Thea standing beneath the arched lintel with her arms crossed. "Clever evasion, I must say."

"You just hush," Honoria said in a whisper, casting a glance around the empty foyer. "Or I'll tell them I caught you kissing

Carlton Culpepper."

"I was eight years old."

"Not the way I'll tell it."

Thea scowled. "Very well. Though, I don't know how long your answer will satisfy Father. Eventually, he will ask about your

viscount."

"I know." Honoria was already fretting over future lies. Prepare yourself, St. Peter. You'll need a steady hand. "With any luck, something large and looming will fall from the sky and take everyone's attention away from Vandemere."

***

An hour later, Honoria wondered if she had latent soothsaying abilities. Because, just when they were gathering for pudding,

something large and looming crashed through the front door.

Or someone , rather.

It was none other than the Duke of Longhurst, darkly disheveled, road weary and eyes blazing.

Roused by the commotion, the family rushed into the foyer and heard him articulate only four words. "Where. Is. My. Wife?"

Upon seeing the towering beast in the doorway, said wife emitted a squeak of alarm, then dashed down the hall in the opposite

direction.

Magnus fell into pursuit.

Any other family might have given them a moment of privacy. The Hartleys, however, never missed an opportunity for a bit of

drama. So they followed at a discreet distance.

Verity ran all the way through the house, out the side door, through the birdhouse garden, over the hill and toward the pit.

"As if dashing off in the dead of night and leaving me to search frantically for you wasn't enough," Magnus bellowed after

her, "now you're running away from me? If you think for one moment that I will ever stop coming for you, then think again,

Verity. You are my wife."

"I am the yoke around your neck! Your mother said as much," she called back over her shoulder as she hastened down the stone

steps. "I'll never be a proper duchess."

"I didn't want a proper duchess, I wanted you."

"That's a dreadful thing to say! You all but admitted that I fall short."

"Verity, you're being ridiculous. Come here, and let's settle this like sensible people."

Magnus growled and started down the steps after her.

Verity looked left and right, searching for an escape. Then she clambered up on the stage. "No. Your mother hates me. Do you

know how hard it is to hear about the things I'm doing wrong all day long? She checks the clock each morning as I enter the

breakfast room as if I've arrived late. Then she presents me with a list of tasks to be done that I'm not certain there's

time enough to complete in one lifetime, let alone one day."

"My mother is merely afraid of being sent to the dower house, so she wants to seem useful. And she doesn't hate you. She doesn't

know you yet. Give her time."

"Time for her to poison my tea, you mean," she grumbled. However, the acoustics from the stage were so marvelous that one

could hear all the way to the terrace... precisely where Honoria and her family happened to be, all lined up at the balustrade,

shamelessly watching the spectacle.

They had the best seats in the house.

Thea took out her ledger and made a note. "Verity is in fine form. I don't think she's ever performed this well."

"Because she isn't performing, dear," Mother said and gently covered the ledger so that her daughter would tuck it away.

Magnus vaulted to the stage, stopping only when Verity backed away. "Surely, that isn't why you left. Tell me."

At first, she hiked her chin, stubborn as ever. But as he neared, cautious as if he were approaching a wild animal, her shoulders

slumped. In a shaking voice, she admitted, "I'm afraid of embarrassing you. I'm afraid the servants will never respect me.

And I'm afraid that you'll see all my flaws and wonder why you ever married me."

"I married you because I couldn't live without you. You must know that by now."

She shook her head and sniffled.

"Come here," he crooned, pulling her into his arms as she buried her face against his chest. "I can recall each moment we've

been together, and not one of them has left me embarrassed."

"Not even when I was dangling from a tree?"

"Quite the contrary. In fact, I have a rather fond memory of the dress you were almost wearing."

"What about the time I almost broke that priceless vase in the museum?"

"Do you mean the day you had on that delectably formfitting green skirt with a mile of buttons down the back, and one of

them caught on my watch fob? I wasn't embarrassed then either," he said warmly. "I adore you, Verity. As long as you are true

to yourself and remain the remarkable, lovely and partly feral woman I fell in love with, that will never change."

She sniffed again and looked up at him. "What if society never accepts me as your duchess?"

"Then, we'll live on that little island in the middle of the river."

"Now you're teasing me," she said, trying to push free.

But he tugged her back to him and murmured, "I never tease about the river, as you should know. Now, kiss me, my wildling."

"Come, children," Mother whispered, gesturing for them to go inside and give Verity and Magnus some privacy.

Father held the door and smiled. "Verity has definitely found her voice."

Mother paused to kiss his cheek. "And we'll have a grandchild by early spring, I should think."

Honoria walked in silence to the parlor, guilt dogging her every step. How could she possibly tell her family the truth now?

Verity had always struggled to find her place. But she'd finally found it at Magnus's side. Another scandal linked to the

Hartley name would ruin her chance of happiness.

Not only that, but it would destroy Thea's chances to have a Season, too. And what about her brother and the new life he was

trying to build? The previous scandal had already caused him to lose so much—his fiancée and all the dreams he'd had for his

future. When he'd left to seek his fortune on the sea, it had been like losing another brother.

Holding fast to her locket, Honoria decided that she could not let Oscar's blackmail hurt her family. Even if she had to pay

him every farthing she possessed and sacrifice her own future in the process, she would do it.

She wouldn't be happy about it. But she would do it, nonetheless.