Chapter Twenty-Five

Honoria leaned out the sitting room window in hopes of catching a breeze. But beneath the hazy summer sky, the morning air

was already thick and sticky as orange marmalade bubbling on the stove.

What they needed was a good storm to break over them and cut through the stifling heat. Or perhaps all she needed was a few

moments of lying on the cool grass beneath Oscar's scandalous touch. Her breath fell out on a sigh at the memory.

July was most decidedly a month of heat and sweltering kisses. The scorching moments were seared into her like a brand. But

even though Mother had warned her that pleasure could make a woman forget herself, it wasn't true for Honoria.

She remained clearheaded. And if Oscar thought that he could simply shut her out and order her not to worry about the man

who was trying to murder him, then he was in for a surprise.

As soon as she'd ridden home yesterday, she'd penned a letter to Truman asking if he knew anything about a man named Ladrón.

She knew her brother wouldn't let her down.

Through the window, she saw Verity drive up in Lady Broadbent's horse cart, the dogs rushing out to greet her. Both she and Magnus would be leaving this morning for a lengthy holiday in Marseille, their coach loaded with the trunks sent from the Longhurst demesne. And yet...

"That's odd. Our sister appears to have misplaced her husband again," Honoria said. When Thea didn't respond, she turned to

see her leaning out the adjacent window while holding a stick with a red ribbon dangling from one end. "What are you doing? You look as though you're holding an angling rod. Trying to catch a breeze and pull it inside?"

"No. But that is likely a better occupation. I was actually contemplating the life span of a ribbon and wondering if it, like

me, would endure an entire existence without so much as a whisper to stir its soul."

"And the award for overly dramatic soliloquies is presented to Althea Hartley." Honoria laughed when Thea stuck out her tongue.

Mr. Mosely appeared at the doorway and cleared his throat. "The Duchess of Longhurst requests an audience with her sisters

in the side garden."

Honoria and Thea shared a look, both of them shrugging as they rose.

On the way, they speculated over the reason for this peculiar request. But they never suspected that their serious and sensible

sister was playing a trick on them.

Not until it was too late.

Honoria gasped the instant the shock of cold hit her. Thea shrieked.

"Have you gone mad? What is this?" Honoria demanded on a surprised laugh as she performed an awkward jig while fishing an

icy shard from beneath her bodice.

Verity took a few careful steps back in case of retaliation, all the while grinning from ear to ear. "Merely a souvenir from

a visit to Lady Broadbent's icehouse. I thought you might like to cool off."

"You are wicked!" Thea laughed, too, and reared back as if to throw her ice at Verity.

A half-hearted chase ensued. The dogs, caught up in the excitement, bounded happily around them. Then enervation took hold, and Thea stopped to palm the shard against the back of her neck on a sigh instead.

Honoria fished hers out to do the same, and for one blissful moment, she felt the cooling pleasure of ice against her nape,

melting in meandering trickles down her back until it evaporated in the heat of the day.

As they walked together up the hill toward the shade tree, Honoria realized that this was the last time they'd be together

like this. Everything was changing.

Even though Verity had already eloped and left the house, today's farewell felt more permanent. Thea would soon be having

her first Season and could possibly be married by next spring. And Oscar... well, he was always expected to be temporary.

So whyever was her stomach twisting itself into ridiculous knots at the thought of what it would be like when he was gone?

Exasperated with herself, she looked over at Verity and saw a piece of straw sticking out from her chignon. Pulling it free,

she held it out. "A souvenir from your visit to the icehouse... with your husband?"

Verity flushed crimson and snatched the straw away. Plucking it absently between her fingers, she grinned and gazed off in

the direction of Swanscott Manor. "One does what one can to escape the stifling heat."

Seeing her sister so contented warmed Honoria's heart. "Are you glad you came home?"

"I am, actually. For some reason, I had it in my head that I had to be a perfect copy of my mother-in-law in order to be accepted by her, by society and by my husband. But after observing Mother and Lady Broadbent, I can see that they don't give a fig about what society thinks. And there's something altogether liberating in that. And it doesn't hurt that Magnus loves me exactly as I am, flaws and all. And if my mother-in-law and all of society wish to earn the condescension of the venerable Duchess of Longhurst"—she straightened her shoulders and adopted a haughty air—"they will simply have to take me as I am."

"Brava!" Thea cheered.

"Spoken with the mettle of a true duchess," Honoria added and threaded her arm through Verity's. "I'm going to miss you, you

know?"

Instant tears began to gather along the lower rims of her eyes. "You are?"

"Of course, you goose," she said with a pinch to her sister's arm. Then feeling the prickle of her own tears, she turned to

blink them away. "Everything is happening so quickly. Isn't it peculiar? We spend so much of our lives waiting to live, that

when we finally realize we are actually living, it feels as though it's already the end."

"The end of one thing is merely the beginning of something else."

"Now you sound like our mother."

Verity's smile softened with fondness. "Do I?"

"I suppose there are worse things," Honoria teased and glanced over her shoulder to where their sister flopped down beneath

the tree and arranged her skirts, Serjie and Barry sprawling beside her, tongues out and panting. "You could sound like Thea."

"I heard that," Thea said. "Just wait. I'm going to turn you into a bride in my next play."

"That is no longer a threat for our sister," Verity said, her gaze seemingly filled with their mother's uncanny knowing, too.

"Me thinketh the fair Honoria doth dream of being wed to her viscount."

A sudden swell of warmth rushed to Honoria's cheeks as she thought about last night's dream.

"Mmm... Quite the telling blush, sister."

"It's hot," Honoria groused to the pest beneath the tree.

"Aha! So it is true!" Verity skirted away on a laugh before Honoria could pinch her again.

Thea, too perceptive for her own good, tapped the back of a pencil against the side of her mouth and studied Honoria. Then

she scribbled something in her pocket ledger, her eyes glinting with devious intent.

"It isn't true. I am as determined as ever to live a life of my own choosing. In fact, I would be immensely glad if he simply

went away and never returned."

"Hmm... Well, you may get your wish, if what Mr. Lawson said holds true."

"What do you mean?"

"According to Magnus, last evening when the gentlemen lingered over port in the dining room, Mr. Lawson mentioned that he

wasn't entirely convinced that the rope had been frayed from age."

Honoria stilled. "Are you suggesting that someone might have cut it?"

"The plot thickens," Thea murmured as if she were a Greek chorus.

Verity shook her head. "That seems rather far-fetched. I know the widows tend to be disagreeable, much like my mother-in-law,"

she added wryly. "But they wouldn't wish him harm. In fact, after meeting him, I cannot imagine anyone who would."

A certain Spaniard sprang to Honoria's mind. That man definitely wished Oscar Flint harm. Though, as Vandemere, he had a chance

of evading Ladrón. Just as long as no one else made the connection.

"Though it is rather peculiar," Verity continued, "that news of his return hasn't spread far and wide. Geraldine hadn't even

heard of his return until Lady Broadbent wrote to her. Both Geraldine and Olympia are wondering why Addlewick hasn't been

flocked with society who wish to make his acquaintance."

The knots in her middle were back, and they were steadily climbing up to Honoria's throat, choking her with panic. "Surely they wouldn't... write to their acquaintances about Vandemere?"

"I wouldn't doubt it," Verity said, oblivious to her sister's unease as she absently tossed the straw over the fence. "The

way my mother-in-law sees it, I am at fault for not informing her of Vandemere's return straightaway. She accused me of secrecy

and said it was ‘not done in respectable families.' Doubtless, this will remain a thorn wedged between us until the end of

time." She dusted her hands. "However, if that woman expects me to take her into my confidence, then she must earn that right

by proving she is no longer holding a grudge against our family."

"Hear! Hear!" Thea called out, using the ledger to lazily fan herself, her pencil tucked behind her ear. "Though, after hearing

about all this discord—not only with you and your mother-in-law but between Vandemere and his aunts—I am determined to find

a husband who hails from a perfectly amiable family."

Verity chuckled. "Best of luck with that. You'll be hard pressed to find any family who doesn't have at least one skeleton

in the cupboard."

"Hmm... An actual skeleton might be interesting. Certainly playworthy. Honoria, do you think there are any skeletons at

the abbey?"

"Your morbid interest in the macabre is alarming, to say the least," she replied, trying not to think about it.

And yet, if there weren't a skeleton at Dunnelocke Abbey, then—between the mysterious accident and the man trying to murder

Oscar—there might very well be one in the near future.

***

That afternoon, after Verity and Magnus had gone, a messenger arrived with the letter Honoria had been waiting for. But the news Truman sent did nothing to quell the fears that had been plaguing her.

Dearest sister,

In regard to your query about the mysterious Spaniard you mentioned, out of your supposedly ‘mere curiosity,' my answer is

to rid yourself of any and all curiosity about him. I've had dealings with the man—though I knew him as El Coleccionista,

the Collector. A truly dangerous fellow, driven by obsession. You must not trifle with him! Promise me, dear sister, that

both you and your ostensible friend Cesario will not. Only then will I see to your request.

Signed,

Your all-seeing brother

Her blood went cold, her heart thudding in panic. Ladrón sounded more dangerous than she'd feared. The Collector. What did

a man like that collect? And more importantly, what did Oscar have that he wanted?

She swallowed. No matter what the answer was, the important thing was devising a plan to keep this man from finding Oscar.

But Truman knew her too well. It was apparent that she would have to be a shade less than truthful if she intended to glean

any more information out of him.

So with the fingers of her left hand crossed, she wrote:

Dearest brother,

This once I shall heed your advice, banish my curiosity and stay near Vandemere.

"Devil's doorknocker," she muttered. She'd meant to write Addlewick , not Vandemere .

At the door, the messenger cleared his throat. Hearing his impatience, she didn't bother with a new scrap of foolscap but merely struck a line through the mistake and wrote the correction beside it. Surely, her brother would think nothing of a meaningless error.

She finished the letter with her appreciation for his prompt reply and signed it Your ever biddable sister .

Sanding the ink, she then folded the missive carefully and pressed the family crest into the red wax. After paying the rider,

she went back into the parlor and penned another letter. This one to Oscar, inviting him to dinner.

One way or another, she was going to winkle out more information on El Coleccionista .