Page 4 of The Smuggler & the Society Bride

Looking her up and down, her aunt smiled. ‘I was coming to see you when Dawes told me you’d gone bathing! I’d have judged it a bit early yet; ’twill be equally invigorating but much more enjoyable in a month. Though one must take care to bathe in a sheltered spot. The tide in some of the coves is quite strong…nor would one wish to provide a show for the fishermen.’

Wincing at the reminder of her folly, Honoria said, ‘Actually, I didn’t set out to sea bathe.’ In a few short sentences, she described what had transpired at Sennlack Cove, then braced herself for her aunt’s reaction.

‘Admirable of you to attempt to help the man,’ Aunt Foxe said, and Honoria felt herself exhale the breath she’d not realized she’d been holding. ‘Though by the sound of it, you tried to assist a revenue agent—not an action that will win you the approval of the residents hereabouts.’

Honoria waited a moment, but her aunt added nothing else. Scarcely believing there were not to be any further recriminations, she said, ‘You aren’t angry with me?’

Aunt Foxe raised an eyebrow. ‘Heavens, no! Why should I be? The rescue of one revenuer is scarcely going to destroy the local economy.’

The lack of criticism was so unusual, Honoria felt momentarily disoriented. As her world settled back into place, a rush of affection for her aunt filled her. Oh, her instincts had been right when they urged her to come here, rather than retreat in humiliated disgrace to Stanegate Court!

While she stood silent as this succession of thoughts ran through her head, her aunt’s expression turned to one of concern. ‘Is something wrong, child? Are you feeling ill?’

Impulsively, Honoria ran over and hugged her aunt. ‘No, everything is fine! I’m just so glad I came here to you.’

‘Heavens, you’re getting salt all over me.’ Her aunt laughed, gently disentangling herself from Honoria’s embrace. ‘I’m glad you came, too, though I might wish for you to refrain from such tender gestures until you have bathed. By the way, Dawes tells me you created the flower arrangements in all the rooms today. Thank you, my dear; they are lovely.’

‘I’m glad you like them, for preparing the bouquets required such massive effort on my part.’ Shaking her head, Honoria laughed ruefully. ‘You were wise to have Mrs Dawes introduce me to the gardens. I do find it fascinating to study all the herbs’ uses, and picking, drying and arranging them and the flowers helps occupy my time. I wish I might do more for you. However, I’m hopeless at mending and needlework. I could do some sketches of the coves and meadows, though, if you like.’

‘I’d be delighted to have your sketches.’ Her aunt paused, looking at her thoughtfully. ‘It’s no wonder an energetic young lady like you finds herself at a loose end here. I’ve been afraid you would become rather bored, marooned so far from London, with no theatres or balls or parties, no shops to browse, no friends with whom to gossip.’

Honoria felt a wash of guilt—for once the initial distress had worn off, she had been bored. That was certainly not her aunt’s fault, however. ‘You mustn’t think I mean to complain! Truly, I don’t miss London—except the shops, perhaps.’

That much was true. Even the name London called up bitter memories. She’d discovered in the most painful fashion that, far from possessing good friends, someone in London had disliked her enough to construct an incredibly intricate scheme to ruin her. So incredibly intricate, not even her own brother had believed she’d had no part in it. And so ruthlessly effective that, even after a month, the mere thought of that night still made her so sick with humiliation and distress she could not yet bear to sort out exactly what had happened.

Shaking her thoughts free, she continued, ‘There may not be as many amusements here, but I love Cornwall. The cliffs, the sea, the countryside, the wild beauty of it. I can see why you decided to settle here.’

‘You’re sure? Certainly Foxeden, with its wide vistas overlooking the endlessly changing sea, suits me, but it’s not for everyone.’ Aunt Foxe chuckled. ‘It is, however, a very effective location if one wishes to keep one’s family from meddling in one’s affairs, for which I’ve always been grateful.’

‘As I am grateful to you for taking me in.’

Aunt Foxe gave her a fond look. ‘We reprobates must stick together, eh?’

The afternoon of her arrival, Honoria had confessed to her aunt every detail of her disaster in London, wanting that lady to fully understand the completeness of her disgrace, so she might send Honoria away immediately if she preferred not to be tainted by the scandal. After listening dispassionately, Aunt Foxe had embraced her and, to Honoria’s everlasting gratitude, told her she was welcome to stay for as long as she wished.

She was tempted now to ask her aunt how she had ended up in Cornwall. Growing up, Honoria had overheard only bits and pieces about a forbidden engagement, a dash to the border, capture, exile, her lover’s death at sea. But although Honoria had come to know her mother’s renegade aunt much better over the last month, she still didn’t feel comfortable baldly asking for intimate details that her aunt, a private person, had not yet volunteered.

The opportunity was lost anyway, for Aunt Foxe had started walking toward the door. ‘Tell Dawes to bring tea to my sitting room once you’ve dried and dressed.’ Pausing at the doorway, she turned back to add, ‘There might even be some new fashion journals from London for you to peruse.’

A momentary excitement distracted Honoria, for pouring over La Belle Assemblée had been one of her favourite occupations in London. ‘That would be delightful! I didn’t know you subscribed!’ Certainly Honoria hadn’t found any fashion journals in her aunt’s library when she’d first inspected the room a week or so after her arrival.

Aunt Foxe winked. ‘I must have something to amuse my guest, mustn’t I? I’ll see you shortly.’

As her aunt exited the room, Honoria’s heart warmed with gratitude. Aunt Foxe must have ordered the periodicals just for her. Once again, she was struck by that lady’s kindness.

She had known her great-aunt but slightly at the time of her impulsive decision to seek refuge here. During their few childhood visits, she’d noted only that Miss Alexandre Foxe seemed to answer to no one and that her relations with her niece, Honoria’s mother, seemed somewhat strained. Since her own relations with Mama had always been difficult and at the time she was sent out of London, staying with someone who had no connection to her paternal family held great appeal, Honoria had immediately thought of coming to Cornwall rather than proceeding, as directed by her brother Marcus, to the family estate in Hertforshire.

The fact that independent Miss Foxe was not beholden in any way to the Carlows was almost as appealing to Honoria as her recollection that, on one of those rare childhood visits, Aunt Foxe had pronounced Verity, already being held up to Honoria as a paragon of deportment, to be a dull, timid child.

Given the slightness of their previous acquaintance, Honoria still marvelled that her aunt had not sent her straight back to Stanegate Court, as John Coachman had darkly predicted when she’d ordered him to bring her to Foxeden.

She was deeply thankful to her aunt for taking her in and, even more, for giving credence to her story. Unlike her nearer relations in blood, that lady had both listened to and believed her, though she could come up with no more explanation than Honoria as to why someone would have wished to engineer her great-niece’s downfall.

Even after over a month, it still hurt like a dagger thrust in her breast to recall her final interview with Marcus. More furious than she’d ever seen him, her brother had raged that, rash as she’d always been, he’d have expected better of her than to have created a scandal that ruined her good name at the same time it compromised her innocent sister’s chances of a good match and distressed his newly pregnant wife. When he contemptuously cut off her protests of innocence, by now as angry as Marcus, she’d listened to the rest of his tirade in tight-lipped silence.

Despite their wrangling over the years, she would never have believed he would think her capable of lying about so important a matter. His lack of faith in her character was more painful than the humiliation of the scandal.

Marcus needn’t have bothered to order her to quit London. She’d had no desire to remain, an object of pity and speculation, gleefully pointed out by girls of lesser charm and beauty as the once-leading Diamond of the Ton brought low. After her fiancé’s repudiation and the final blow of her brother’s betrayal, she’d been seething with impatience to get as far away from London and everything Carlow as possible.

Wrapping the robe more tightly about her, she walked to the window, sighing as she watched the roll and pitch of the distant sea. As for Anthony—that engagement had been a mistake from the beginning, as the tragedy in the town-house garden had revealed only too clearly.

It was partly her fault for accepting the suit of a man she’d known since childhood, for whom she felt only a mild affection. A man she’d accepted mostly because she thought that if she acquiesced to an engagement Marc favoured, her elder brother might cease dogging her every step and transfer his scrutiny to Verity. The prospect of getting out from under his smothering wing was appealing, and if Anthony proved tiresome, she could always cry off later.

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