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“Honor?”

“Yes? Yes! Yes, I shall be ready for tonight,” she said with a tight smile.

Lydia studied her friend’s face curiously. She’d thought Honoria would be more excited about the prospect of finally leaving England. “Is something amiss?”

Honoria broke her concentration from the intricate mask and faced Lydia. Her frown quickly changed into an easy smile. “No, of course not. It’s just… I became quite attached to this household. I know I am just a housekeeper, but I feel quite close to the children.” She cleared her throat. “I like it here.”

“I know, Honor.” Lydia covered Honoria’s hand. “But we can’t stay here any longer. You can’t stay here; you know you can’t.”

Honoria nodded and smiled wider, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, I know. But it doesn’t mean I can’t be sad about it.”

Lydia swallowed a boulder in her throat. I know how you feel. But she couldn’t say the words out loud. She couldn’t say anything out loud or she would start crying. She couldn’t think about what she was leaving behind, or she would never be able to fulfill her mission.

“Until tonight then.”

* * *

She is here.

Thorn couldn’t believe it. Didn’t she say that they would meet at the masquerade?

Did she change her mind? His thoughts were in complete disarray.

He ran a hand through his hair and paced toward his looking glass. There was no time for a shave now, so he hoped she would excuse his unkempt appearance. With the ruby ring still cradled in his hand, he put it into his pocket. He would have to hide it after the meeting with his bride. Then, he quickly put on his waistcoat and cravat and ran a hand through his hair again. Why did she not tell him she was coming? Did she want to surprise him?

Well, then, the surprise was a complete success. Thorn was so nervous his hands shook.

He didn’t remember ever feeling this out of sorts. He was like a schoolboy before his first exam.

What am I still doing here?

Thorn shook his head and flew downstairs with a wide smile on his face.

He entered the blue drawing room and froze.

Miss Penelope Prescott, his bride, stood by the window, her father by her side.

“Mr. Prescott.” Thorn bowed then took a few steps closer, his heart drumming loudly in his chest. Penelope slowly turned, the sun from the window forming a halo around her angelic face. But instead of equal enthusiasm—or any enthusiasm, really—she had a pinched expression.

Thorn reached for her hand, but she took a step back instead. Taken aback, Thorn simply bowed. “Miss Penelope Prescott.” Perhaps she didn’t want to be too forward with him in front of her father.

“My lord.” She performed a curtsy.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Thorn looked from his bride to her father, and both looked as gloomy as an autumn night.

“We are here to sever the betrothal,” Mr. Prescott said dryly.

“Pardon me?” Heat rose to Thorn’s cheeks. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You should know why, Lord Thornton,” Miss Prescott said quietly. “You did not abide by your promises.”

Thorn frowned. She was very calm and collected, as though he had to understand what was going on. Yet, he felt as though he was thrust in the middle of the play, and he didn’t know the script. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

“And not just that,” Mr. Prescott chimed in. “There are some rather unsavory rumors going around about you that I do not care to repeat in the presence of my daughter.”

Thorn waved the ridiculous concern away. “I am not bothered by any rumors, Mr. Prescott. We have a betrothal contract, and it is not easily broken. Please, let me speak to your daughter in private and—”

“I will not leave you alone with her,” Mr. Prescott thundered.