Page 30

That was fast.

Snagging a glass of wine from a passing footman, Lydia finally reached the fern and turned to face the crowd. “I didn’t get it.”

That’s what I thought. “How come?”

“Thorn refused a tryst.”

“That’s…” Good? Lucky? Honoria would not want to witness the man she loved during a tryst. Instead, she opted for, “odd?”

“He is betrothed,” Lydia breathed, her voice shaking.

“Betrothed?” Now that, Honoria didn’t expect. A notorious rake like Thornton—a man who promised to marry Lydia and then abandoned her in pursuit of carefree life—was betrothed? Something was wrong there.

Her voice must have come out too loud, because Lydia shushed her.

“I’m sorry.” Honoria returned to a low whisper. “I just don’t understand. Who is he betrothed to?”

Lydia shook her head, her words coming in a hiss. “I don’t know; he didn’t say.”

“Are you certain he wasn’t lying?” Honoria ventured.

“You mean am I certain that he refused a tryst with a delectable countess and a known lightskirt during a boring function and came up with a lie to do it? Yes, I am quite certain.” She started pacing in agitation. “And if he is refusing trysts because of his betrothal, it can only mean one thing.”

“What?” Honoria asked.

“It means that it’s a love match.” Her voice was hoarse, her words final. Honoria could see the anguish in her friend’s eyes. And she understood it. Her gaze drifted to Caldwell who was still dancing with the beautiful young lady.

She stepped out from the shadows and placed her hand on Lydia’s shoulder. Lydia shrugged it off immediately. “You can’t be seen, Honor. Go back. And I need to—”

“Come. Let us talk in private.” The ball could go on without her for a few minutes. Right now her friend needed her.

Lydia shook her head. “I don’t want to talk. I need to devise a plan. I need to get the ring—”

“Tomorrow,” Honoria soothed. “You can worry about it tomorrow.” She took Lydia’s cold hand in hers and carefully led her away from the ballroom. “Tonight, you can mourn.”

She threw one last glance at the dancing earl before leaving the ballroom. And so can I.

* * *

Five hours later, Honoria entered her room, her feet buzzing with pain, her head aching, and her eyes falling shut despite her best efforts to keep them open.

She winced as she peeled off her dress, the fabric sticking to her sweaty body. The pitcher on her washstand still held water, though it had gone cold hours ago.

Honoria didn’t care. She dipped a cloth into it, ran the damp cloth over her flushed face, then continued to her neck and arms, washing away the day’s exertions. Having cleaned most of her body, she slipped a fresh nightdress over her head, the worn cotton soft against her freshly washed skin.

She filled the larger basin with the remaining water and lowered her aching feet into it, groaning aloud at the pleasant sensation. The coolness seeped into her swollen feet, numbing the burning sensation that had built throughout the day.

She glanced at the small clock on her nightstand. She’d have to rise again in three hours with a small group of maids to prepare for breakfast. Oh, how she wished she could sleep for a bit longer, at the same time wishing she had time to wash her hair.

Honoria yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

That strange contraption the earl called the shower-bath would have been very useful right now. It sounded like heaven right now to empty two buckets of water over her head while she stood there, soaping her skin and hair.

She imagined the sensation of water cascading down her body, washing away not just the sweat and grime, but the weariness that had settled into her bones. She wished she could sneak into the earl’s chamber and use it while he slept.

A chuckle left her at the ridiculous thought.

The soft knock at her door startled her. It was too late for any of the staff to seek her out unless there was some emergency. Honoria hastily pulled her feet from the basin, dried them on a nearby towel, and smoothed down her nightdress before opening the door.