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Everything was clearly not figured out yet—there were many hurdles they would have to overcome, she was certain. But she wasn’t going to worry about any of it now.
She was going to enjoy the happiness she had been given.
In fact, at this very moment, she was enjoying a pleasant outing in Hyde Park with the children, the governess, and Lady Somerville.
The day was mild, perfect for a stroll along the fashionable paths where London society displayed itself in all its finery.
Elise walked beside Lady Somerville, looking more grown-up by the day in her new pale green walking dress, a tan coat hugging her form. Robbie and Rosie raced ahead, Mrs. Winters hurrying after them. Honoria trailed slightly behind, enjoying the sight of them all together, enjoying the contentment that settled in her heart.
“…I will be leaving in a month,” Lady Somerville was saying as Honoria caught up to them, her voice calm and measured. She tapped her cane against the gravel path for emphasis. “My granddaughter’s confinement approaches, and I must be present for the birth of my first great-grandchild.”
“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Elise said, slipping her arm through the older woman’s.
“I know, dear. Me too.” Lady Somerville patted Elise’s hand. “But my Cecily needs me. Otherwise, I would have stayed in London forever. Besides,” she added with satisfaction, “I think I’ve accomplished everything I needed to accomplish this season. Prepared you, dear Elise, for the ton events, bought you a wardrobe befitting a queen. Reintroduced Caldwell to society.” She nodded decisively. “I think your first season will be a huge success.”
“Thank you.” Elise beamed. “But I thought you wanted to find Uncle a wife, too?” Elise teased.
Honoria felt heat rise to her face.
Lady Somerville harrumphed, though her eyes twinkled. “A man as stubborn as Caldwell will do as he pleases.” She paused, her gaze flicking to Honoria. “But I feel I’ve done what I had to do in that regard, as well.”
Honoria didn’t dare react, though she was certain her skin had taken on the hue of vermilion. Had the dowager marchioness always intended for her and Caldwell to be brought together? Was that the very reason she had so persistently encouraged Honoria’s presence on their social outings?
She looked away, unable to meet Elise’s or Lady Somerville’s gaze—and instantly regretted it.
Because walking toward them was her husband.
Bradshaw.
Even from a distance, she would recognize that posture, that confident stride that had once made her young heart flutter and later made it clench with dread.
His arm was linked with a woman’s—his new wife, she presumed—and they advanced closer and closer with every step. The couple nodded to acquaintances, the very picture of aristocratic contentment. Bradshaw laughed at something his companion said, the sound carrying across the path. Honoria’s stomach twisted at the sound.
There was no way to escape. They were too close now, and turning away would only draw attention. Panic rose in her throat, threatening to choke her.
Honoria moved behind Elise, using the girl’s tall bonnet as a shield, turning her head just slightly so he wouldn’t see her face. Not that he looked in her direction—she was invisible to him in her unassuming clothes and with a hat covering half her face. Just another servant or companion, beneath his notice.
Lady Somerville, recognizing the couple, stopped to exchange greetings, as etiquette demanded. Honoria kept her eyes downcast, her heart hammering so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it.
The woman—Bradshaw’s new wife—stood quietly by his side, while Bradshaw was loud and obnoxious, just as Honoria remembered.
Leaving Lady Somerville to converse with the couple, Honoria looped her arm through Elise’s and led her away.
Once she passed the couple, Honoria couldn’t help her curiosity. She slowed to study her husband’s new wife.
She only saw her from the side, but it was enough to recognize that the woman was tall, elegant, and with a regal air. Her clothing was overly modest, covering almost every inch of her body except her face. There was nothing wrong with that—the weather was still cold, and fashion dictated modesty.
Yet something familiar nagged at Honoria’s stomach. She glanced up and noted a dark line on the woman’s neck, just visible above her collar when she turned her head to speak to her husband.
Not enough to draw the attention of anyone but a woman who had gone through what Honoria had.
They looked like bruises.
She could not be certain, of course. She didn’t have the time to study the woman in detail. Nor could she, not from a distance, and certainly not without removing her coat and collar.
They moved on a few moments later, rejoining the flow of fashionable society along the park paths. But Honoria’s mind was stuck on the woman behind her, leaving on the arm of her husband, who still haunted Honoria’s nightmares.
Was she suffering the same fate as Honoria had?
