Devil's Bride (10 page)

The chamber allotted to the girls was near the end of one wing; promising to fetch them later, Honoria left them in their maid's care and returned downstairs.

Just in time to greet the next arrivals.

The rest of the day flew. Carriages rolled up in a steady stream, disgorging matrons and stiff-necked gentlemen and a goodly sprinkling of bucks. Devil and Vane were everywhere, greeting guests, fielding questions. Charles was there, too, his expression wooden, his manner stilted.

Stationed by the stairs, Honoria helped the Dowager greet and dispose of family and those friends close enough to claim room within the great house. Anchored to her hostess's side, the keeper of the lists, she found herself introduced by the Dowager, with a gently vague air.

“And this is Miss Anstruther-Wetherby, who is keeping me company.”

The Cynster cousin to whom this was addressed, presently exchanging nods with Honoria, immediately looked intrigued. Speculation gleamed in the matronly woman's eyes. “Indeed?” She smiled, graciously coy. “I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear.”

Honoria replied with a polite, noncommittal murmur. She'd failed to foresee her present predicament when she'd offered her aid; now she could hardly desert her post. Fixing a smile on her lips, she resolved to ignore her hostess's blatant manipulation. The Dowager, she'd already realized, was even more stubborn than her son.

The family viewing of the body was held late that afternoon; remembering her promise, Honoria went to fetch Tolly's sisters from the distant wing.

They were waiting, pale but composed, intensely vulnerable in black muslin. Honoria ran an experienced eye over them, then nodded. “You'll do.” They came forward hesitantly, clearly dreading what was to come. Honoria smiled encouragingly. “Your cousin omitted to mention your names.”

“I'm Amelia, Miss Anstruther-Wetherby.” The closest bobbed a curtsy.

Her sister did the same, equally gracefully. “I'm Amanda.”

Honoria raised her brows. “I presume calling ‘Amy' will bring you both?”

The simple sally drew two faint smiles. “Usually,” Amelia admitted.

Amanda had already sobered. “Is it true—what Devil said? About you knowing about losing one you love?”

Honoria met her ingenuous gaze levelly. “Yes—I lost both my parents in a carriage accident when I was sixteen.”

“Both?” Amelia looked shocked. “That must have been terrible—even worse than losing a brother.”

Honoria stilled, then, somewhat stiffly, inclined her head. “Losing any family member is hard—but when they leave us, we still have to go on. We owe it to them—to their memory—as much as to ourselves.”

The philosophical comment left both girls puzzling. Honoria seized the moment to get them headed downstairs, to the private chapel off the gallery.

Halting in the doorway, the twins nervously surveyed the black-clad ranks of their aunts and uncles and older male cousins, all silent, most with heads bowed.

Both girls reacted as Honoria had hoped: their spines stiffened—they drew deep breaths, straightened their shoulders, then paced slowly down the quiet room. Hand in hand, they approached the coffin, set on trestles before the altar.

From the shadows by the door, Honoria watched what was, in essence, a scene from her past. The somber peace of the chapel held her; she was about to slip into the back pew when Devil caught her eye. Commandingly formal in black coat and black trousers, white shirt and black cravat, he looked precisely what he was—a devilishly handsome rake—and the head of his family. From his position beyond the coffin, he raised one brow, his expression a subtle melding of invitation and challenge.

Tolly was no relative of hers, but she'd been present when he died. Honoria hesitated, then followed Tolly's sisters down the aisle.

Clinging to each other, the twins moved on, slipping into the pew behind their weeping mother. Honoria paused, looking down on an innocence not even death could erase. As she had said, Tolly's face was peaceful, serene; no hint of the wound in his chest showed. Only the grey pallor of his skin bore witness that he would not again awake.

She'd seen death before, but not like this. Those before had been taken by God; they had only needed to be mourned. Tolly had been taken by man—a vastly different response was required. She frowned.

“What is it?” Devil's voice came from beside her, pitched very low.

Honoria looked up. Frowning, she searched his eyes. He
knew
—how could he not? Why, then . . . ? A chill touched her soul—she shivered and looked away.

“Come.” Devil took her arm; Honoria let him hand her to a pew. He sat beside her; she felt his gaze on her face but did not look his way.

Then Tolly's mother rose. Supported by her husband, she placed a white rose in the coffin; the viewing was at an end. No one spoke as they slowly filed out, following the Dowager and Tolly's parents to the drawing room.

In the front hall, Devil drew Honoria aside, into the shadows of the stairs. As the last stragglers passed, he said, his voice low: “I'm sorry—I shouldn't have insisted. I didn't realize it would remind you of your parents.”

Honoria looked up, directly into his eyes. They were not, she realized, particularly useful for
hiding
emotions—the clear depths were too transparent. Right now, they looked contrite.

“It wasn't that. I was simply struck—” She paused, again searching his eyes. “By how
wrong
his death was.” Impulsively, she asked: “Are you satisfied with the magistrate's verdict?”

His face hardened into a warrior's mask. His lids lowered, screening those too-revealing eyes, his lashes a distracting veil. “Perfectly.” Languidly, he gestured toward the drawing room. “I suggest we join the others.”

His abrupt dismissal was not quite a slap in the face, but it certainly gave Honoria pause. Cloaked in her customary poise, she allowed him to lead her into the drawing room, then inwardly cursed when so many eyes swung their way. Their entrance together, separate from the earlier crowd, supported the image Devil and the Dowager were intent on projecting—the image of her as Devil's bride. Such subtle nuances were life and breath to the
ton
, Honoria knew it—she was usually adept at using such signals to her own advantage, but, in the present case, she was clearly fencing with a master.

Make that two masters, simultaneously—the Dowager was no newcomer to the game.

The drawing room was full, crowded with family, connections and close acquaintances. Despite the subdued tones, the noise was substantial. The Dowager was seated on the
chaise
beside Tolly's mother. Devil steered Honoria to where Amelia and Amanda were nervously conversing with a very old lady.

“If you need help with names or connections, ask the twins. It'll make them feel useful.”

Honoria inclined her head and coolly returned: “Much as I'd like to distract them, there's really no need. It is, after all, unlikely I'll meet any of your family again.” Regally aloof, she raised her head—and met the dark, frowning glance Devil sent her with implacable calm.

Amanda and Amelia turned as they came up, an identical look of pleading in their eyes.

“Ah—Sylvester.” The old lady put out a crabbed hand and gripped Devil's sleeve. “A shame it has to be such a sad occasion on which I see you again.”

“Indeed, Cousin Clara.” Fluidly, Devil drew Honoria into their circle, trapping her hand on his sleeve the instant before she removed it. “I believe,” he drawled, “that you've already met . . .” An untrustworthy gleam lit his eyes; inwardly aghast, her gaze locked with his, Honoria held her breath—and saw his lips curve as he looked down at Cousin Clara. “Miss Anstruther-Wetherby?”

Honoria almost sighed with relief. Her serene smile somewhat strained, she trained it on Clara.

“Oh, yes! Dear me, yes.” The old lady visibly brightened. “Such a
great
pleasure to meet you, dear. I've been looking forward to—” Catching herself up, Clara glanced impishly at Devil, then smiled sweetly at Honoria. “Well—you know.” Reaching out, she patted Honoria's hand. “Suffice to say we're all
perfectly delighted
, my dear.”

Honoria knew one person who was less than perfectly delighted, but, with Amanda and Amelia looking on, she was forced to allow Clara's transparent supposition to pass with nothing more than a gracious smile. Looking up, she fleetingly met Devil's gaze—she could have sworn she detected a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

He immediately broke the contact. Releasing her, he covered Clara's hand with his, stooping so she did not have to look up so far. “Have you spoken to Arthur?”

“Not yet.” Clara glanced about. “I couldn't find him in this crush.”

“He's by the window. Come—I'll take you to him.”

Clara beamed. “So kind—but you always were a good boy.” With brief nods to the twins, and a gracious one for Honoria, the old lady allowed Devil to lead her away.

Honoria watched them go, Devil so large and powerful, so arrogantly commanding, making not the smallest fuss over the creases Clara's sparrowlike claws were leaving in his sleeve. A good boy? She inwardly humphed.

“Thank goodness you came.” Amanda swallowed. “She wanted to talk about Tolly. And I—we—didn't know how to . . .”

“Stop her?” Honoria smiled reassuringly. “Don't worry—it's only the very old who'll ask such questions. Now—” She glanced around—“tell me who the younger ones are—Devil told me their names, but I've forgotten.”

That was untrue, but the exercise served to distract the twins. Aside from themselves, Simon, and their two younger sisters, Henrietta and Mary, ten and three, they had three younger cousins.

“Heather's fourteen. Elizabeth—we call her Eliza—is thirteen, and Angelica's ten, the same as Henrietta.”

“They're Uncle Martin's and Aunt Celia's daughters. Gabriel and Lucifer are their older brothers.”

Gabriel and Lucifer
? Honoria opened her mouth to request clarification—simultaneously, the Dowager caught her eye.

The Dowager's expression was an outright appeal for help. Her sister-in-law's hands still gripped hers tightly. With her eyes, the Dowager signaled to Webster, standing unobtrusively before the door. The tension in his stately figure conveyed very clearly that something was amiss.

Honoria looked back at the Dowager—she understood what was being asked of her, and that a positive response would be interpreted as confirmation of another understanding—a matrimonial understanding between Devil and herself. But the appeal in the Dowager's eyes was very real, and of all the ladies present, she was unquestionably in the best state to deal with whatever disaster had befallen.

Torn, Honoria hesitated, then inwardly grimaced and nodded. She stepped toward the door, then remembered the twins. She glanced over her shoulder. “Come with me.”

She swept regally across the room. Webster opened the door and stood back; Honoria sailed through. After waiting for her two escorts to pass, Webster followed, closing the door behind him.

In the hall, Honoria found Mrs. Hull waiting. “What's happened?”

Mrs. Hull's gaze flicked to Webster's face, then returned to Honoria's. The significance of that glance was not lost on Honoria; Webster had confirmed that she'd been deputed by the Dowager.

“It's the cakes, miss. What with all we've had to do, we sent out for them to the village. Mrs. Hobbs is excellent with cakes. We've often used her in such circumstances.”

“But this time she hasn't lived up to expectations?”

Mrs. Hull's face tightened. “It's not that, miss. I sent two grooms with the gig, like I always do. Hobbs had the cakes ready—the boys loaded them in their trays. They were most of the way back”—Mrs. Hull paused to draw in a portentous breath—“when that
demon
horse of the master's came racing up, rearing and screaming, and spooked the old mare in the gig. The cakes went flying”—Mrs. Hull's eyes narrowed to flinty shards—“and that
devil
horse ate most of them!”

Pressing her fingers to her lips, Honoria looked down. Then she glanced at Webster. His face was expressionless.

“His Grace did not have time to ride the horse today, miss, so the head stableman turned him out for a run. The track from the village runs through the stable paddock.”

“I see.” Honoria's jaw ached. Despite all—the solemnity of the occasion and the impending crisis—the vision of Su-lieman chomping on delicate petit fours was simply too much.

“So, you see, miss, I don't know what we're to do, with all these visitors and not even enough biscuits to go around.” Mrs. Hull's expression remained severe.

“Indeed.” Honoria straightened, considering possibilities. “Scones,” she decided.

“Scones, miss?” Mrs. Hull looked surprised, then her expression turned calculating.

Honoria glanced at the clock on the wall. “It's just four—they won't be expecting tea for at least half an hour. If we arrange some distraction . . .” She looked at Webster. “What time were you intending to serve dinner?”

“Seven, miss.”

Honoria nodded. “Put dinner back to eight—notify the valets and ladies' maids. Mrs. Hull, you've an hour to produce scones in quantity. Take whatever helpers you need. We'll have plain scones with jam—do you have any blackberry jam? That would be a nice touch.”

“Indeed, miss.” Mrs. Hull was transformed. “We have our own blackberry jam—there's no other like it.”

“Very good—we'll have cream for those that wish it, and we'll have cheese scones and spiced scones as well.”

“I'll get onto it immediately, miss.” With a quick bob, Mrs. Hull sped back to her kitchen.

“You spoke of a distraction, miss—to gain half an hour for Mrs. Hull?”