Honor (5 page)

Caught off guard, Honor felt a rare warmth flood her cheeks. “All right. Robert it is. And you may call me Honor.”

“I like your name. It has a solid legal sound to it.”

For the first time since Davis had known her, Honor really laughed, an earthy, unladylike rumble that came from deep inside her and filled the air with joy. “Ironic, isn’t it?” She paused. “Would you care to return to the house with me? We can have a celebratory luncheon.”

“You and your aunt are always feeding me.” His green eyes twinkled. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Aunt Theo thinks you need fattening up.”

Davis petted his flat midsection through his threadbare overcoat. “Then I shall turn into Pudding.”

They laughed and bantered all the way to where Simms and the black brougham waited. Once inside, Davis surprised Honor by sitting beside her and saying, “Do you mind if I give you a congratulatory kiss?”

She thought of the last time he had forcibly kissed her, and a delicious shiver of expectation rippled along her arms. At least he had asked her permission this time.

His gaze roved over her face. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Today her triumph in constitutional law made her giddy and reckless. “Should I be?”

“Oh, yes.”

Davis turned in his seat and crooked his index finger to lift her stubborn chin, then studied her face with a hunger that sent Honor’s heart to slamming against her ribs. He closed his eyes and reached for her mouth with his own. The moment Honor’s lips touched his, desire hot and deep claimed her.

When Davis pulled away, ending the kiss, Honor felt strangely bereft, as if the blazing parlor fire had gone out on a cold winter’s day. She wanted to pull him into her arms and kiss him again, but her courage failed her.

“Congratulations,” he said.

“I owe it all to you. If you hadn’t helped me study, I—”

“It was my pleasure.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

One night three weeks later a stranger came to the front door of the brownstone and asked to see Mrs. Sydney Tree on a matter of grave importance. When Jackson saw the man’s card, he nodded and admitted him at once, for he knew his mistress had been anxiously awaiting this call. Theo received the caller in the library. They spoke for an hour; then the man left.

Theo reread the report the visitor had prepared for her, then locked it safely away in the bottom right-hand drawer of her late husband’s desk. She prayed that no one else would ever see it.

Chapter Three

With Christmas just two weeks away, Honor sequestered herself in the library to wrap Robert’s gift, a pair of butter-soft cordovan leather gloves to replace his old, moth-eaten knit ones.

Just as Honor finished tying the ribbon, Aunt Theo appeared in the doorway, waving a cream-colored envelope. “This just arrived for you, sweet Portia. It’s from Penelope Grant and it looks like an invitation.”

Penelope Grant had been Honor’s best friend when she first moved to Boston, but had drifted away once Penelope made an excellent marriage to an up-and-coming young lawyer and started having babies.

Honor opened the heavy vellum envelope and read the message: “Penny has invited me and a guest to attend a dinner party this Saturday.”

Theo looked at her. “Will you go?”

Honor made a face. “I really don’t have much in common with her anymore.”

“Why don’t you go anyway? You haven’t seen your old friends in years, and your studies certainly wouldn’t suffer if you took one evening off to relax and socialize.”

Honor glanced down at the wrapped gloves. “I could ask Robert to accompany me.”

Theo’s brows rose. “Really?”

“I sense you disapprove. May I ask why?”

“Do you think he’ll fit in?”

“He’s got nothing to be ashamed of.
He’s not a mill worker anymore; he’s studying to be a lawyer.” Honor frowned. “Why the reservations, Aunt? I thought you liked Robert. You certainly enjoyed his company when he came for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“You know how closed and stuffy Boston society is. They tolerate my eccentric behavior only because the Putnam family has been here for the last two hundred years and because I was married to one of the Trees, who’ve been here even longer.” She smoothed her skirt with a restless hand. “Proper Bostonians can be so closed-minded and snobbish. I wouldn’t want Robert to feel uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Honor contemplated her point in silence.

“I doubt that Robert even owns evening clothes,” Theo added. “You can’t expect him to go in his usual attire when all the other men will be wearing white tie.”

Honor’s spirits sank. “I hadn’t thought of that. He can’t even afford to pay fifteen cents for a new collar, let alone buy expensive evening clothes.”

She suddenly brightened. “I have it! Aren’t some of Uncle Oak’s evening clothes packed away in the attic?” she said, referring to her late uncle Sydney by his nickname. When Theo nodded, Honor added, “Perhaps something could be altered to fit Robert—that is, if you don’t mind seeing Uncle’s clothes on another man.”

“I’d rather someone use them than let them rot away.” Theo glided over to the fireplace. “Come to think of it, Oak was the same height and had almost the same build as Robert. But aren’t you putting the cart before the horse? You don’t know if Robert will even want to go.”

“I shall ask him on Monday.”

“Don’t be disappointed if he refuses.”

The following Monday, when Honor invited Robert to accompany her to Penelope Grant’s soiree, he accepted. If the prospect of rubbing elbows with Boston’s elite daunted him, he never revealed his misgivings. When Theo offered him the use of her late husband’s evening clothes, he appeared reluctant to accept, until Honor convinced him otherwise.

To Theo, this was not a good sign.

“How do I look?” Honor turned away from the cheval glass to nervously present herself to Aunt Theo for her inspection.

Since green was Honor’s favorite color, she had dusted off an evening gown of forest-green velvet and ivory moire that stood up to her dark, exotic coloring in a way that pale shades never could. Their maid, Fiona, had dressed Honor’s black hair in an intricate, upswept arrangement and crowned it with a white aigrette. For tonight, Honor left off her locket.

“I have the perfect finishing touch,” Theo announced, and left the room. She returned moments later to offer her niece a pair of earbobs set with a king’s ransom in emeralds.

Honor gasped. “Oh, Aunt Theo… I couldn’t possibly accept these.” She knew the earbobs were the last gift Uncle Oak had given to Theo just before he died. Her aunt could never bear to wear them.

“Nonsense,” Theo replied, her voice husky. “They were meant to be worn.”

Once the jewels hung from Honor’s earlobes, Theo stepped back. “Perfect. They’re all the adornment you need.”

Honor hugged Theo in silent thanks, for she knew the significance of the gesture.

Fiona appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Davis has arrived.”

He was waiting for Honor in the downstairs foyer. She paused at the top of the stairs, and when he slowly turned around and looked up at her, she felt her heart give a queer little flutter.

He wore Uncle Oak’s recently altered evening clothes with a careless elegance, as if he had been born to them. The black jacket and snowy white shirtfront provided a perfect foil for Robert’s dark hair and green eyes, making him look almost handsome.

Those green eyes filled with admiration as they followed Honor’s graceful descent down the stairs. “You look beautiful,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

He would never qualify as handsome, but Honor could honestly say, “And you look quite dashing.”

A self-deprecating smile twisted his sensuous mouth. “I’ve been told that a good tailor can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Now I know it’s true.”

Close upon Honor’s heels, Theo said, “Come, come, Mr. Davis, let’s dispense with the false modesty, shall we? You know you’re a damn fine figure of a man. Confident. Self-assured.”

His clean-shaven cheeks colored slightly, and he bowed. “If you say so, Mrs. Tree.”

“I do.” Theo handed Honor her purse. “It’s six thirty. You’d better be off if you want to arrive there by seven.”

Jackson presented Robert with Honor’s heavy black satin evening cloak, and once she was ready to leave, he put on his overcoat and borrowed silk top hat, and they left.

Seated beside him inside the brougham, Honor said, “I’m glad you could accompany me tonight.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting your friends,” Robert replied. Wealthy, influential people who could open doors for him.

“You look very distinguished.”

He straightened his white tie. “I’ve never had clothes tailored for me.” He planned to have more of them in the future, these expensive coats that didn’t pull through the shoulders and trousers that were not too loose in the waist. “I always wore whatever my mother sewed.”

“Aunt Theo was afraid you wouldn’t accept them.”

“I wasn’t going to. Borrowed clothes make me feel like a charity case, and I have my pride, but I wanted to dress right. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

By the light of the carriage lamps, Honor’s expression clouded. “You wouldn’t have embarrassed me. I don’t judge people by what they wear.”

“Most do.”

“Then they’re fools.”

Davis said, “If Pudding could see you now, he’d—” He stopped. “Never mind.”

“What were you about to say?”

“Nothing.”

“Robert, don’t tease. Tell me.”

“I was going to say that if Pudding could see you now, he’d rest his case against beautiful women lawyers in the courtroom. But I knew you’d be insulted.”

Her eyes darkened. “I’m not insulted.”

Tonight she was ravishing, a breathtaking study in black and white, with the rich satin sheen of her evening cloak and her own night-black hair shrouding her pale face in mystery. Only the green earbobs and her own red lips provided any color. Robert longed to kiss her, to feel those lips soften and part under the domination of his mouth.

He took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with her sweet rose scent and settled back against the soft leather squabs. The kissing, and perhaps a little more this time if Honor was willing as he sensed her to be, would have to wait.

When Honor and Robert arrived at the Grants’ brick house on Beacon Hill, a maid took their wraps and showed them to the parlor where all the guests were admiring the perfect Christmas tree, its thick evergreen branches filled to groaning with white tapers all ablaze, paper cones stuffed with sugar-plums for the children, shiny tinsel garlands, and an angel that nearly scraped its outstretched wings against the high ceiling.

“We hauled it all the way from Lexington in a wagon,” Amos Grant said to Wesley Saltonsall in his loud, pompous voice. “A devil of a time with it, but couldn’t disappoint the boys.”

Conversation ceased the moment Honor and Robert appeared in the doorway. Penelope, a diminutive blonde, rose from the velvet sofa where she had been talking to a woman Honor recognized as the wife of Aunt Theo’s banker.

“Honor,” Penelope said, extending her hands as she glided toward them, “how delighted we are that you could come. It’s been such a long time.” She touched cheeks and looked at Robert expectantly.

“Penelope Grant, this is Robert Davis, a fellow law student.”

Penelope smiled archly. “And such a distinguished one.”

Robert returned the smile and bowed over her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Grant.”

“Do come over and meet everyone else.” She ushered them into the warm, cozy room, where logs crackled and burned in the fireplace, scenting the air with appropriately festive woodsmoke.

Since Honor already knew the other guests and felt at home among them, she focused on observing how Robert reacted to being thrown to the lions, and their reactions to him. If his background made him nervous among the lawyers, bankers, and shipping scions present, he didn’t show it as he bowed over the ladies’ hands and shook their husbands’ with a firm grip.

Honor held her breath when they came to Wesley. Unlike anyone else present, he alone knew how Theo had turned a sow’s ear into a silk purse.

He extended his hand, too gracious to betray them. “Good to see you again, Davis.” He turned to Amos Grant. “If Cutter, Bailey and Rye need another lawyer, Davis here is your man.” He smiled his dimpled smile at Honor. “Or Honor is your woman.”

Honor returned his smile. “How generous of you to say so, Wes.” But then, he always strived to put outsiders at ease.

Amos Grant, a young man already stretching his waistcoat across an ample belly, cleared his throat with a pompous harrumph. “Cutter and Bailey has never hired a female and never will.”

Honor felt her hackles rise and had opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort when Penelope, with a nose for averting social disaster, swooped down on them with offers of sherry and drew Honor aside to converse with the other women.