Honoria smiled bitterly. Her own experience had robbed her of any belief in the existence of noble knights ready to gallop to a lady’s rescue. But Verity was still naïve enough to hold tenaciously to the idea.
Nor would her paragon of a sister have been out walking the beach on a blustery day, getting her hem sandy and her curls windblown. Her sister would have remained at Foxeden Manor, her gown immaculate, nary a speck of grit marring her lovely face, decorating some altar cloth with her perfect tiny stitches and driving Aunt Foxe mad by offering, in a voice overlaid with solicitous concern, to pour her tea or fluff her cushions.
After her own disaster, she hoped Marc would keep a closer eye over her much-too-innocent sister, who would probably not recognize a sweet-talking villain for what he was until after he’d carried her off to ravish. Especially since Honoria, who had prided herself on her ability to accurately assess the character of the gentlemen she encountered, had barely escaped that fate.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold shook her. Verity might be a pattern card of perfection, Mama’s darling who was repeatedly held up as the repository of all the feminine virtues Honoria lacked, but Honoria would never wish any harm to befall her.
She’d probably like the girl better now that she didn’t have to live with her. Honoria smiled without humour. The parish priest at Stanegate, who’d often counselled her to charity during her growing-up years, would doubtless consider her exile a blessing, if it led her to think more tenderly of her sister.
Dismissing both the idea of improvement and Verity, Honoria turned her thoughts back to the scene at the beach. On the walk home, once she’d mastered her irrational reaction to the villagers’ understandable curiosity, she’d begun to feel rather proud of her efforts, despite the embarrassment at the end. After drifting aimlessly this last month, trying to find something to replace the continuous round of rides, calls, teas, routs, musicales, balls and other amusements that had defined her life in London, it had felt…liberating to throw herself heart and soul into some useful endeavour. Though if the stranger had not intervened, she doubted she could have reached the struggling mariner in time.
As she brought to mind that gentleman’s handsome countenance, another knock at the door interrupted her. Expecting the footmen with the tub, she was surprised when her Aunt Foxe walked in.
Looking her up and down, her aunt smiled. ‘I was coming to see you when Dawes told me you’d gone bathing! I’d have judged it a bit early yet; ’twill be equally invigorating but much more enjoyable in a month. Though one must take care to bathe in a sheltered spot. The tide in some of the coves is quite strong…nor would one wish to provide a show for the fishermen.’
Wincing at the reminder of her folly, Honoria said, ‘Actually, I didn’t set out to sea bathe.’ In a few short sentences, she described what had transpired at Sennlack Cove, then braced herself for her aunt’s reaction.
‘Admirable of you to attempt to help the man,’ Aunt Foxe said, and Honoria felt herself exhale the breath she’d not realized she’d been holding. ‘Though by the sound of it, you tried to assist a revenue agent—not an action that will win you the approval of the residents hereabouts.’
Honoria waited a moment, but her aunt added nothing else. Scarcely believing there were not to be any further recriminations, she said, ‘You aren’t angry with me?’
Aunt Foxe raised an eyebrow. ‘Heavens, no! Why should I be? The rescue of one revenuer is scarcely going to destroy the local economy.’
The lack of criticism was so unusual, Honoria felt momentarily disoriented. As her world settled back into place, a rush of affection for her aunt filled her. Oh, her instincts had been right when they urged her to come here, rather than retreat in humiliated disgrace to Stanegate Court!
While she stood silent as this succession of thoughts ran through her head, her aunt’s expression turned to one of concern. ‘Is something wrong, child? Are you feeling ill?’
Impulsively, Honoria ran over and hugged her aunt. ‘No, everything is fine! I’m just so glad I came here to you.’
‘Heavens, you’re getting salt all over me.’ Her aunt laughed, gently disentangling herself from Honoria’s embrace. ‘I’m glad you came, too, though I might wish for you to refrain from such tender gestures until you have bathed. By the way, Dawes tells me you created the flower arrangements in all the rooms today. Thank you, my dear; they are lovely.’
‘I’m glad you like them, for preparing the bouquets required such massive effort on my part.’ Shaking her head, Honoria laughed ruefully. ‘You were wise to have Mrs Dawes introduce me to the gardens. I do find it fascinating to study all the herbs’ uses, and picking, drying and arranging them and the flowers helps occupy my time. I wish I might do more for you. However, I’m hopeless at mending and needlework. I could do some sketches of the coves and meadows, though, if you like.’
‘I’d be delighted to have your sketches.’ Her aunt paused, looking at her thoughtfully. ‘It’s no wonder an energetic young lady like you finds herself at a loose end here. I’ve been afraid you would become rather bored, marooned so far from London, with no theatres or balls or parties, no shops to browse, no friends with whom to gossip.’
Honoria felt a wash of guilt—for once the initial distress had worn off, she had been bored. That was certainly not her aunt’s fault, however. ‘You mustn’t think I mean to complain! Truly, I don’t miss London—except the shops, perhaps.’
That much was true. Even the name London called up bitter memories. She’d discovered in the most painful fashion that, far from possessing good friends, someone in London had disliked her enough to construct an incredibly intricate scheme to ruin her. So incredibly intricate, not even her own brother had believed she’d had no part in it. And so ruthlessly effective that, even after a month, the mere thought of that night still made her so sick with humiliation and distress she could not yet bear to sort out exactly what had happened.
Shaking her thoughts free, she continued, ‘There may not be as many amusements here, but I love Cornwall. The cliffs, the sea, the countryside, the wild beauty of it. I can see why you decided to settle here.’
‘You’re sure? Certainly Foxeden, with its wide vistas overlooking the endlessly changing sea, suits me, but it’s not for everyone.’ Aunt Foxe chuckled. ‘It is, however, a very effective location if one wishes to keep one’s family from meddling in one’s affairs, for which I’ve always been grateful.’
‘As I am grateful to you for taking me in.’
Aunt Foxe gave her a fond look. ‘We reprobates must stick together, eh?’
The afternoon of her arrival, Honoria had confessed to her aunt every detail of her disaster in London, wanting that lady to fully understand the completeness of her disgrace, so she might send Honoria away immediately if she preferred not to be tainted by the scandal. After listening dispassionately, Aunt Foxe had embraced her and, to Honoria’s everlasting gratitude, told her she was welcome to stay for as long as she wished.
She was tempted now to ask her aunt how she had ended up in Cornwall. Growing up, Honoria had overheard only bits and pieces about a forbidden engagement, a dash to the border, capture, exile, her lover’s death at sea. But although Honoria had come to know her mother’s renegade aunt much better over the last month, she still didn’t feel comfortable baldly asking for intimate details that her aunt, a private person, had not yet volunteered.
The opportunity was lost anyway, for Aunt Foxe had started walking toward the door. ‘Tell Dawes to bring tea to my sitting room once you’ve dried and dressed.’ Pausing at the doorway, she turned back to add, ‘There might even be some new fashion journals from London for you to peruse.’
A momentary excitement distracted Honoria, for pouring over La Belle Assemblée had been one of her favourite occupations in London. ‘That would be delightful! I didn’t know you subscribed!’ Certainly Honoria hadn’t found any fashion journals in her aunt’s