Page 39 of The Virgin Who Vindicated Lord Darlington
“But a castle is still a castle, I suppose.” Mrs. Honeywell clambered down from the carriage in an avalanche of bright pink silk trimmed with a mountain of white ostrich feathers. “Even if itisterribly cramped.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen so much pink silk on one lady before, and such anunusualshade of pink, too. It’s as if the drapes in my mother’s bedchamber have come to life. I’m certain to have nightmares,” Haslemere whispered to Gideonwith a shudder.
“Be quiet,” Gideon whispered back through gritted teeth. “She’ll hear you.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry if I were you, Darlington. I doubt she can hear anything over the sound of her own chatter.”
“For God’s sake, Haslemere,will you hush?”
“Miss Honeywell is perfection, Darlington. At least that’s some recompense for every second of misery the mother’s going to cause you.” Haslemere followed Gideon as he stepped forward to hand down the young lady just emerging fromthe carriage.
“Oh, good day, Lord Darlington!” Mrs. Honeywell bustled forward, her pink skirts dragging across the ground. “Come along, will you, Fanny? His lordship is waiting for you.”
“Mrs. Honeywell, and Miss Honeywell. How do you do?” Gideon bowed to Mrs. Honeywell, then took Fanny’s hand and drew it through his arm with a smile. “Welcome to Darlington Castle. I hope you had a pleasant journey from London?”
“Certainly not. It was perfectly wretched.” Mrs. Honeywell tossed her headful of stiff yellow curls, and the tiny pink hat smothered in pink ribbons perched atop her head wobbled precariously.
Gideon blinked. “Yes, of course. I’msorry to hear—”
“It’s terribly trying to be obliged to hurry off to Kent when all the fashionable people are in London for the season! Why, my poor, dear Fanny will be desolate, moldering away in this dreary old castle! I daresay you might have seen your way to marrying at St. Paul’s, my lord, as all the best society people do.”
Gideon gave her a tight smile. “Alas, madam, I’m afraid hundreds of years of tradition demand I marry at Darlington Castle. Pity, but there it is.”
Mrs. Honeywell had wanted the wedding to take place at St. Paul’s Cathedral, with a grand wedding breakfast afterward so she could lord her daughter’s good fortune over anyone unwise enough to accept an invitation. She’d been dreadfully disappointed to find the nuptials would have to take place in fusty old Kent, but she’d consoled herself with assembling an extravagant trousseau of silks and laces for her daughter, as befitted a future marchioness.
Miss Honeywell darted a coy look at Gideon as she stepped daintily across the drive. “I think this is a lovely place for a wedding ceremony.”
“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped, but really, my lord, it’s excessively tiresome you should live so far from London. It took ages to get here, and it was so cold I fear poor Fanny has taken a chill. She suffers from a fragile constitution, as you know, Lord Darlington, but then the Honeywell ladies have always been unusually delicate.”
This was too much for Haslemere. He was a darling of theton, and thus nearly always behaved as a charming, gallant gentleman should no matter how trying the circumstances, but he was obliged to smother a snort.
Gideon shot him a warning glance over the top of Mrs. Honeywell’s head. “Yes, of course. I regret the journey proved so uncomfortable, Mrs. Honeywell. We’ll be certain to take extraordinary care with your health and Miss Honeywell’s.”
Mrs. Honeywell drew herself up with a flounce of her skirts. “Well, I should think so.”
Gideon cleared his throat. “May I present my friend, Lord Haslemere?”
“Mrs. Honeywell, and Miss Honeywell. How do you do? Lovely day for February, isn’t it?” Haslemere bowed to each lady in turn.
“What, another lord? But how wonderful! How do you do, Lord Haslemere.” Mrs. Honeywell batted a pair of bulging blue eyes at Haslemere, then swept into an elaborate curtsy. “The more lords, the merrier, I always say. Are you a marquess as well, Lord Haslemere?”
“Only an earl, I’m afraid.” Haslemere bowed over Mrs. Honeywell’s hand.
A girlish giggle burst from Mrs. Honeywell’s lips. “Well, we’re still very pleased to meet you, my lord. Aren’t we, Fanny?”
“Indeed, Mama.”
Haslemere turned with considerably more enthusiasm to the blushing young lady at her mother’s side. “I’ve heard a great deal about you from Lord Darlington, Miss Honeywell, but even his extravagant compliments don’t do you justice.”
Miss Honeywell offered her hand, the pretty shade of pink on her cheeks deepening when Haslemere’s lips brushed her glove. “Howdo you do, my—”
“Yes, yes. I’m certain he does very well, Fanny,” Mrs. Honeywell interrupted crossly, as if peeved the attention had been diverted from herself. “Heisa lord, after all. Mightn’t we venture inside the castle, Lord Darlington? This wind is making a dreadful mess of my feathers, and I’d welcomea cup of tea.”
“Ruffled feathers? How shocking. We can’t have that, can we?” Haslemere glanced down at Mrs. Honeywell’s hand, which had curled in a proprietary manner around his arm, and arched a brow at Gideon. “Lead the way, Darlington.”
Gideon recognized the wicked grin twitching at the corner of Haslemere’s lips, and rushed to distract the ladies. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. Come and warm yourselves, and I’llring for tea.”
As he spoke, Gideon led the party through the front door. Miss Honeywell cast a curious glance about her, taking in the entrance hall, but paused on their way toward the drawing room, a surprised exclamation on her lips. “That young woman, Lord Darlington. Is she one of your housemaids? I’m certain I’ve seen her before.”
