Robert had accepted the pressing invitation of Honoria’s parents and had arrived in Bath for a few days with the Wilshaws. He had spent the whole of the tedious journey trying not to think of his mama’s companion and trying to persuade himself that Elizabeth had just responded to a passing fancy on his part and that any feelings he might have for her would quickly die. Especially if he acceded to his mama’s wishes and tried to find a beautiful and wealthy bride. All the time, he was trying to ignore the pulse in his brain which beat out Elizabeth’s name in time to the horse’s hooves throughout the journey and to deny his natural inclination to cancel this courtesy visit and go back home.
But by the time he reached the Wilshaws’ manor house, he felt that he had successfully faced the fact that he had been trying to avoid. He had to stop thinking about Elizabeth and try to imagine someone like Honoria as his bride. He was a younger son. There was no future for him without a wealthy wife. His mama was wise enough to recognize that, and with the non-infatuated part of his mind, so did Robert. Perhaps he could propose to Honoria quickly and get it over with before he lost control of his emotions and went straight back to Elizabeth, to beg her to marry him.
He was received with the utmost courtesy by Mr and Mrs Wilshaw. Honoria was all that was gracious and the suite of rooms he was to occupy was certainly luxurious enough to match the grandeur of Hawton House. Here was a family who were very rich. Mr Wilshaw may have made his fortune in commerce, but nevertheless they were refined and respectable, needing only to forge a liaison with an upper-crust family like the Gascoines to be even more successful in polite society.
The other guests included a wealthy landowner from Sussex, a local squire and his lady, a friend of Honoria’s, her brother, the vicar, and others in the neighbourhood. All were curious about Robert and intrigued at the rumour of Honoria’s betrothal. Mrs Wilshaw had only hinted at this, being far too astute to count her matrimonial chickens at this stage, but by the end of dinner both Honoria and her mama were determined that Robert should be brought up to scratch before he returned to London. Perhaps, thought Mrs Wilshaw fondly, dear Honoria’s engagement would be announced publicly at the wedding of his elder brother. She was looking forward with ill-concealed impatience to planning the wedding of her only daughter. True, Robert Gascoine was a younger son, but he belonged to an illustrious family. With the money that Mr Wilshaw heaped on them and Robert Gascoine’s background, it was obvious that it meant success for the couple.
By the time she retired to bed, she was well pleased with the progress between the young couple. Honoria had been in her best looks, beautiful and elegant as ever. She had entertained very prettily and Robert had played the pianoforte to accompany her singing. He was all that was handsome and charming and Mrs Wilshaw was delighted at the prospect of welcoming him as a son-in-law.
As she creamed her face and donned her lace nightcap before bed, she thought complacently that perhaps tomorrow, if the young couple had some time to themselves, Robert could be persuaded to make dear Honoria an offer. She said nothing of this to Mr Wilshaw – indeed, she never had anything whatsoever to say to him on any subject under the sun, apart from the money it would cost to see dear Honoria wed into a high-ranking family, or the fact that they would need another servant if they were going to move in exalted circles. Mr Wilshaw was not treated to these topics tonight. He was rarely allowed in Mrs Wilshaw’s bedchamber and only then on sufferance. His husbandly duties were performed strictly in the dark, as speedily as possible and with no response or encouragement from his wife. She tolerated this need in men for sexual activity, but she found it so utterly repulsive that she ensured it occurred as infrequently as possible.
She had hinted delicately to Honoria as the girl was growing up that all men were beasts, but women must be noble and acquiesce in this beastliness if they were to achieve the status of matrimony and fit in with what society expected of them.
But tonight her thoughts were focused on the more romantic aspects of Honoria’s development. The wedding gown. The venue. The attendants. The reception. All the thousand and one things she was determined would go towards making the ceremony a successful occasion for her only daughter.
She had taken the opportunity to whisper to Honoria that Robert seemed to enjoy reading and had expressed a desire to explore Mr Wilshaw’s library after breakfast the next day.
‘Your papa is more than willing, my love, if Mr Gascoine wishes to pay his addresses. I think you may safely expedite matters if you yourself were to be in the library when Mr Gascoine avails himself of Papa’s invitation. It is usually quiet at that time and a gentleman who is rather bashful about his courtship might feel more comfortable if he were sure of not being interrupted.’
There was a short pause and then her mother said carefully, ‘Gentlemen sometimes need a little encouragement from a lady and may like to attempt a kiss or an embrace at a time like this. Of course, I trust you not to do anything improper, Honoria, but you may allow a chaste embrace if Mr Gascoine asks you to marry him. I expect you will find such attentions unwelcome, repugnant even – that is quite natural. But remember, you must not reveal your feelings by word or deed. A lady must always do her duty, as I do myself. You would wish Mr Gascoine to think that you will make a dutiful wife, Honoria. That is important if you are to make a good marriage.’
‘Yes, Mama. I shall take heed of what you say.’
‘Good night then, my dear.’
‘Good night, Mama.’
Next morning, Honoria breakfasted early in her room and was ready in a gown of yellow silk and matching reticule and simple gold and pearl jewellery, well before Robert had finished his breakfast.
When he entered the library, she was carefully posed on the window seat. She was pretending to read one of Papa’s books. Her lovely profile was turned to the ancient mullioned window and the morning sunlight lit up her glossy ringlets.
He had to admit she made an attractive picture. Her face was lovely but it was not Elizabeth’s face. Her figure was feminine and statuesque but it was not Elizabeth’s figure. He wondered briefly if her mama had suggested this opportunity for a little discussion of their mutual desires. But as he strode across the room in order to examine her father’s books, he decided it didn’t matter. He had no intention of proposing to Honoria, whatever her mama’s expectations.
She stood up, expressing a pretence of surprise. ‘Why, Mr Gascoine!’ she simpered. ‘You have caught me at my favourite indulgence, reading one of Papa’s books. This is a nice surprise though. Do you enjoy poetry?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said briefly. He was determined to make his escape as gracefully as possible. Without warning, Honoria placed a white hand on his arm and smiled winningly at him.
‘Robert, this is an unexpected pleasure for me.’
It was the first time she had used his Christian name, and he was aware she had moved even closer to him, gazing at him all the while, her beautiful shapely brows raised a little. She was so close to him that he could see the fine silky down on her upper lip, common in ladies as dark as Honoria. She raised her lovely face to his and he stepped back a little, pointedly avoiding the tilted chin and pouting red lips. He remained utterly still and passive when she attempted to press her lips to his and, becoming aware that she was getting no response, she stopped, puzzled and confused.
It was at that moment the dowdy little vicar bumbled into the room and she sprang away from Robert, utterly humiliated.
The clerical gentleman beamed round and said vaguely, ‘Ah, Honoria, my dear. Mr Gascoine. Good morning. I didn’t know … didn’t expect … I was looking for a commentary on St John’s Gospel…. Sorry to intrude….’
‘Not at all,’ Robert said politely. ‘Pray excuse me, Miss Wilshaw. Excuse me, sir.’ He left the room hurriedly, blessing the fortuitous interruption.
The next morning, Honoria didn’t see Robert because he had gone out before breakfast. He’d expressed a desire to go for an early-morning ride and Mr Wilshaw assured him that the groom and stable lads would be on duty from 5.30 onwards and he would have his pick of a suitable mount from the stables. Mrs Wilshaw was busy with the other guests and there wasn’t an opportunity for Honoria to see her mama and exchange girlish confidences about Robert. In any case, something happened which was to change forever the way she thought about him. Before she had even finished her morning chocolate, Honoria’s maid had brought her a letter from yet another old schoolfriend from Miss Hanbury’s Academy. After reading it, she dispensed with breakfast altogether and, dressing herself in clothes warm enough for the crisp February morning, dismissed her maid and set off to walk down the drive. She knew exactly where she would wait for Robert when he returned from his ride and, if necessary, would wait until lunchtime.
But he appeared after only half an hour. She heard the sound of hooves thudding dully on the grassy walk which led to the drive and she stepped forward confidently to place herself in his path and halt his progress towards the house.
Robert was surprised at her sudden appearance but greeted her pleasantly enough, reining in his horse so as not to alarm her. ‘Honoria. Good morning. Are you out walking so early?’
‘And are you out riding so early sir?’ she asked by way of a reply, so that he was at a loss to know how to deal with her.
She stood before him, appearing at ease and confident, a well-brought-up young lady, perfectly in control, but making no effort to let him pass.
He gave his usual pleasant and disarming smile and said with polite friendliness, ‘And what can I do for you, Miss Wilshaw?’
‘I doubt if there’s anything, sir,’ she said bitterly. ‘Sir Frederick Gascoine has confided to Jack Richards, the brother of my old schoolfriend, that you are so enslaved with that common little Irish trash who is servant to your mama that you cannot keep your hands off her. I gather that half the county set observed your behaviour at the Roslaine Assembly Rooms.’
Robert went first red with anger and then pale with loathing for this woman his mother wished to become his wife.
‘My God, Honoria. How dare you speak of Miss Baines like that? It is the language of the gutter, quite unworthy of a lady in your position.’
Angrily, he turned his horse’s head and tried to get past her, but she took his bridle in one elegantly gloved hand. ‘Don’t go, Robert. As far as I’m concerned, knowing Amelia’s love of mischief making, I wouldn’t consider such a tale worthy of any note. Providing, of course, that Elizabeth Baines is got rid of, I would still be willing to marry you.’
She raised her chin and glared haughtily at him and Robert was suddenly angrier than he’d ever been in his life. Much angrier than he’d ever been with his foolish and wayward brother. Almost angry enough to strike the woman who stood in front of him and who still stared so sneeringly at him. How dare she refer to the tall, beautiful Elizabeth as ‘little Irish trash’? He gave Honoria an icy stare and unceremoniously brushed her hand off the horse’s reins.
‘Miss Wilshaw,’ he said coldly, ‘I don’t recollect that I have ever made you an offer, so you’ll have no occasion to either accept or refuse it.’
He rode past her up to the house, uncivilly leaving her to find her own way back on foot.
Why couldn’t it have been his lovely Elizabeth who had been waiting for him like that? He would have taken her up in front of him, held her in his arms, pressed his lips to hers, begged her to marry him.
Unconsciously, he quickened his pace, and when he reached the stables he threw the reins to Job and ran upstairs to snarl at his valet that they were leaving and to pack immediately.
Honoria went at once to seek her mama and tell her all about it. At the end of her tearful tale, Mrs Wilshaw’s reaction was one of contemptuous anger. ‘And where is Mr Gascoine now?’
‘He is preparing to depart, Mama. He has requested that his valet starts the packing … and the groom … the groom is harnessing the horses.’
‘This is unforgivable. Utterly unforgivable. Outrageous,’ Mrs Wilshaw hissed. ‘Furthemore,’ she declared, ‘if you show the least inclination to accept an offer from Robert Gascoine after this, your father and I will disown you.’