Just Like Heaven (Smythe-Smith Quartet #1)(29)

“It is lovely to meet you,” Mrs. Wetherby continued. “I have heard so much about you.”

Honoria blinked with surprise. “You have?”

Marcus also blinked with surprise. He couldn’t recall ever having mentioned Honoria to anyone, much less his housekeeper.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Wetherby said. “When they were children, of course. I must confess, I still quite thought of you as a young child. But you are quite grown up now, aren’t you?”

Honoria smiled and nodded.

“Now, how do you take your tea?” the housekeeper asked, splashing milk into all three cups after Honoria and Miss Royle gave her their preferences.

“It has been much too long since I have seen Master Daniel,” she continued, lifting the pot to pour. “He is a bit of a rascal, but I do like him. Is he well?”

There was an awkward silence, and Honoria looked to Marcus for aid. He immediately cleared his throat and said, “I must not have told you, Mrs. Wetherby. Lord Winstead has been out of the country for several years.” He would tell her the rest of the story later, but not in front of Honoria and her friend.

“I see,” she said, correctly interpreting the silence as a cue not to pursue the subject. She cleared her throat a few times, then handed the first cup and saucer to Honoria. “And one for you, too,” she murmured, handing the second set to Miss Royle.

They both thanked her, and she stood to hand Marcus his cup. But then she turned to Honoria. “You will make sure he drinks all of it, won’t you?”

Honoria grinned. “Absolutely.”

Mrs. Wetherby leaned down and loudly whispered, “Gentlemen make terrible patients.”

“I heard that,” Marcus remarked.

His housekeeper gave him a sly look. “You were meant to.” And with that she curtsied and left the room.

The rest of the visit passed without incident. They drank their tea (two cups for Marcus, at Honoria’s insistence), ate their biscuits, and chatted about various niceties until Marcus started coughing again, this time with such duration that Honoria insisted that he go back to bed.

“It is time we left anyway,” she said, standing with Miss Royle. “I am sure Mrs. Royle will be eager for our return.”

Marcus nodded and smiled his thanks when they insisted he did not stand on their account. He really was feeling dreadful, and he suspected that he might have to swallow his pride and ask to be carried back up to his room.

After the two ladies left, of course.

He stifled a groan. He hated being sick.

Once in the carriage, Honoria allowed herself to sit back and relax. Marcus looked ill, but it was nothing that a week of rest and broth would not cure. But her moment of peace was brought abruptly short when Cecily announced, “One month.”

Honoria looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

“That is my prediction.” Cecily held up her index finger, twirled it in a little circle, then snapped it straight. “One month before Lord Chatteris proposes.”

“To whom?” Honoria asked, trying to hide her shock. Marcus had not shown any marked preference for Cecily, and more to the point, it was unlike her to be so boastful.

“To you, you ninny.”

Honoria nearly choked on her own tongue. “Oh,” she said, with great feeling. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh, no.”

Cecily smirked.

“No, no.” Honoria might have been rendered a monosyllabic idiot, but she was a vocal monosyllabic idiot. “No,” she said again. “Oh, no.”

“I’d even be willing to make a wager,” Cecily said archly. “You will be married by the end of the season.”

“I hope so,” Honoria said, finally finding her vocabulary, “but it won’t be to Lord Chatteris.”

“Oh, so it’s Lord Chatteris now, is it? Don’t think I didn’t notice that you called him by his given name the entire time we were there.”

“That’s how he is known to me,” Honoria protested. “I’ve known him since I was six.”

“Be that as it may, the two of you were . . . Oh, how do I say it?” Cecily pursed her lips and glanced up toward the roof of the carriage. “Acting like you were already married, perhaps?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I speak the truth,” Cecily said, looking extremely pleased with herself. She chuckled. “Wait until I tell the others.”

Honoria very nearly leapt across the carriage. “Don’t you dare!”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“Please, Cecily, I assure you, there is no love between Lord Chatteris and me, and I promise you, we will never be wed. Spreading rumors will do nothing but make my life miserable.”

Cecily cocked her head to the side. “No love?”

“Now you’re twisting my words. Of course I care for him. He was like a brother to me.”

“Very well,” Cecily acceded. “I won’t say anything.”

“Th—”

“Until you are betrothed. And then I shall shout it to anyone who will listen: I predicted this!”

Honoria didn’t even bother to respond. There would be no betrothal, and thus no shouting of anything. But what she did not realize until later was that for the first time she had said that Marcus was like a brother to her.