She looked out
over the crowd, murmuring, “I wonder if there are any gentlemen
here who might be willing to marry me before Wednesday
Go, go,” she urged. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find some
other poor unsuspecting fool to torture. And yes, before you feel
the need to protest, I did just call you a fool.”
“That, I think, may be the one privilege that consanguinity does
allow.”
She cackled with delight. “You are a prince among nephews,”
she proclaimed.
“Your second favorite,” he murmured.
“You’ll rise to the top of the list if you find a way to destroy her
violin.
It’s a curse, really,” Lady Danbury said. “I’m the only person I
know my age who has perfect hearing.”
“Most would call that a blessing.”
She snorted. “Not with that musicale looming over the horizon.
I suppose. I do hope Charlotte thinks to give her an extra day
off this week.” Lady Winstead gave a little nod, as if agreeing with
herself. “I believe I will go find her right now and make that
suggestion. It is the least we can do. Miss Wynter truly saved the
day.”
Honoria and Iris watched her leave, then Iris said, “I suppose it
depends upon your definition of the word ‘saved.
Honoria nodded and was about to say something utterly
forgettable when she saw that his hand had been bandaged.
“I hope your injury is not severe,” she said politely.
“Oh, this?” he held up his hand. His fingers were free to waggle,
but the rest of it looked rather like a mitt. “It’s nothing. An
altercation with a letter opener.”
“Well, please do be careful of infection,” Honoria said,
somewhat more forcefully than was de rigueur. “If it grows red, or
swollen, or even worse, yellow, then you must see a doctor at
once.”
“Green?” he quipped.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You listed so many colors about which I must be wary.”
For a moment Honoria could only stare. Wound infection was
not a laughing matter.
“Lady Honoria?” he murmured.
She decided to proceed as if he’d said nothing. “Most
importantly, you must watch for reddish streaks spreading from the
wound. Those are the worst.”
He blinked, but if he was startled by the turn of the
conversation, he did not show it. Instead he looked down at his
hand with a curious eye and said, “How red?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How red do the streaks have to be before I must worry?”
“How do you know so much about medicine?” Lady Danbury
cut in.
“Do you know, I’m not sure how red,” Honoria told Mr.
Bridgerton. “I would think anything stripey ought to be a cause for
alarm.
Let me try,” he said, and he took the ends and positioned
himself in front of her mirror.
She watched him for about two seconds before declaring,
“You’re going to have to go home.”
His eyes did not leave the reflection of his neckcloth in the
mirror. “I haven’t even got past the first knot.”
“And you’re not going to.”
He gave her a supercilious look, brow quirked and all.
“You’re never going to get it right,” she pronounced. “I must
say, between this and your boots, I am revising my opinion on the
impracticalities of couture, male versus female.”
“Really?”
Her gaze dropped to his boots, polished to a perfect shine. “No
one has ever had to take a knife to my footwear.”
“I wear nothing that buttons up the back,” he countered.
“True, but I may choose a dress that buttons in the front,
whereas you cannot go out and about without a neckcloth.
I had the pleasure of dining with your
brother.”
“Gregory? Really? You’d classify it as a pleasure?” But he was
grinning as he said it, and Honoria could instantly picture what life
must be like in the Bridgerton household: a great deal of teasing and
a great deal of love.
“He was most gracious to me,” she said with a smile.
“Shall I tell you a secret?” Mr. Bridgerton murmured, and
Honoria decided that in his case, it was right and proper to listen to
gossip—he was an incredible flirt.
“Must I keep the secret?” she asked, leaning forward ever-soslightly.
“Definitely not.”
She gave him a sunny smile. “Then yes, please.”
Mr. Bridgerton leaned in, just about as far as she had done. “He
has been known to catapult peas across the supper table.”
Honoria gave him a very somber nod. “Has he done this
recently?”
“Not too recently, no.”
She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. It was lovely
to witness this type of sibling teasing. There used to be so much of it
in her home, although most of the time she’d been but a witness.
She was so much younger than the rest of her siblings; in all
honesty, most of the time they’d probably just forgotten to tease
her.
“I have but one question, Mr. Bridgerton.”
He cocked his head.
“How was this catapult constructed?”
He grinned. “Simple spoon, Lady Honoria. But in Gregory’s
devious hands, there was nothing simple about it.
Iris was interrupted by a resounding crash. Or not exactly a
crash. More like a splintering sound. With a few pops. And twangs.
“What was that?” Iris asked.
“I don’t know.” Honoria craned her neck. “It sounded like—”
“Oh, Honoria!” they heard Daisy shriek. “Your violin!”
“What?” Honoria walked slowly toward the commotion, not
quite able to put two and two together.
“Oh, my heavens,” Iris said abruptly, her hand coming to her
mouth. She lay a restraining hand on Honoria, as if to say—It’s
better if you don’t look.
“What is going on? I—” Honoria’s jaw went slack.
“Lady Honoria!” Lady Danbury barked. “So sorry about your
violin.”
Honoria only blinked, staring down at the mangled remains of
her instrument. “What? How . . . ?”
Lady Danbury shook her head with what Honoria suspected
was exaggerated regret. “I have no idea. The cane, you know. I
must have knocked it off the table.”
Honoria felt her mouth opening and closing, but no sound was
emerging. Her violin didn’t look as if it had been knocked off a
table. Honestly, Honoria was at a loss as to how it could have got
into such a state. It was absolutely wrecked. Every string had
snapped, pieces of wood were completely detached, and the chin
rest was nowhere to be seen.
Clearly, it had been trampled by an elephant.
The girl doesn’t need a violin,” he added. “She needs to have
her hands bound so she can never touch an instrument again.
Leaning forward, he set out to conquer Miss Henrietta Barrett the same way he'd conquered women across Britain.
Simply by being himself.
Tag: dunford
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