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to a handsome woman before a bloody audience, and all because he’d preferred to admire her delectable décolletage than his own damn hand.
    He couldn’t begin to imagine what Miss Cabot was about today, but he had every intention of being at the tea shop this afternoon. It was a daring move for her to conspire to meet him, alone. Away from prying eyes.
    That was not an invitation a man of any stripe would turn down, and George Easton least of all.

CHAPTER FOUR
    H ONOR DRESSED CAREFULLY for her meeting with Mr. Easton. It would not do to give him the wrong impression, as she was walking on treacherous ground as it was. She remembered how he’d looked at her in Southwark, his gaze penetrating and boldly moving over her.
    She needed something demure. Reserved. She chose white muslin with a high neckline, trimmed in green, and topped it with a dark green spencer. She donned a bonnet with matching trim, and dark green gloves.
    Honor studied herself critically in the mirror above her vanity. It would do—no one would suspect she had gone to Gunter’s for anything more than a cup of tea or an ice. Certainly not to meet a gentleman alone, unchaperoned. “Certainly not,” she muttered and smiled at her reflection.
    But her smile looked forced. As if her lips knew how dreadful she was behaving.
    She dropped a few coins in the beaded reticule Prudence had made her, then made her way downstairs, taking care to avoid any place that Grace might be. She asked the Beckington butler, Mr. Hardy, to bring round the coach. As she stood waiting in the foyer, Augustine walked through the door.
    “Honor!” he said, surprised to see her there. “Are you going out?”
    “To tea,” she said breezily, hoping she didn’t appear as nervous as she felt. “Shall I see you at supper?”
    “Supper? No, no, afraid not.” He handed his hat to Hardy and added proudly, “I’m to dine with Miss Hargrove and her parents this evening.” He glanced back at Hardy and whispered loudly, “Shall I tell you a secret?”
    “Why, yes! I adore secrets.”
    Augustine yanked at his waistcoat where it had inched up over his belly. His brown eyes were shining, his smile irrepressible. “I’ve not told anyone, but Papa agrees with me that Miss Hargrove and I should marry this spring.”
    Honor’s heart hitched. She’d believed there would be no possibility for Augustine’s marriage to occur before the earl’s death. “This spring?”
    “Yes, isn’t it marvelous? When I explained to Papa that Miss Hargrove is anxious to be wed—and so am I, naturally—Papa reasoned that he could very well linger for months, and that there was no point in putting it off indefinitely. I rather think he’d like to see me wed before...the, ah...inevitable.”
    Honor tried to hide her shock behind a bright, happy smile.
    “I should very much like to announce a date at our annual affair at Longmeadow,” he added happily.
    The Beckingtons hosted a country-house gathering at the earl’s seat of Longmeadow before the opening of Parliament each year. The stately Georgian home had thirty guest rooms, and at least one hundred guests attended every spring.
    “What better time and place?” Augustine happily continued.
    “What better?” Honor echoed, her mind suddenly whirling. The Longmeadow soiree was a mere three weeks away.
    “Monica is a bit anxious. I have counseled her she should not fret so, that my sisters have always been quite welcoming.” He looked pointedly at Honor.
    “ Particularly to dear friends, I should like to think,” Honor said. And she would like to think that precluded Monica, but there was no need to confuse the issue at the moment.
    Augustine glanced slyly at Hardy, then leaned closer to Honor and whispered, “I think she feels as if the four of you might all see her as an intrusion into our happy family. I assured her nothing could be further from the truth. She was eased when I said so and reminded me that in any event, you will all have