Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Nine

L ate the next afternoon, travel-weary and ready for the carriage to stop moving, Thomas was more than relieved to turn down the long tree-lined driveway that led to Knowlton’s Keep. Honoria, who sat next to him with her head pillowed on his shoulder, had fallen asleep immediately after their last stop to change horses.

He’d been loathe to awaken her until now, although her close proximity had resulted in more than a little discomfort in his breeches. Still, rather than disturb her with a move to the side of the carriage, he’d persevered, actually enjoying her warm body pressed against his. Thoughts of when they would be even more intimate had both satisfied and tormented him. Now they were home, he gently shook her arm.

“Humm?” The sleepy sound from his wife was followed by the raising of her head and a slight stretch. “Are we there?”

“Indeed, we are, my dear.” Thomas peered through the carriage window and pointed. “Just there, through the trees, you can see the Keep.”

Rapt, Honoria pressed her forehead to the glass pane. The carriage cleared the cluster of old oaks and horse chestnut trees, emerged into the sunshine, and rolled alongside the landscaped lawn. “Oh, my goodness!”

Knowlton’s Keep was an impressive sight. The medieval castle had stood on this site since just after William the Conqueror had granted the thousand acres to Thomas’s ancestor, a French knight who had served him well in the conquest. The central, circular tower was flanked on either side by square towers, all made of sandstone from a local quarry. Rising to a height of more than forty feet, the keep commanded an impressive view of the surrounding countryside.

“Not the most romantic-looking castle, I grant you.” Thomas chuckled. “I always fancied there should be a moat. As a young boy, I often asked my father why he didn’t dig one.”

“And what did he reply?” Honoria turned to look at him, a slight smile on her lips.

That smile made him hungry.

“He said I was welcome to try to dig one, and if I was successful, he’d have it filled with water and stocked with carp.”

“And did you try?” His wife’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

Thomas chuckled, remembering that conversation and the aftermath. “I most certainly did. I dug a deep trench almost a quarter of the way around the Keep that summer.” He’d been so proud of his accomplishment. “Then the rains came and turned my masterpiece of engineering into a quagmire.”

“Oh, no!” Honoria laughed, her cheeks pinkening.

Thomas swallowed hard. The woman he’d married had turned out to be quite the temptress, all unaware.

“What did you do?”

He shrugged and managed to keep his gaze from straying from her face down to her ample breasts. “I valiantly continued to dig, thinking if I could complete the moat the rain would fill it for me.” His lips puckered in a rueful smile. “However, when I went into the house, plastered from head to toe with sticky mud, my mother put her foot down and forbade me from digging ever again. When the rains stopped, my father instructed the gardeners to fill the trench back in. And that was the end of my efforts to turn the Keep into a fortified castle.”

Honoria giggled, a sweet sound that made his heart beat faster. “I can just see you, covered in mud, digging away determinedly. You are very determined still.” She cocked her head. “Did you ever consider digging the moat once you inherited the castle?”

With a smile, Thomas shook his head. “By that time, I understood that such an undertaking was unnecessary. No one would be besieging the Keep, so the expense would be wasteful.” He sighed. “Still, it would have been very romantic, don’t you think?”

“I do.” She patted his hand, sending an electric sensation up his arm. “Perhaps we can find another way to give Knowlton’s Keep a romantic air.”

Fortunately, the carriage rolled to a stop and a footman bounded forward to open the door, else Thomas might have done something he’d have regretted later. Instead of seizing his wife and kissing her senseless, he stepped to the ground and handed Honoria out unscathed. Leading her to the line of servants, he managed to calm his heated blood and began the introductions. “My dear, may I present Pearce, my butler.”

“I am glad to meet you, Pearce.” Honoria smiled warmly at the older servant. “Lord Braeton has had only warm praise for you and all of your staff. I am certain we will be in good hands while we are at the Keep.”

The older man smiled broadly, and Thomas heaved a silent sigh of relief. He certainly didn’t want his oldest servant disapproving of his wife. Although who could disapprove of Honoria? The ease with which she greeted Pearce and all the other servants had him relaxing for the first time that day. For some reason, he’d been afraid Honoria, having grown up in the vicarage, hadn’t had the opportunity to learn how to manage servants.

“Thank you, my lady.” Pearce stood a little straighter. “This is the housekeeper, Mrs. Pearce, my wife.”

“My lady.” Mrs. Pearce curtsied. “I hope we are allowed to wish you and his lordship happy.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Pearce.” His wife beamed at the housekeeper. “Lord Braeton and I appreciate the kind wishes. And I hope we can meet first thing tomorrow after breakfast to go over everything pertaining to the running of the Keep. I mustn’t shirk my duties to the estate.”

All Thomas’s half-formed fears about his wife’s abilities melted like sugar in a rainstorm. Honoria was proving to be more of a treasure with each moment that passed.

They continued down the line of servants until they stood directly in front of the wide, oak-planked front doors. Pearce signaled two footmen, who opened them. Seized by a fit of whimsy, Thomas scooped Honoria up into his arms. She shrieked and threw her arms around him, and laughing, he carried her into the Keep.

“Thom—Lord Braeton, what are you doing?” She squealed, clutching his neck.

The sensation of her suspended in his arms—her weight so slight, he continued around in a circle before he could straighten himself out and step over the threshold. “An old custom, my dear.” He came to a stop in the castle entryway under the vaulted arches. “Surely you’ve heard of carrying the bride over the threshold?”

“I have, of course.” She gave him a sideways glance. “It’s a pagan tradition, isn’t it?”

Thomas chuckled and nodded. “Trust a vicar’s daughter to know that bit. But, yes, it comes from the Roman marriage customs. And so is hundreds of years old.” He lowered his voice. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” she whispered back and very slightly snuggled into his arms.

Was his wife warming up to him already? Hope and other things surged through him, and he reluctantly let Honoria slide down to the stone pavement that made up the floor of much of the castle. “There you go, my dear. Our marriage is now official.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Pearce hurried forward and helped them off with their things, and Thomas relaxed again. Once Honoria was settled, he offered his arm. “Would you prefer to see your rooms first and perhaps lie down before dinner, or would you like tea?”

“Can I have both, please?” The plaintive voice as she looped her arm through his went straight to his heart. “I would love tea as much as I wish to see my chamber.”

“I believe that can be easily arranged, my dear. Pearce?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Have tea sent to the solar, please. Lady Braeton and I will take it there.”

“Very good, my lord.”

The butler hurried off, and Thomas led Honoria to the main staircase. “We will tour the entire Keep tomorrow, perhaps, when you are well-rested. It’s quite a lot to take in, even if you are fresh.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” She sighed. “Even though we have only been riding in the carriage, it’s still tiring.” As if to emphasize her words, she leaned more heavily on him. “I will be more than ready to see my new home tomorrow.”

Strangely, that increased pressure on his arm did not incite his baser desires, as he might have expected, but instead fired Thomas’s protective instincts. Of course, Honoria must be tired. Being jostled for hours on end, even in a comfortable carriage, was exhausting. Perhaps she would enjoy dinner in the solar instead of dressing to come down tonight.

They reached the landing for the first floor and he led her down the short corridor to the solar, which had been his bedchamber growing up. He’d moved into the master chamber when he’d become the earl, so the solar had been vacant for some years. He’d written to Pearce immediately to have it freshened and prepared for Honoria. “Here we are, my dear.” He opened the door, and she continued inside, her head turning as she gazed about at her new chamber.

The solar had evolved over time into a much more comfortable accommodation than it had originally been in the medieval period when the castle had been built. Records of the building and furnishing of Knowlton’s Keep had been handed down through the centuries and Thomas had, as a boy, read the journal avidly to see what his chamber had been like in its earliest days. This solar had gone from being extremely austere, with sparse furnishings and a single tapestry, to a luxurious bedchamber, furnished with thick Aubusson carpets, beautiful tapestries, and pieces of fine furniture. A room he was proud to house his wife in, albeit hopefully temporarily. “Do you think you will be comfortable here, my dear?”

As Honoria gazed about at the beautifully decorated chamber that would be hers, she again renewed her vow to be the best of all possible wives to her husband. The chamber boasted luxuries she’d scarcely imagined after her simple life at the vicarage. She’d glimpsed elegant and lavish living while at Lord Danford’s house, but never had she believed she’d enjoy such splendors.

The enormous fireplace produced sufficient heat to ward off the chill of the stone walls, as did the myriad tapestries that lined them. Modern furniture abounded, with a delicate writing desk, toilette table, a chaise positioned before the fire and surrounded by several chairs in the style of Queen Anne that Honoria loved. The only piece of furniture that seemed out of place was the massive four-poster bed, carved from dark, heavy-looking wood, and seemingly large enough for four or more people to sleep in. Would she be comfortable? “Oh, yes, Thomas. I am certain I will be more than comfortable here.”

His face lit with a smile. “I’m glad to hear it. When I was growing up, I found the solar to be very cozy.”

“This was your room then?” Her husband certainly had lived a much different life than she.

“Yes. A tradition for first sons of the family.” He smiled ruefully. “There’s another tradition for first sons I haven’t told you yet. I hope you will not mind.”

“What is it?”

“All first sons of the first son and heir are named Thomas.” He stared at her closely, as if expecting her displeasure.

“What an interesting custom.” She found nothing objectionable about that. The name Thomas was quite ordinary. “Do you know how that came to be?”

Some of her husband’s tension eased, and Thomas motioned her to the chaise while he sat in one of the nearby chairs. “It apparently dates back to the time of my ancestor, the first Thomas Knowlton. He was a knight at the court of King Edward III, who died of the Black Plague in 1348. He’d been in Princess Joanna’s retinue as she was sailing to Spain to marry Prince Pedro. When they arrived in France almost the entire company was decimated by the pestilence.”

“Including your ancestor?” Honoria cocked her head. “But then surely—”

“He was married at the time to one of the ladies in waiting to the princess. That lady survived and bore him a son after his death. She named him Thomas, and the custom simply continued.” Thomas rose and pointed to the oldest tapestry in the castle. “This tapestry dates from the early 14th century, one of the oldest we still have, and currently in poor condition. Can you tell what the subject is?”

Honoria gazed at it for a moment, noting the two central figures dressed in nothing but fig leaves, then nodded. “The garden of Eden?”

“Correct.” Smiling, Thomas stepped back to admire the ancient needlework. “This piece was commissioned for my ancestor by his mother as a wedding present. The faces of Adam and Eve are supposed to be likenesses of him and his wife.”

Eyes widening, Honoria rose to look closer. “My goodness.” She glanced from the tapestry to his face. “You bear more than a passing resemblance to your ancestor.”

“My mother used to say that as well.”

“So, this is the woman who managed to carry on your line?” Honoria peered at the serene face that smiled from the hanging. Fortunate woman to have been the savior of her husband’s family.

“Actually, no. This apparently was his first wife, Katherine Rolfe. His second wife, Alyce de Courcey, was the one who bore his son.” An excitement lit his face. “When I was a boy, I pored over the ancient documents in the library, fascinated by the drama of their story. I must tell you the whole of it sometime. It is quite romantic.”

“I’ll look forward to it, my dear.” Honoria’s smile turned into a yawn. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I must be more tired than I thought.”

“Think nothing of it. I’m sure you need your rest.” He touched her shoulder gently. “Would you prefer to have your dinner brought here tonight? I will understand if you’re not up to dressing and coming down after an arduous day of traveling.”

“What a wonderful idea, Thomas.” What a truly kind man he was. “That would be marvelous and…,” Honoria bit her lip, not wishing to spoil any plan he might have had, “would you still dine with me?”

“If you wish, my dear.” The eagerness in his voice pleased her more than she had expected. “I would like nothing better.”

“Then yes, thank you.” She smiled broadly, happier than she had ever expected to be in this situation. “I will rest until it is time to dine if you don’t mind. Then I will be refreshed enough to be a proper dinner partner for you.”

“Very well, my dear.” He raised her hand and brushed his lips against her skin, raising the hairs all over her body. “I shall go inform Cook of the change in plans.” As he gazed at her, his eyes darkened, and she shivered. “Until dinner then.”

After Thomas left, Honoria rose, drawn again to the tapestry of Adam and Eve that looked so much like her husband. The needlework of the piece was masterful, though the colors had somewhat dimmed with age. And with a closer look, Honoria found many places throughout the work where the stitches had broken or unraveled. She must suggest to her husband that they find someone to repair the damage before it became worse and the piece lost to them.

Honoria stared at the tiny holes that peppered the tapestry. It was not unlike some of the altar cloths she had made and maintained in her father’s church. Gingerly, she touched the fabric. For all its age it still had amazing weight and strength. Could she repair this family treasure as her gesture of gratitude to Thomas for his rescue and care of her? If only she had her sewing box with her. Hopefully, that would arrive with her clothes and other things from Lady Danford before the week was out. Meantime, when she went into Chichester for fabric purchases, she could buy some thread and needles and begin her project.

She meant to show her husband just how much she respected and admired him for his kindnesses to her, today with her needlework and in the coming weeks…perhaps with something else entirely.

Sullen and morose, Lord Danford slouched in his seat at dinner, uncaring if he looked like a ruffian or not. In the three days since he’d last seen Honoria, he’d been unable to discover where she currently resided. Spies he’d sent to Lower Clapham had reported she was not at her father’s vicarage and that the knocker wasn’t on Braeton’s door. If they had indeed married, Braeton could have spirited her off to God knew where and out of Danford’s reach.

Not being able to see her, and with no hope therefore of possessing her, he found himself on the brink of madness. He could think of nothing but her beautiful face and luscious body, the latter writhing in frenzy beneath his. Driven to distraction by his craving for Honoria, his desire had led him nightly to his wife’s bed, where he’d found release, but no satisfaction.

“My dears you will never believe what I have to tell you.” Caroline, Lady Danford leaned toward her sister, Emmaline, Lady Lydney, and their mother who had joined them for dinner.

“Do tell, sister.” Emmaline’s eyes grew larger. She laid her knife and fork down and reached for her wine glass. “I’ve heard nothing diverting for an age.”

“Well, it has to do with Honoria Quinn, who was Mama’s companion until three days ago.” Caroline gave her sister a knowing nod.

Bolting upright, Danford dropped his knife and fork onto his plate. The crash of silverware made the three women jump.

“Danford! Really, you must be more careful.” Caroline glared at him. “You will put my nerves over the edge.”

“What did you say, my dear?” Heart racing, he returned her stare. “You’ve had word from Honoria?”

“Is Honoria returning here?” His mother-in-law perked up for the first time since her wretched little companion had disappeared.

“That she will not.” Caroline scowled at her mother. “Even if she were able to return, I’d not have her in the house after she vanished without so much as a by your leave.”

“She’s not ill, is she?” Mrs. Edwards had been genuinely fond of Honoria.

“Oh, no. She’s in fine fettle, Mama. She’s married.”

“Married?” Emmaline and Mrs. Edwards spoke the word together, in the exact same shocked tone.

Danford clenched his jaw. That cur Braeton had made good on his offer, damn him. While he hadn’t known for certain, Danford had been able to hope that Honoria hadn’t quite slipped from his grasp. Not that her new status would necessarily deter him, but it would make his possession of her more difficult. A husband was always a tricky prospect, but usually they could be got around. And as there was no true feeling between Honoria and Braeton, perhaps it would still not be too difficult at all to seduce her for an afternoon. But he must discover where she was hiding. “Did you receive word from her, my dear? You didn’t tell me.”

“I did have a letter, but not from Honoria. From a Lady Rochdale, who is apparently the sister of Lord Braeton, who has married our Honoria.” Triumph at imparting the startling news gave Caroline’s voice a lighthearted lilt. “I nearly swooned when I read about it this morning.”

“What did it say, my dear? This must be the on-dit of the week.” Eyes big and blue, Emmaline raised her wineglass to her lips.

“Well, Lady Rochdale wrote to beg our pardon for Honoria’s disappearance, but the arrangement had come up so suddenly there had been no time to tell us of her whereabouts.” Caroline frowned again, looking like nothing so much as a gargoyle. “They could have sent a note, surely. To have us so inconvenienced is quite unconscionable. I’ve had to give up my lady’s maid to stay with Mama at night.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s quite tiresome, my dear,” Emmaline looked not one iota put out, “but what about Honoria?”

“Her father had sent a carriage to collect her, but before it arrived at the house, they discovered her in the park. She went with them immediately, back to the vicarage, and she and this Lord Braeton were married the following day.” His wife gazed about the table, her lips pursed. “It sounds like something out of a fairy story if you ask me.”

“I am more interested in why they married so quickly, sister.” Emmaline signaled the footman or more wine. “Do you think she’s breeding?”

Mrs. Edwards turned angry eyes on her daughter. “Emmaline, what a horrible thing to suggest about dear Honoria. She would never do anything so scandalous.”

“Then why would Lord Braeton marry her so unexpectedly, Mama?” His sister-in-law shrugged off the censure. “Unless she’d been no better than she should be.”

“That, dear sister, seems not to be the case.” Caroline sounded piqued that she could not encourage the slander of Honoria’s character. “Lady Rochdale obviously understands that people will wonder at such a grand match for little Miss Quinn and so informed me that there had been an understanding between the two families, based on a prospective inheritance that was to come to Miss Quinn upon the death of a distant relative. That relation apparently died recently, and so Lord Braeton wasted no time in securing Miss Quinn.”

Danford took a long sip of wine, wishing it had been brandy. Braeton had hit upon the one excuse for a hasty marriage that was both unexceptional and would be accepted without a second thought by the ton . No breath of scandal to promote there, more’s the pity. Still, he’d best tread lightly where Braeton and public dishonor were concerned.

But a chance for a private disgrace might still be had if he could just find Honoria. “Are they still here in London, my dear? We should call and wish dear Honoria happy.”

Caroline looked at him aghast. “Call upon Honoria?”

“That is a splendid idea, Danford.” Mrs. Edwards had perked up at the suggestion.

“No, it is not, Mama. Honoria was not kind enough to inform us of her departure, therefore I see no reason to honor her with a visit. Even if we could, for they have left Town according to his sister.”

“Where did they go?” Danford asked lightly, trying to pass the question off nonchalantly.

“She didn’t say exactly, although she intimates they went to Scotland. Something about visiting his properties to the far north.”

Damn. Danford clenched his teeth hard to keep the curse in. He could never follow Honoria so far. And who knew when they might return to London. His wife prattled on as his wonderful fantasy of Honoria crashed about his ears. He reached for his wine, and his attention was drawn to Caroline again.

“So, I must set one of the maids to packing her things. Braeton’s footman will call for her trunk tomorrow.” Caroline spoke in-between bites of the fish course.

Danford’s ears pricked up. Was this the chance he’d been waiting for?

“What an inconvenience, sister.” Emmaline popped a piece of bread and butter into her mouth. “But I suppose you cannot hold her things for ransom just because she displeased you.”

“Braeton is sending a footman for Honoria’s clothing?” Like manna from Heaven, a possible avenue presented itself that could shed light on her whereabouts.

“Yes, tomorrow afternoon the letter said. Lady Rochdale said she’d be most grateful. I wonder if that means we will be invited to her next soiree?” A predatory smile touched Caroline’s lips. “That would be most advantageous for us, don’t you think, sister?”

Their conversation swirled around Danford, who stared at the glass of blood-red wine before him and envisioned Honoria’s face, cheeks pink, mouth open, head flung back in ecstasy as he took her again and again. The mere thought made his groin ache and his member surge against the fabric of his breeches. Yes, he would take this God-given opportunity to find Honoria. Find her and have her at last.