Chapter Thirteen #2
“No, not abhorrent. Irritable, perhaps.” She took a quick glance, but his eyes were set straight ahead. The usual Mr. Stanton she knew how to handle, but this quiet, apologetic man was something quite unfamiliar.
“Do you really want to know why I don’t want to marry? And why I never took up an occupation, unlike all these hardworking people in this neighborhood?” He brought his head up, meeting her gaze.
What was happening?
“If you wish to share, I would be open to listening.” Best not to seem too eager and scare the man off.
He considered her for a moment, his jaw pulled to the side. And then he took a slow breath. “My older brother is not well, Mrs. Gillingham.”
She softened her expression. “I am very sorry to hear that.”
With narrowed eyes, he worked his jaw. Almost as if he thought she was judging him and he felt pressure to defend himself. But why on earth would she judge him simply for having a brother who was unwell?
“I am used to it,” he finally said, breaking the quiet.
“He has not been well since I was a little boy. He became very ill when I was nine. Whatever it was, it almost took his life, but by the grace of God, it didn’t.
” Propping an elbow on his knee, he wiped a hand over his mouth.
“He had never been well. Problems with his breathing,” he added, looking at her for a brief moment.
“But after the illness, it became much worse. And now, his body cannot keep up with the demands of a firstborn.”
Mr. Stanton paused, but Honora was not sure of what to say, so she simply waited.
“So, for my entire life, I have been instructed in the ways of helping my family. Filling in the roles where my brother cannot. And yet, I am still the second son.” He turned to her fully, his eyes dull.
“I had wanted an occupation, Mrs. Gillingham. Just like these hardworking people. But I was told I had a duty to my father and my brother and could not pursue anything. So, no. I do not want to be a man who lies about, not earning his keep. But that is what I have been forced to become. One who complains about having to be on his feet for a simple walk. One who—” He stopped, looking at the ground and swallowing.
“Sorry. My tongue has gotten away from me.”
She tilted her head, trying to pair all of this with what she already knew of him.
“You are judging me, aren’t you?” His brown eyes narrowed, looking at her, but there was a vulnerability lingering on his face, something in the way he held his mouth.
“Why would I judge you?”
“Because it’s not a real problem. I am a spoiled man who just likes to complain.”
She tilted her head. “I would not do you the disservice.”
He watched her, his chest rising and falling as the willow’s leaves became swept up in a light breeze around them.
Then he said the most unexpected thing to her.
“I thank you for saying that.”
A gentle smile lifted her lips. “You are very welcome.”
In that moment, it felt like a truce had been declared. For him to speak so plainly and candidly to her meant he was comfortable enough to share such a personal piece of information. And if he felt that comfortable with her, it meant he did not completely hate her. Progress.
“Ah.” His eyes lifted over her shoulder. “We have visitors.”
“Hm?” She leaned nearer, distracted by his wavy brown hair, still slightly unkempt from his sleep. What she wouldn’t give to run her fingers through it.
“Honora.” Him saying her name caused her to jerk, gaining a bit of clarity in her mind. Why did he have to go and be sweet all of a sudden? They had work to do.
Work.
Visitors.
“Oh!” She looked over her shoulder and saw a man and woman walking arm in arm down the path toward them.
Mr. Stanton sighed. “Yes. Exactly.”
“Are you ready to play a role?” she asked, turning back to him.
“A role?” His brow quirked, and whatever moment of vulnerability he had before quickly vanished.
She stood. “Yes. You are Mr. Birks, and I am your lovely wife.”
“Wait a minute.” He looked up at her. “I told you I would not lie.”
“No.” She waved him up, trying to get him to stand. But the man didn’t budge. “You said you would not break the law. Nothing was said about lying.”
“Well, I’m saying it now.” He stubbornly kept his seat, his eyes wide as he argued with her.
“Stand up,” she hissed, reaching forward and taking his arm.
“No,” he hissed back, wiping her hand away. “You never said I would have to lie.”
“Fine,” she finally snapped, her throat now hoarse from all their ridiculous whispering. “You can be Mr. Gillingham, and I will be Mrs. Gillingham. Will that suffice?”
“No, because I am not Mr. Gillingham.”
Gritting her teeth, she got a good grip on his arm and pulled. “Come on!” But he only relaxed further on the bench, his weight too much for her to do anything other than make his body twist about. “You are such a child,” she gritted out.
“Would you please stop?” he asked, his eyes wild as he grabbed her arm and tried to release himself from her grip.
“Is something wrong?”
The voice caused both of them to freeze, their hands now in some sort of tangled grip.
“Um, no,” Honora called over her shoulder. “I was just helping him.” She glared down at Mr. Stanton. “Why did you come if you weren’t going to play along?”
“They are headed this way,” he said, dutifully ignoring her as he brushed his sleeve.
“If you do not play along, I will be forced to take drastic measures.”
He stubbornly lifted his chin. “You should have warned me.”
Releasing his arm, Honora spun about and smiled at the couple as they walked over. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” The woman who had spoken up seemed to be nearing fifty years old, her hair dark and pinned up in a practical chignon. And the man beside her, presumably her husband, held her close.
“We apologize for the imposition,” the dark-haired woman began, “but I wanted to be sure you are all right.”
“What a sweet thing to do,” she called out, smiling. “But I am quite fine.”
With this, the woman peered over Honora’s shoulder toward where Stanton sat. “And is the gentleman all right?”
“Dear, we really shouldn’t intrude,” the husband said, attempting to whisper into her ear.
She swatted him back. “She is the same age as Jenny. Wouldn’t you wish a stranger to help if she was in trouble?”
Ah. A worried mother. “Oh, no trouble,” Honora said, forcing a smile.
The wife didn’t seem sure, now looking at Leonard with a frown. “Sir, are you all right?”
“Dear,” her husband rasped. “That is quite enough.”
“He is fine,” Honora assured her, not even bothering to look back at Stanton. “He had a bee on his arm, and I was trying to remove him from its proximity. Unfortunately, my husband is quite stubborn and wouldn’t budge.”
The wife’s head jerked back. “How strange.”
“Isn’t it?” Honora sighed. “You could ask him yourself, but he is actually a mute.”
And then a coughing fit ensued behind her. Well, if he wasn’t going to play along, she had to come up with something to keep the man from interfering.
“A mute?” Now the wife had her hands pressed to her chest, her mouth turned down. “How incredibly unfortunate.”
“Yes.” Honora heaved a dramatic sigh. “We manage, but sometimes it can be difficult.” She was doing everything within her power not to laugh, especially since these people could be her ticket to the Fageans’ address. “We are only here because we are visiting our friends, the Fageans.”
“The Fageans?” The husband’s brow scrunched.
“Well, we are supposed to. But our coachman got lost, and we cannot remember their townhouse’s address. So we have been waiting in the park in hopes that someone would point us in their direction.”
The couple exchanged a look, and then the husband turned back to her. “The Fageans have not been in London for nearly six weeks.”
Six weeks? But how could that be possible? Pratt had said he sold—
Pratt.
What a conniving, vile man.
Honora looked back at Stanton, who seemed to be having a similar revelation. But instead of becoming angry as Honora was, he only dipped his head with a sigh.
Realizing the couple was likely waiting for a response, Honora spun back toward them. “How very like them,” she said, laughing and putting a hand to her head. “Always forgetful. They invited us nearly three months ago. I should have known they would have forgotten.”
“I do hope this doesn’t cause trouble for you.” The woman clung to her husband’s arm.
Honora waved a hand. “Not much, anyway. We live not far outside of London and will be home by supper.”
“Oh, very good.” The wife’s chest deflated. “I will be able to sleep easier tonight knowing you are not put out.”
Goodness, this woman was quite gullible, but she was sweet enough that Honora could not find it within herself to hold it against her. “I do thank you for your help. If not for you, we might have been waiting all afternoon.”
“Of course. You two have a lovely day.”
The husband was discreet, but Honora saw his eyes give a slight roll. Apparently he did not wish them a lovely day as his wife did.
“Come, my love,” Honora finally called out. “We should head home.”
Mr. Stanton stood, walking over to her with a glare that could scorch one’s skin. When he was beside her, he offered his arm, then looked directly at the couple. “Much obliged.”
Honora froze, looking at the couple, whose mouths hung open.
Time to go.