Chapter 5 #2
“Mr. Ford is scheduled to arrive today,” Burwood said. “Miles, you might be interested in speaking with him. Since he was close to our Uncle Gyles, he would have more information about your father.”
Colin had met the man at Honoria and Drake’s son, Henry’s, christening the year before.
In his sixties, Mr. Reginald Ford—or Reggie as he insisted—had an exceptional sense of humor and an unassuming personality, the combination of which never failed to take everyone off guard when he cracked a joke.
Colin liked the soft-spoken man, but something bittersweet—as if he were missing his other half—shone in his eyes as he watched Honoria and Burwood.
Colin understood that feeling well, and at times it became nearly unbearable to be around happy couples.
Bereft as Margery’s death had left him, shame rose that it wasn’t because losing her had left him half the man he was.
No. It was because he’d never experienced such a soul-deep connection.
He’d always hoped that, given time, they would develop such a bond, but her illness and death had stolen that hope away until he’d given up on the notion entirely.
The scent of sweet pea drifted in from behind him, and Colin turned to find the Nymph of Nuisance.
She shot a glare his way, then made her way to the sideboard. Dressed in a riding habit of muted blue, she looked . . . lovely.
“Are there more sausages?” Miss Weatherby held up the one rather small sausage he had left on the serving tray.
Colin choked on his tea. He dabbed his lips with his serviette, then lifted his plate toward her. “You may have two of mine.”
The minx approached and gazed down at his plate piled high with eight sausages. “Did you poison them?”
Andrew Weatherby’s cup dropped to his saucer with a clink. “Anne! What a rude question. Apologize to Lord Manning.”
“Forgive me.” The words were flat and without a speck of sincere regret.
Colin shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
But as he began to place the plate back on the table before him, she snatched two of the plumpest sausages and deposited them on her own plate. “Should have known you couldn’t take a joke,” she muttered.
Appetite vanished, Colin rose. “If you would all excuse me.”
Barely out of the breakfast room and away from Miss Weatherby, Colin turned at Honoria’s voice.
“Colin, a moment, please.” She pulled him aside. “About Miss Weatherby.”
He should have known. His sister hated conflict of any type. He rolled a hand for her to continue.
“Be on your guard during your ride today.”
“Any reason in particular?” He paused, remembering their dinner conversation the night before. “You were going to tell me more about this fall of Miss Weatherby’s.”
“Yes. Four years ago, during Drake’s house party, Anne tried to jump some fallen trees and was thrown when Buttercup balked.”
“That horse of yours has a stubborn streak.”
Honoria waved it off. “Buttercup is a lamb with the right touch. It was Anne’s stubborn pride thinking she could manage the jump sidesaddle, despite the fact it was difficult even for Drake.”
Somehow, that didn’t surprise him.
“So, you’re concerned she might try something foolish today?”
“Well, not exactly, although there is that possibility. But I never told you about the events which transpired after Anne’s fall.”
Colin shifted. From the expression on his sister’s face, he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say.
“She was unconscious for almost a day. We all worried she might . . .”
Colin took Honoria’s hand. “You don’t have to say it.” In truth, he didn’t want to hear the word die uttered either.
“Drake felt responsible. He believed he should have insisted Anne ride another horse, or in some way stopped her. It ate at him, Colin. And Anne . . . well, Anne read more into his concern and presumed he had formed an attachment.”
Oh, Christ. “And Drake didn’t refute that presumption?”
“No. He would have married her, Colin.” Tears welled in Honoria’s eyes at the memory. “Even as my heart was breaking, I would have understood. But oh, my poor Drake.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Honoria wiped her eyes. “There was no need. Anne realized Drake’s affection for me and released him.
Besides, Margery was so ill, I didn’t want to add to your burden for something that was moot.
But I fear it’s a huge source of embarrassment for dear Anne, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t press her further. ”
So like Honoria. Worried about everyone else.
And Burwood! Colin wanted to march back in the breakfast room, shake him, and say, “What were you thinking?” But Honoria had a point, and thank goodness the faerie sprite saw past her own nose and let the man go—regardless of her embarrassment over her own misconceptions.
“I know you don’t like her—”
“I don’t dislike her.” He only found her annoying—and difficult to get out of his mind.
“She can be quite outspoken; it’s true. But she means well.”
Colin grunted again. At his sister! “Forgive me, Honoria, but Miss Weatherby appears to be a scatterbrained simpleton. And perhaps you should be having this conversation with Grey. He will be Miss Weatherby’s riding companion.
It is he who will be responsible for her, not I.
I intend to enjoy my ride with Lady Miranda, who seems a most level-headed woman, and who will not be taking unnecessary risks. ”
Muscles in his neck tightened at his sister’s pursed lips. “Surely, you approve of Lady Miranda. Her father is an earl, and she is well-bred and well-mannered.”
“I don’t dispute that, but you speak of her as if she’s a horse, Colin. Is there at least a spark of attraction?”
He exhaled a heavy sigh. Women and their ridiculous need for love. “My marriage was arranged, and Margery and I respected each other. It was a good marriage.”
Resting her hand on his arm, her gaze softening, Honoria stared up at him. “It was. And I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t love Margery. But I don’t want you to settle.”
“It’s a ride, Honoria. Nothing more. I’d like to get to know Lady Miranda. Isn’t that why you invited me to this infernal house party? To start living again? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go speak with the stablemaster and choose which horse I want to ride.”
He tried to convince himself he wasn’t stomping away, but his step lightened at Honoria’s words. “Ask for Major; he’s Drake’s horse.”