Honoria Or The Safety 0f The Frying Pan Read online

  “You mean I should be more like Honoria.”

  “It would not be such a bad idea,” her mother agreed; she seemed to have come down from the boughs at the same moment as her daughter flew into them; perhaps there was only room for one in that particular tree.

  “Well, I am not like her and, more to the point, I do not have her fortune. I am persuaded you will find it quite a piece of work to be shot of me.” Helen said this with bitter satisfaction, guessing that her mother would not be at all happy if she was to find herself obliged to search for a gentleman to take an ageing and disagreeable daughter off her hands in a few years’ time.

  “It is all a long way in the future; you are barely nineteen,” Honoria pointed out. “Do you really wish to be married so soon?”

  “It would be better than being obliged to watch you being primped and prettified and held up as an example. I haven’t had a new dress for years.”

  “You are not alone in that: all those discarded gowns are as old as the hills – and most of them no longer fit. Your turn will come and I will try to remove myself one way or another before you have reached your dotage.”

  Honoria took her cousin’s arm and drew her from the room, saying in a low voice, “How would you like it if we asked Frank to accompany us to the assembly rooms in Tunbridge Wells? There will be any number of gentlemen there.”

  “That would be an excellent notion,” Helen agreed, not much mollified. “But I cannot conceive it likely that Mama will consent to us going anywhere so full of gentlemen on the lookout for wives.”

  “She might if Frank were to suggest it.”

  “I suppose so but she will insist on coming with us.”

  “Yes, of course she will – and it would look very odd if we were to go alone with Frank. But even he cannot dance with us both at the same time so we are almost bound to meet some other gentlemen.”

  “Oh, why did we never think of that before?” Helen asked, brightening. “If he mentions it as soon as he gets here, when she is still elated, she might – do you truly think she might – consent? On which days are they open? Do you know?”

  “I have not the least idea, but we can no doubt find out.”

  Frank arrived as they were finishing nuncheon. He burst into the room, still in his riding dress, and enfolded each of the women in turn in an enthusiastic embrace; his father was not present.

  Lady Charles managed to hide her joy beneath a complaint that he had brought quantities of mud into the house.

  He laughed. “I rather thought you would ring a peal over me if I appeared in all my dirt,” he admitted. “But I was afraid that, if I did not, you would complain that I had delayed greeting you. I will go upstairs now.”

  “Have you ridden?” she asked, a little shocked.

  “Yes. I do not see how else, even in one of our chaises, I could have become quite so mired. Pray do not allow Belton to clear that away before I’ve had a chance to eat something,” he added, his eye resting upon the remains of the nuncheon.

  “Have you not eaten?” his mother asked, wisely refusing to be drawn on the subject of the condition of the family carriages.

  “Not since breakfast - which was an aeon ago. I shall not be above fifteen minutes.”

  “He is looking sadly fatigued,” his mother said, her eyes following him as he left the room.

  “I daresay he has been burning the candle at both ends,” Honoria suggested.

  “Oh, I do hope he is not becoming dissipated,” her aunt cried, a new anxiety beginning to beset her.

  “Well at least he has not become a tulip of fashion if he thinks he will be able to change his attire in fifteen minutes,” Honoria pointed out.

  The three women sat on over their nuncheon until Frank reappeared, his mud-spattered buckskins exchanged for a pair of buff pantaloons, a clean white shirt and a plain blue superfine coat. He had changed his riding boots for a pair of Hessians. He was a handsome young man of above average height with a slender, graceful figure and burnished hair. His eyes were blue, his nose straight and his mouth so charmingly curved that he seemed always about to break into a smile.

  The three women all sat up a little straighter when he came in, even his sister affected by the energy which he brought with him.

  “Oh, that is better!” Lady Charles exclaimed, now all smiles. “I had thought that you looked quite dreadfully fatigued when you first came in.”

  “I was - indeed I am. I have ridden a long way and it is damnably cold out there.”

  “I hope you have not been staying up too late and working too hard,” she said.

  “You need not fear that – at least you need not fear the latter!” he replied, sitting down and helping himself to several slices of cold beef.

  As they all continued to stare at him without speaking, and even his mother ceased her barrage of questions while he ate, he laid down his knife and fork and asked, “Are you all determined to watch me chew my food? You make me feel like a scientific exhibition. Sis – have you nothing to say?”

  “I do not suppose that you will like to hear how many slippers I have embroidered or reticules I have fashioned since you were last here,” Helen replied. “There is nothing to report since our sole occupation is to talk of fashions which neither of us possesses, new hairstyles which nobody is capable of giving us and the vagaries of the weather. Why do you not tell us rather what you have been doing?”

  “No, I should say not; but I doubt Mama would be happy if I began to tell you what I have been doing – apart of course from keeping my nose in my books.”

  He abandoned his sister, from whom he had learned to expect little in the way of wit and less in the way of cheerfulness, and turned to Honoria. “What have you been doing?”

  “Precisely the same as Helen; after all, we spend almost every minute of every day together. I have on occasion been engaged in embroidering handkerchiefs while she has been occupied with slippers but there is nothing to report in which you would be in the least interested. She has, however, omitted to mention a couple of activities on which we have been employed: assiduously practising our music – although not to any great improvement, I am sorry to report - and sketching each other in myriad different poses. We ride every day and, when it grows dark – which is, of course, exceedingly early at the moment - we take great pleasure in reading novels.”

  “It sounds excessively dull to me.”

  “The novels are not dull at all. I mentioned them last because I have always a sneaking feeling of guilt about reading them; no one could claim that there is anything in the least improving about them, but they give me – and I believe Helen too – enormous pleasure. All sorts of excessively dramatic and frightening things take place until the heroine, after undergoing the most dreadful tribulations at the hands of a wicked person – usually a man - is eventually rescued by the hero in the very nick of time. But in the end order is restored, the wicked person done away with in one way or another and the hero and heroine engaged to be married. The book generally stops before the nuptials but we know they are to take place – and of course we must assume that the couple will live happily ever after.”

  “Is that where the story ends – before the marriage? I should say it’s excessively unrealistic because in real life people don’t cease to exist as soon as they are married.”

  “Of course they do not – and neither do the heroines and their heroes; it is just that the reader is no longer privy to the vicissitudes of their lives.”

  “Because marriage is so dull?”

  “Possibly, but I think it is because it would be excessively tedious to read about a life of connubial contentment. Most people want to read about the characters being unhappy and finding their way, usually through a combination of luck and resourcefulness, to joy. It would be too bad to blight such optimism with an additional chapter detailing the disappointment one or the other – or perhaps both - suffers at how it all turns out.”

  “I see; it sounds absurd to me. W
ould you like that sort of thing to happen to you? Life is not really like that at all, you know. Most people are never kidnapped or murdered or locked up in towers or anything of that sort.”

  “No; are we not lucky to live in such a safe place where there are not even any earthquakes and few really serious storms?” Honoria did not sound as though she considered this to be a stroke of luck so much as yet another piece of evidence to prove how dull her life was.

  “Indeed. But, you know, it sounds to me as though you are living your life at second-hand. Is there nothing which you fear or nothing to which you look forward?”

  “I do not think there is much that I fear although the other day, when Blossom bolted, I was afraid. I thought I would fall off and crack my head open and die. I cannot tell you what a relief it was when she simply dropped me in a puddle. And I have been looking forward to you coming home ever since you left.”

  Frank looked pleased at this final comment although there had been no noticeable diminution in the sarcastic tone with which Honoria had described the way she occupied herself. His fine, smooth skin turned a faintly pinker shade and his curling mouth broke into a real smile, revealing even white teeth.

  “All that time? Eight weeks? Truly? You’re not roasting me, are you?”

  “Of course I am not,” she agreed kindly but could not resist adding, “Although I would not take it as too great a compliment if I were you for we do not lead an exciting life. Have you thought of us while you’ve been away or have you been far too deeply engaged in all the amusements that Oxford has to offer?”

  “I am supposed to be studying,” he pointed out, turning down his mouth with difficulty for the corners would keep curling upwards. “Yes, of course I have thought of you, Honoria. I have compared every girl I have met to you and they have all been vastly inferior, I can tell you.”

  It was Honoria’s turn to blush. “In what way precisely have they been inferior?”

  “Ha!” he exclaimed. “I had not realised you were so vain, little cousin! How are they inferior? In every way: they have not your liveliness – or, if they have, it is excessive, bordering on the hysterical; I have not seen one to rival you in looks – you’ve grown up quite a little beauty, you know; and, no matter how much they fawn upon me and pay me absurd compliments, I do not think I have met one who cares for me half as much as you do.”

  It was not until much later that evening that Helen managed to speak to Frank about a visit to the assembly rooms. She had determined that the approach most likely to be successful involved her persuading him of the advantages of such an outing for himself and then leaving it to him to make the case to their mother. They both knew that Lady Charles was almost as unable to deny Frank as she was to grant Helen anything. Helen, although she felt the unfairness of this keenly, had learned to circumvent her mother’s prohibitions by using Frank as her intermediary.

  Having waited with increasing impatience for a moment when Lady Charles was not monopolising her brother, Helen pounced while her mother was engaged in pouring out the tea and exchanging trivialities with Honoria. Amongst the clattering of the cups, Helen broached the subject close to her heart.

  “Would you enjoy visiting the assembly rooms in Tunbridge Wells one evening?” she asked, not wasting time on a preamble because she knew she would not have long before her mother was settled with her tea, lost interest in Honoria and was again listening avidly to every word Frank uttered.

  “Is that what you want to do?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in a manner that made her long to hit him.

  “Yes, I think it would be entertaining – and Honoria would like it too. Would you not enjoy dancing, Frank? There must be dozens of pretty girls in Tunbridge Wells.”

  “I daresay there are, but there are dozens of pretty girls in Oxford too. I suppose it is the handsome young men in whom you are interested. Mama will not like it if you set up a flirt.”

  “I would merely like to meet some people to whom I am not related,” Helen retorted loftily. “And so would Honoria. We never leave the estate and Mama will not even consider bringing me out until Honoria is married.”

  “Do you suppose that to be imminent?”

  “Mama certainly hopes so.”

  “If you never leave the estate how in the world has Honoria managed to attach someone? Where did she meet him?”

  “She has been keeping her close for you,” she hissed at him, getting up and dragging him with her to stand at the window.

  “For me? She expects me to marry Honoria?” he exclaimed, his face a picture of astonishment.

  “You cannot be unaware of Mama’s plans,” she said, beginning to be exceedingly irritated with him; she wondered if his cheerful, carefree manner in fact concealed an alarming vacuity.

  Frank shrugged and said, “That plan – as well as the one where you were meant to marry Waldron - was made when we were infants; I had no idea that she still held to it nor that she had kept you both in isolation in order to further it – and, frankly, I think you are mistaken. She has never mentioned marriage to me and surely, if her ambition is to marry me to my cousin, it would do no harm to alert me to the fact. She’s a lovely little thing – actually remarkably lovely now that I look at her more closely,” he added, gazing thoughtfully at the damsel in question, “but I own I have never thought of her in the light of an attachment before – let alone a wife. Why, we’ve grown up together and, when I’ve not been away at school or university, tumbled about like brother and sister. But, now you’ve told me what you think Mama intends, I can see there is something to be said for the idea.”

  “Yes; and there is not much time because Honoria will be one and twenty in six months’ time and then she will be free to leave and set up home on her own.”

  “But surely she will not do that? Will Papa permit it?”

  “He will not be able to prevent it and I can promise you that she has every intention of escaping as soon as possible.”

  “Has she said so?”

  “Not in so many words,” Helen admitted for, although she and Honoria spent almost every waking minute in each other’s company and discussed a great many things, including the relative merits of the heroes they read about, they had not touched upon the possibility of Honoria leaving home in six months’ time.

  “Young women do not set up house all by themselves,” Frank opined in a soothing voice, “and Honoria is not particularly independent. She has never struck me as the sort of girl who yearns for adventure. But I find myself entirely in agreement with you that a few new friends and some parties would not go amiss. Now you mention it, it does strike me as odd that Mama has never suggested taking either of you to London for that is certainly the usual thing and, although I suppose there is not a great deal of blunt available, I daresay Honoria would be perfectly prepared to buy her own gowns.”

  “Exactly so. Mama has made it perfectly plain that I will not have a come-out until Honoria is married – and, as she seems determined to prevent her from meeting any gentlemen, I can only assume she means you to have her.”

  “That’s absurd! I own I had not thought of becoming riveted just yet but, unless someone marries Honoria quite soon, she’ll become an ape-leader – and the money would come in useful,” he added with a wry smile which elicited no answering gleam in his sister’s eye.

  “Precisely – and I am not far behind her. Would you like to marry her?” she asked, following the direction of his eyes.

  “I am excessively fond of her but must own I had not thought of her in that light. Would she consider me, do you suppose?”

  “I have not the least idea; I should think she could do a great deal better. Will you persuade Mama to take us to the assembly rooms?”

  “Yes, I think I will. It’s not such a bad notion. It will please everyone, will it not? You and Honoria can find some beaux, Mama will think she is about to get her way if I stand up with Honoria a few times, and I – well, I shall enjoy it too. Leave it to me.” He removed his s
ister’s hand from his arm and made his way back to where Honoria and his mother were sitting.

  “We must find something to do during the vacation,” he said carelessly.

  “I daresay you have brought some books with you to keep up with your studies,” Honoria said primly.

  “Oh, I’ve brought some – at least they are in the travelling chaise, which should arrive tomorrow – but I am not certain there will be time to stick my nose into them. What would you like to do? Shall we pay the assembly rooms a visit? Are they open every day, Mama?”

  “No; only on Fridays. Should you like that, Frank? I did not know that you were keen on dancing.”

  “It depends on who my partner is,” he said softly, his blue gaze moving from his mother’s countenance to his cousin’s.

  “I suppose you will be at liberty to ask anyone to stand up with you,” Honoria said. “You will not be restricted to Helen and me.”

  “I hope you will not be restricted to me,” he said, “because, if you are, how am I to make the acquaintance of any other females?”

  Lady Charles, supposing that this remark was intended to provoke, managed to resist the lure but said, to the astonishment of both young ladies, “Very well; the girls and I will examine our wardrobes and see whether it will be possible to go tomorrow; if not, we will have to leave it until next week.”

  Frank, satisfied that he had achieved at least the first part of his sister’s demand and, no doubt exhausted by his efforts, pleaded fatigue and retired to bed.

  Chapter 3

  Cassandra Morley laid her book down upon the small table at her elbow and sighed. She was excessively bored and had begun to wonder if coming to Vienna, taking a small house on the outskirts of the fashionable area and spending the majority of her time reading, playing the pianoforte and singing sad songs – she found herself unable to perform cheerful ones without her voice cracking in a pitiful manner - and walking in the Prater had been a mistake.