“If you marry . . ."
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Iris nearly snapped. “Don’t think it did not cross my mind last year. I almost accepted Lord Venable just to get out of having to join the quartet."
Honoria winced. Lord Venable was old enough to be their grandfather. And then some.
“Just please don’t disappear again,” Iris said, the choke in her voice almost breaking through into a sob. “I can’t manage when people come up to compliment me on the performance. I don’t know what to say."
“Of course,” Honoria said, taking her cousin’s hand.
“Honoria, there you are!” It was her mother, hurrying over.
“Where have you been?"
Honoria cleared her throat. “I went upstairs to lie down for a few minutes. I was suddenly exhausted."
“Yes, well, it was a long day,” her mother said with a nod.
“I don’t know where the time went. I must have fallen asleep,"
Honoria said apologetically. Who knew she was such a good liar?
First the blood and now this.
“It is of no consequence,” her mother said before turning to Iris.
“Have you seen Miss Wynter?"
Iris shook her head.
“Charlotte is ready to go home and can’t find her anywhere."
“Perhaps she went to the retiring room?” Iris suggested.
Lady Winstead looked dubious. “She’s been gone quite a long time for that.” “Er, Mother,” Honoria said, thinking of Daniel back in the corridor, “if I might have a word with you."
“It will have to wait,” Lady Winstead said, shaking her head.
“I’m beginning to grow worried about Miss Wynter."
“Perhaps she needed a lie down as well,” Honoria suggested.
“I suppose. I do hope Charlotte thinks to give her an extra day off this week.” Lady Winstead gave a little nod, as if agreeing with herself. “I believe I will go find her right now and make that suggestion. It is the least we can do. Miss Wynter truly saved the day."
Honoria and Iris watched her leave, then Iris said, “I suppose it depends upon your definition of the word ‘saved.’ ” Honoria let out a little giggle and looped her arm through her cousin’s. “Come with me,” she said. “We shall take a turn about the room and look happy and proud while we’re doing it."
“Happy and proud is beyond my capabilities, but—"
Iris was interrupted by a resounding crash. Or not exactly a crash. More like a splintering sound. With a few pops. And twangs.
“What was that?” Iris asked.
“I don’t know.” Honoria craned her neck. “It sounded like—"
“Oh, Honoria!” they heard Daisy shriek. “Your violin!"
“What?” Honoria walked slowly toward the commotion, not quite able to put two and two together.
“Oh, my heavens,” Iris said abruptly, her hand coming to her mouth. She lay a restraining hand on Honoria, as if to say—It’s better if you don’t look. “What is going on? I—” Honoria’s jaw went slack.
“Lady Honoria!” Lady Danbury barked. “So sorry about your violin."
Honoria only blinked, staring down at the mangled remains of her instrument. “What? How . . . ?"
Lady Danbury shook her head with what Honoria suspected was exaggerated regret. “I have no idea. The cane, you know. I must have knocked it off the table.” Honoria felt her mouth opening and closing, but no sound was emerging. Her violin didn’t look as if it had been knocked off a table. Honestly, Honoria was at a loss as to how it could have got into such a state. It was absolutely wrecked. Every string had snapped, pieces of wood were completely detached, and the chin rest was nowhere to be seen.
Clearly, it had been trampled by an elephant.
“I insist upon buying you a new one,” Lady Danbury announced.
“Oh. No,” Honoria said, with a strange lack of inflection. “It’s not necessary."
“And furthermore,” Lady Danbury said, ignoring her completely, “it will be a Ruggieri."
Daisy gasped.
“No, really,” Honoria said. She couldn’t take her eyes off the violin. There was something about it that was absolutely riveting.
“I caused this damage,” Lady Danbury said grandly. She waved her arm through the air, the gesture directed more toward the crowd than toward Honoria. “I must make it right."
“But a Ruggieri!” Daisy cried.
“I know,” Lady Danbury said, placing a hand on her heart.
“They are terribly dear, but in such a case, only the best will do."
“There’s quite a waiting list,” Daisy said with a sniff.
“Indeed. You mentioned that earlier."
“Six months. Maybe even a year."
“Or longer?” Lady Danbury asked, with perhaps a touch of glee.
“I don’t need another violin,” Honoria said. And she didn’t. She was going to marry Marcus. She would never have to play in another musicale for the rest of her life.
Of course she could not say this to anyone.
And he had to propose.
But that seemed a trifling matter. She was confident that he would.
“She can use my old violin,” Daisy said. “I don’t mind.” And while Lady Danbury was arguing with her about that, Honoria leaned toward Iris and, still staring at the mess on the floor, said, “It’s really remarkable. How do you suppose she did it?” “I don’t know,” Iris said, equally baffled. “You’d need more than a cane. I think you’d need an elephant."
Honoria gasped with delight and finally ripped her eyes from the carnage. “That’s exactly what I was thinking!” They caught each other’s eyes and then burst out laughing, both with such fervor that Lady Danbury and Daisy stopped arguing to stare.
“I think she’s overset,” Daisy said.
“Well, of course, you nitwit,” Lady Danbury barked. “She’s just lost her violin."
“Thank God,” someone said. With great feeling.
Honoria looked over. She wasn’t even sure who it was. A fashionable gentleman of middling age with an equally fashionable lady at his side. He reminded her of the drawings she’d seen of Beau Brummell, who had been the most fashionable man alive when her older sisters had made their debuts.
“The girl doesn’t need a violin,” he added. “She needs to have her hands bound so she can never touch an instrument again."
A few people tittered. Others looked very uncomfortable.
Honoria had no idea what to do. It was an unwritten rule in London that while one could mock the Smythe-Smith musicale, one must never ever do so within earshot of an actual Smythe-Smith.
Even the gossip columnists never mentioned how dreadful they were.
Where was her mother? Or Aunt Charlotte? Had they heard? It would kill them.
“Oh, come now,” he said, directing his words to the small crowd that had gathered around him. “Are we all so unwilling to state the truth? They’re dreadful. An abomination against nature.” A few more people laughed. Behind their hands, but still.
Honoria tried to open her mouth, tried to make a sound, any sound that might be construed as a defense of her family. Iris was clutching onto her arm as if she wanted to die on the spot, and Daisy looked simply stunned.
“I beg of you,” the gentleman said, turning to face Honoria directly. “Do not accept a new violin from the countess. Do not ever even touch one.” And then, after a little titter directed toward his companion, as if to say—Just wait until you hear what I have to say next, he said to Honoria, “You are abysmal. You make songbirds cry. You almost made me cry."