The Trouble with Honor

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

AUGUSTINE WAS COMPLETELY flummoxed by what had happened in the foyer of Beckington House. “It was a theatrical event!” he exclaimed to his fiancée.

“He may not be the man you had in mind for her,” Monica said soothingly, “but Honor seems very happy.”

Augustine squinted a little as he pondered that. “She does seem happy, doesn’t she?”

“And I rather think, after all that’s gone on, no one else would have her.”

“Oh, no,” Augustine said, nodding in furious agreement. “No one would have Honor now.”

“Then I think perhaps you should ask that they marry sooner rather than later, given all the speculation that is flying about Mayfair just now.”

“Yes, of course, you are absolutely right,” Augustine said. “I shall demand they marry straightaway!” He suddenly brightened. “I know just the thing! We’ll all go to Longmeadow. It’s out of London, isn’t it? And Mr. Cleburne might do the honor.”

“Oh, dear, that might be a bit much,” Monica said with a slight wince.

“Well. We’ll devise some sort of ceremony.”

Augustine used his new title of earl to obtain a special license. Honor and George were wed at the end of that week in a private ceremony. There was no time to prepare properly, much to Prudence and Mercy’s horror, as they both would have liked to have commissioned the latest fashions for the ceremony.

Honor, however, scarcely cared what she wore, and arrived in a plain gray gown with no adornment. Clothing had slipped her mind—all she could think was that she was to marry a man she loved above every worldly thing, and that was all that mattered.

Augustine insisted, given the events leading up to their so-called engagement, that they perhaps not go out into society for a time, which Honor and George were happy to oblige. After the ceremony, they retreated to the house on Audley Street; they spent most of the first few days in his bed, occasionally allowing Finnegan to bring them food.

George taught Honor things about her body and his that both astonished and pleased her. She loved the way his mouth moved on her skin, the way his tongue slipped into her body. She loved the way he caressed her when he was making love to her, as if reassuring himself that she was there, all of her, still in his bed, still beneath him or on top of him, still part of him. She adored the things he taught her—how to take him in her mouth and please him, how to ride his cock when she was on top of him while he helped her find fulfillment with his hands.

But mostly what she loved after they’d both found their fulfillment in one another—or, in Honor’s case, more than once—was the tenderness between them. His body spent, he would still cover her with kisses by the light of the fire, slowly making his way down one leg to her toes, and up the other to her breasts, and to her mouth again, whispering his love for her, the realization that his life had been so empty before she’d intercepted him on Rotten Row that fateful afternoon.

Honor felt the same way—her life had consisted of gowns and gatherings, but until George, there had been nothing substantial to anchor her to this earth, to this life. Now she had him, and, God willing, they would have a large family. Nothing could make her happier than living in a cottage or mansion with him, presiding over a table that was filled with laughing children, and seeing this man across from her.

One evening, as they lounged naked in his bed with a tray of roasted chicken, cheese and fruit, they talked about their future. “I should think five children in all,” she said casually.

“Good Lord, darling, that number is a small village.”

“Don’t you want them, too?” she asked, kissing his nose.

“I want six.”

She laughed.

He wrapped her hair around his bandaged hand. “How shall I feed an entire village?” he mused. “Well, I shan’t fret over it. I’ve always managed to land on my feet. Mr. Sweeney is searching for a new ship—”

“Another one?” she asked, surprised.

He shrugged and allowed her to stuff a bite of chicken into his mouth. “Someday. I’m afraid it will take a grand attempt to dig out of our present hole.”

Honor giggled. “I love our hole,” she said, and leaned down to kiss his mouth. “I have enormous faith in you, husband,” she said, because she liked calling him that. “I know you will do it. And when you do, we’ll find a place that will fit all of my family and all of our children.”

“Even Grace?” he asked casually as he traced a grape around her nipple. “You’ve written her, haven’t you?”

Honor winced. “Not yet,” she said.

“Honor—”

“I know.” She sighed. “I’ve been avoiding it. She will be so cross with me, George, and I dread her reply. But it’s only been a fortnight since we were wed.”

“Only?” he said dubiously. “She should know, love,” he insisted, and sat up to kiss her breast.

“You’re right.” Honor sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his lips and tongue on the peak of her breast. “You’re always right.”

“Mmm, say it again,” George said. “It arouses me to hear you admit it.”

“You’re right, darling. You’re right, you’re right,” she whispered as he began to suckle her.

George pushed the tray of food aside and rolled them over so that Honor was beneath him. “Once we have the Cabot girls under one roof, we’ll work on our house full of children, the great-grandchildren of a king.” He smiled as he leaned down to kiss the hollow of her belly. “With a name that no one can deny.”

Honor stroked his head and smiled up at the canopy as he began to drag his mouth down the hollow of her belly and to the apex of her legs. “I like the sound of that.”

“There is really no time to waste,” he said, moving lower, pulling her legs apart and dipping his head between them. “No time at all,” he muttered, and ran his tongue up her cleft.

Honor threw her arms above her head and smiled with delight as he began to lave her. They had a lifetime of making children, a journey unfolding that she’d never understood she’d wanted until faced with the prospect of not having it.

Oh, but Honor wanted that. She fiercely, deeply, passionately wanted it.

She would write to Grace and tell her...tomorrow.

At the moment, she was pleasantly and thoroughly occupied.