Page 54 of A Taste of Miss Honey

He pursed his lips, as if wondering whether to speak frankly or simply to be polite.

“It will go no further,” she promised him.

He studied her a moment longer, and whatever he saw in her eyes must have reassured him. “He’s… a bit… slippery.”

Izzy nodded. An apt word for the man if one did not know just how despicable he truly was. Hartwell frowned, concern in his eyes now.

“Has he…? He’s not bothering you, I hope?”

“Oh! Oh, no,” Izzy said at once, not wanting to provoke the man’s chivalric instincts and scare Alveston off. Much as she’d like to see such a thing, she needed the horrid man to believe she admired him. “No, I was only curious.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied. “Well, here we are, then. Safe and sound,” he said upon returning her to Clementine. “I shall see you anon, Miss Honeywell.” With that, he executed a polite bow and left them alone.

He wasn’t even out of sight when a smooth, cultured voice reached Izzy’s ear, making her stomach curdle with anxiety.

“Miss Honeywell, a pleasure as always, and looking radiant as ever.”

Izzy forced herself to relax, easing the suddenly tight line of her jaw as she turned and faced Lord Alveston. “My Lord, you are too kind,” she said, curtseying and doing her best to look sweet and shy whilst avoiding Clementine’s considering gaze. Her sister knew she was anything but sweet or shy and was clearly up to something.

Alveston looked every inch the elegant nobleman this evening. His well-fitting coat highlighted an excellent figure, and though he was built on finer lines than Ben, he appeared to be fit and strong. There were certainly many young ladies about them who were watching him with admiration and looking at Izzy with undisguised envy. Oh, you poor fools, if you only knew, Izzy thought, praying she would survive the night without messing everything up. Plans turned in her mind, ways to force Alveston’s hand, but nothing yet had occurred to her that had the slightest chance of success. Somehow, she must make society see behind his polite mask and reveal what a blackguard he really was.

“Would you care to take a turn about the room with me? I believe our dance is the one after this.” He held out his arm to her, apparently assuming her consent before she answered, but it suited Izzy well enough so she placed her hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him to guide her.

He glanced down at her, and Izzy had to fight the desire to withdraw her hand. Being this close to him made her skin crawl, but she must appear docile and submissive if she was to gain his confidence. They walked in silence for a while as Izzy racked her brain for a way to begin, to unsettle him. Maybe if he was rattled, he’d make a mistake.

“It is so nice to see everyone enjoying themselves again,” she said, keeping her voice light.

“Again?” He regarded her curiously.

“Now the war is over. It must have been such a worry for all those mothers and sisters, with the men they loved fighting abroad, not knowing whether they would return whole, or at all. They were all so brave,” she said with a sorrowful sigh, watching his face closely.

Something that might have been irritation flitted across his handsome face, but he replied blandly. “Indeed.”

Izzy cursed under her breath, wondering what tack to try next. “Do you have brothers or sisters, my lord?”

“No, sadly, I do not.”

“Oh, that is sad indeed. I do not know what I should do without my sisters, for we are all very close,” she said, as if imparting a great secret. “I suppose that is why you did not fight for your country. Your poor mama would have been bereft if anything befell you, and with you being the only heir, I doubt your papa would have approved either.”

She gazed up at him with a sickening amount of admiration—or at least she hoped the expression she was wearing signalled admiration and not severe dyspepsia—to see how this delicately barbed comment had been received.

For a moment he just stared at her, no doubt wondering if she really was too sweet to realise she had just subtly accused him of cowardice. Izzy sent him an admiring look from under her lashes and he relaxed, apparently deciding she really was that stupid.

“My father is dead, but had he lived, he would never allow me to do anything so rash and ill-considered, and I was duty bound to honour his memory.”

“Yes, of course, that makes complete sense. Its only people can be so vile, but I knew there was nothing in it.”

He looked at her sharply. “In what? Which people?”

Izzy laughed nervously, not a difficult thing to feign when her heart was beating double-time. “Oh, I don’t really know. I only heard some ladies talking in the retiring rooms at Carlton House and… but I ought not to gossip. I do hate tittle-tattle. Papa says it is a sin,” she added solemnly, squirming inwardly as her father knew more gossip about the people of Little Valentine than anyone else, save perhaps the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney.

Lord Alveston stopped their slow progress around the room to look down at her. “If someone is slandering my good name, I have the right to know what is being said.”

His words were harsh, and Izzy slipped free of his arm, placing one hand over her heart.

“Oh dear. I’ve made you cross,” she said, looking at him and wishing she had learned how to cry on demand. She blinked very hard and tried to make her lip tremble. “I’m so sorry. I ought not to have said anything. Please f-forgive me.”

It was dreadfully difficult to stand there looking wretched, her lip wobbling dramatically, when she only wished to laugh at the consternation on his face—and then run away as far as she could get. He clearly wanted to shake her until she explained herself, but he was forced to be kind.