Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
He might as well be reading Urdu, because he had no idea what that meant in reality. He slowly lifted his gaze from the card.
“It is unexpected, I know,” she said. “One would not expect the publisher of a ladies’ gazette to concern herself with political intrigue—”
“Darling! Where have you been all night?”
The Duchess of Tannymeade suddenly appeared, giving Mrs. Honeycutt a start. The duchess glanced at Marek, then at Mrs. Honeycutt. “We’ve been looking all around for you! You promised to stay close.”
“Did I?” she asked, her gaze still on Marek.
He slipped the card into his pocket.
“I beg your pardon, sir, would you mind terribly if I steal Mrs. Honeycutt away?”
“Please,”he said, probably a little more forcefully than he should have. He bowed curtly before Mrs. Honeycutt could make an introduction or try and extend this “investigation” any longer, and turned away, stepping into the crowd before she could think of a reason to keep him.
He went in search of the king once more—yes, he was keeping a close eye on the king!—andthe young man who stayed so close to the king’s side. But he was acutely aware of a calling card burning a hole in his pocket, begging to be examined and understood.
CHAPTER NINE
Dignitaries attending the queen’s costume ball were seen leaving Buckingham well after sunrise. Not all danced until the morning hours. King Maksim of Wesloria, and the Duke and Duchess of Tannymeade, departed the ball at half-past midnight. Queen Agnes and the princesses danced well into the night and departed just before dawn.
Several have reported to us that the Marquess of Douglas, the heir to the Duke of Hamilton, has returned to London after an absence of more than a year, and that the very young and impressionable Princess Justine stood up with the notorious lord not once, but twice.
The Shoreditch Temperance Society has recently formed a new committee, styled the Coalition for Decency and Morality, with the express goal of ridding London of those they’ve deemed lacking in decency and morality. A noble endeavor, but one that perhaps should encourage the examination of one’s own house before passing judgment on others.
Ladies, as colder temperatures dry our skin, brush iodine on the affected parts and cover with woolen mittens or stockings.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
COLDAIRSUNKDOWNand blanketed London the day after the ball and hung miserably over town for the next two days, culminating in a frigid, steady rain.
Hollis and Donovan pulled chairs and footstools to the hearth. Donovan had made them hot toddies, and they put their stocking feet before the fire and sipped on the drinks.
Hollis didn’t know what she would do without Donovan. He was her manservant, her butler, and her driver, her houseman, her groom. In this large Mayfair mansion, Donovan worked alongside Ruth, a chambermaid, who functioned as a ladies’ maid when the situation warranted. And Mrs. Plum, the housekeeper and cook, who went home to Mr. Plum every evening. And not to be forgotten, Old Man Brimble, an elderly gentleman whose position in her house Hollis had long ceased to question or understand. He didn’t do much of anything other than feed the cats. But like Donovan, he’d been in the employ of the Honeycutt family for so long that it was inconceivable that he should go any other place in his dotage.
Donovan was also her best friend. He was the glue in her house and the glue of her spirit.
He’d been in the employ of her late husband long before Hollis had married him. And since her dear Percy’s death a little more than four years ago, Donovan had become everything that her late husband had been to her.
Well...except her lover.
He would never be her lover.
Not that Holliswantedhim to be her lover—she didn’t, she couldnever, because of Percy—but more importantly, because Donovan didn’t want her to be his. In fact, in recent weeks, she’d begun to suspect he’d taken a lover. What else could explain his fine mood?
Hollis sipped the toddy he’d made. It was perfect. “I remember my mother made my father toddies when the weather was bitterly cold. It’s funny, the things I remember. I can’t really recall her voice any longer, but I remember the toddies.” She wondered what she would remember about Percy. He, too, was fading away. She glanced at Donovan. “Do you remember your mother?”
“I do.” He smiled fondly. “She was a beauty, my mum.”
“She must have been—look at you.”
Donovan chuckled and shook his head.
“How long has she been gone?”
