The mind boggled.
Honoria and Sarah had been forced to assume their spots the year before, Honoria on the violin and Sarah on the piano. Poor Sarah was still traumatized by the experience. She was actually somewhat musical and had played her part accurately. Or so Honoria was told; it was difficult to hear anything above the violins. Or the people gasping in the audience.
Sarah had sworn that she would never play with her cousins again. Honoria had just shrugged; she didn’t really mind the musicale—not terribly, at least. She actually thought the whole thing was a bit amusing. And besides, there was nothing she could do about it. It was family tradition, and there was nothing that mattered more to Honoria than family, nothing.
But now she had to get serious about her husband hunting, which meant she was going to have to find a gentleman with a tin ear. Or a very good sense of humor.
Gregory Bridgerton seemed to be an excellent candidate. Honoria had no idea if he could carry a tune, but they had crossed paths two days earlier, when the four young ladies were out for tea in town, and she had been instantly struck by what a lovely smile he had.
She liked him. He was amazingly friendly and outgoing, and something about him reminded her of her own family, the way they used to be, gathered together at Whipple Hill, loud and boisterous and always laughing.
It was probably because he, too, was from a large family—the second youngest of eight. Honoria was the youngest of six, so surely they would have a great deal in common.
Gregory Bridgerton. Hmmm. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of him before.
Honoria Bridgerton.
Winifred Bridgerton. （She’d always wanted to name a child Winifred, so it seemed prudent to test this one out on the tongue as well.）
Mr. Gregory and Lady Honor—
“Honoria? Honoria!”
She blinked. Sarah was staring at her with visible irritation. “Gregory Bridgerton?” she said. “Your opinion?”
“Er, I think he would be a very nice choice,” Honoria answered, in the most unassuming manner possible.
“Who else?” Sarah said, rising to her feet. “Perhaps I should make a list.”
“For four names?” Honoria could not help but ask.
“You’re terribly determined,” Iris murmured.
“I have to be,” Sarah retorted, her dark eyes flashing.
“Do you really think you’re going to find a man and then marry him in the next two weeks?” Honoria asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah replied in a clipped voice.
Honoria glanced toward the open door to make sure that no one was approaching. “It’s just the three of us right now, Sarah.”
“Does one have to play at the musicale if one is engaged?” Iris asked.
“Yes,” Honoria answered.
“No,” Sarah said firmly.
“Oh, yes, you do,” Honoria said.
Iris sighed.
“Don’t you complain,” Sarah said, turning on her with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t have to play last year.”
“For which I am eternally grateful,” Iris told her. She was due to join the quartet this year on cello.
“You want to find a husband just as badly as I do,” Sarah said to Honoria.
“Not in the next two weeks! And not,” she added, with a bit more decorum, “merely to get out of playing in the musicale.”
“I am not saying that I would marry someone awful,” Sarah said with a sniff. “But if Lord Chatteris just happened to fall desperately in love with me . . .”
“He’s not going to,” Honoria said baldly. Then, realizing how unkind that sounded, she added, “He’s not going to fall in love with anyone. Trust me.”
“Love works in mysterious ways,” Sarah said. But she sounded more hopeful than certain.
“Even if Marcus did fall in love with you, which isn’t going to happen, not that it has anything to do with you, he’s just not the sort to fall in love with someone quickly.” Honoria paused, trying to remember where she had started her sentence because she was fairly certain she had not completed it.
Sarah crossed her arms. “Was there a point in there, hidden amid the insults?”
Honoria rolled her eyes. “Just that even if Marcus did fall in love with someone, he would do it in the most ordinary, regular manner.”
“Is love ever ordinary?” Iris asked.
The statement was just philosophical enough to silence the room. But only for a moment.
“He would never rush a wedding,” Honoria continued, turning back to Sarah. “He hates drawing attention to himself. Hates it,” she repeated, because frankly, it bore repeating. “He’ll not get you out of the musicale, that is for certain.”