And what did Mrs. Wetherby mean by sending her a letter? Was she simply informing her of Marcus’s condition, or was she tacitly asking her to come to Fensmore? And if it was the latter, did that mean Marcus’s condition was grim?
“Mother!” Honoria called out. She rose to her feet without thinking and starting walking through the house. Her heart began to race, and she started moving faster. Her voice, too, grew louder. “Mother!”
“Honoria?” Lady Winstead appeared at the top of the stairs, waving at herself with her favorite Chinese silk fan. “Whatever can be the matter? Was there any problem at the modiste? I thought you were planning to go with Marigold.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Honoria said, hurrying up the stairs. “It’s Marcus.”
“Marcus Holroyd?”
“Yes. I received a letter from his housekeeper.”
“From his housekeeper? Whyever would she—”
“I saw him in Cambridge, do you recall? I told you about—”
“Oh, yes, yes.” Her mother smiled. “What a lovely coincidence to have run into him. Mrs. Royle wrote me a note about it. I think she is hoping that he might form a tendre for her daughter.”
“Mother, here, please read this.” Honoria held out the letter from Mrs. Wetherby. “He is very ill.”
Lady Winstead quickly read the short note, her mouth pressing into a worried frown. “Oh, dear. This is very bad news indeed.”
Honoria placed a heavy hand on her mother’s arm, trying to impress upon her the gravity of the situation. “We must leave for Fensmore. At once.”
Lady Winstead looked up in surprise. “Us?”
“He has no one else.”
“Well, that can’t be true.”
“It is,” Honoria insisted. “Don’t you remember how often he came to stay with us when he and Daniel were at Eton? It was because he had nowhere else to go. I don’t think he and his father got on very well.”
“I don’t know, it seems very presumptuous.” Her mother frowned. “We are not family.”
“He doesn’t have family!”
Lady Winstead caught her lower lip between her teeth. “He was such a nice boy, but I just don’t think . . .”
Honoria planted her hands on her hips. “If you do not come with me, I will go alone.”
“Honoria!” Lady Winstead drew back with shock, and for the first time in the conversation, a spark flared in her pale eyes. “You will do no such thing. Your reputation will be in tatters.”
“He might be dying.”
“I’m sure it’s not as serious as that.”
Honoria clutched her hands together. They had begun to shake, and her fingers felt terribly cold. “I hardly think his housekeeper would have written to me if it weren’t.”
“Oh, all right,” Lady Winstead said with a little sigh. “We will leave tomorrow.”
Honoria shook her head. “Today.”
“Today? Honoria, you know such trips take planning. I couldn’t possibly—”
“Today, Mother. There is no time to lose.” Honoria hurried back down the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “I will see to having the carriage prepared. Be ready within the hour!”
But Lady Winstead, showing some of the fire she’d possessed before her only son had been banished from the country, did even better than that. She was ready in forty-five minutes, bags packed, accompanied by her maid, and waiting for Honoria in the front drawing room.
Five minutes later they were on their way.
The journey to northern Cambridgeshire could be made in one （long） day, and so it was near to midnight by the time the Winstead carriage pulled up in front of Fensmore. Lady Winstead had fallen asleep a bit north of Saffron Walden, but Honoria was wide awake. From the moment they had turned onto the long drive that led to Fensmore, her posture had become tense and alert, and it was all she could do to keep herself from gripping the handle to the door. As it was, when they finally came to a stop, she did not wait for anyone to come to her aid. Within seconds she had pushed open the door, hopped down, and was hurrying up the front steps.
The house was quiet, and Honoria spent at least five minutes banging the knocker up and down before she finally saw a flicker of candlelight in a window and heard footsteps hurriedly approaching.
The butler opened the door—Honoria could not remember his name—and before he could utter a word, she said, “Mrs. Wetherby wrote to me about the earl’s condition. I must see him at once.”