was too much for Haslemere. He was a darling of the ton, and thus nearly always behaved as a charming, gallant gentleman should no matter how trying the circumstances, but he was obliged to smother a snort.
Gideon shot him a warning glance over the top of Mrs. Honeywell’s head. “Yes, of course. I regret the journey proved so uncomfortable, Mrs. Honeywell. We’ll be certain to take extraordinary care with your health and Miss Honeywell’s.”
Mrs. Honeywell drew herself up with a flounce of her skirts. “Well, I should think so.”
Gideon cleared his throat. “May I present my friend, Lord Haslemere?”
“Mrs. Honeywell, and Miss Honeywell. How do you do? Lovely day for February, isn’t it?” Haslemere bowed to each lady in turn.
“What, another lord? But how wonderful! How do you do, Lord Haslemere.” Mrs. Honeywell batted a pair of bulging blue eyes at Haslemere, then swept into an elaborate curtsy. “The more lords, the merrier, I always say. Are you a marquess as well, Lord Haslemere?”
“Only an earl, I’m afraid.” Haslemere bowed over Mrs. Honeywell’s hand.
A girlish giggle burst from Mrs. Honeywell’s lips. “Well, we’re still very pleased to meet you, my lord. Aren’t we, Fanny?”
“Indeed, Mama.”
Haslemere turned with considerably more enthusiasm to the blushing young lady at her mother’s side. “I’ve heard a great deal about you from Lord Darlington, Miss Honeywell, but even his extravagant compliments don’t do you justice.”
Miss Honeywell offered her hand, the pretty shade of pink on her cheeks deepening when Haslemere’s lips brushed her glove. “How do you do, my—”
“Yes, yes. I’m certain he does very well, Fanny,” Mrs. Honeywell interrupted crossly, as if peeved the attention had been diverted from herself. “He is a lord, after all. Mightn’t we venture inside the castle, Lord Darlington? This wind is making a dreadful mess of my feathers, and I’d welcome a cup of tea.”
“Ruffled feathers? How shocking. We can’t have that, can we?” Haslemere glanced down at Mrs. Honeywell’s hand, which had curled in a proprietary manner around his arm, and arched a brow at Gideon. “Lead the way, Darlington.”
Gideon recognized the wicked grin twitching at the corner of Haslemere’s lips, and rushed to distract the ladies. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. Come and warm yourselves, and I’ll ring for tea.”
As he spoke, Gideon led the party through the front door. Miss Honeywell cast a curious glance about her, taking in the entrance hall, but paused on their way toward the drawing room, a surprised exclamation on her lips. “That young woman, Lord Darlington. Is she one of your housemaids? I’m certain I’ve seen her before.”
Gideon knew at once which young woman Miss Honeywell was referring to, before he even followed her gaze. The same young woman who always seemed to be at the center of every disturbance.
Cecilia Gilchrist.
His teeth snapped together. “Which young woman is that, Miss Honeywell?”
“That one, just there, with the dark hair, cleaning the glass lanterns.” A thoughtful frown furrowed Miss Honeywell’s smooth white brow. “Her face looks familiar.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Honeywell,” Haslemere interrupted hastily, “That young woman isn’t from London. Now, shall we adjourn to the—”
“Don’t be absurd, Fanny. How should you know her? You don’t keep company with housemaids.” Mrs. Honeywell gave a disdainful sniff. “Lord Haslemere is right. You’ve taken her for someone else.”
Miss Honeywell shook her head. “Indeed, you’re mistaken, Mama. I do know her. I can’t quite think how, but I know her from London.”
Gideon’s gaze narrowed on Cecilia. It was odd, indeed, Miss Honeywell should recognize Cecilia from London, when she’d never ventured beyond Lady Dunton’s remote country estate in Warwickshire.
Unless she’d been lying to him since she arrived at Darlington Castle. He’d suspected it, of course, but somehow it rankled more now than it had before. “Cecilia!” Gideon’s tone was harsher than he’d meant it to be, and Miss Honeywell jumped beside him.
Haslemere frowned. “Is this really necessary, Darlington?”
“Oh, what nonsense.” Mrs. Honeywell clucked impatiently. “I beg you won’t trouble yourself with it, Lord Darlington. Fanny is forever mistaking one person for the next.”
“It’s no trouble, Mrs. Honeywell. Come here, if you would, Cecilia.” Gideon struggled to appear casual, but if the tight look on Haslemere’s face was any indication, he failed.
Cecilia was at the far end of the hallway, well out of the way of the guests, polishing the glass in one of the lanterns. She hadn’t seemed to notice them at all, but at Gideon’s command she turned her head toward them.
He was watching her closely, and was likely the only one