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Rosie stood in the dimly lit hallway, her small face pale, her feet bare, her arms hugging her midsection.

“I knocked on Uncle’s door, but he couldn’t hear me,” she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

This wasn’t the first time Rosie had appeared at her door in the night. The girl often suffered from nightmares—nightmares that had plagued her since her parents’ deaths. Nightmares, that from what Honoria had gathered, were the direct result of her parents’ deaths.

After being awakened, Rosie always sought out Caldwell first, and Honoria second, to tuck her back into bed, to read to her, although Miss Sharp, the nanny, lived in the room adjoining the nursery.

“Would you read to me?” Rosie asked. “Just until I’m sleepy again?”

“Of course, my darling,” Honoria said softly. Her exhaustion temporarily forgotten, she took Rosie’s small hand in hers. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

They walked quietly down the hall and up the stairs into Rosie’s nursery. Her room was warm, and the fire was banked low for the night. Rosie climbed into her bed, which seemed to swallow her slight frame, and scooted to one side.

Honoria sat down, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight, and picked a book from her nightstand.

She started reading, the familiar words flowing easily, and as she read, she felt Rosie’s body gradually relax against her. Rosie’s breathing deepened, and by the time she reached the end of the story, she was fast asleep.

Honoria gently closed the book and set it on the bedside table. She carefully extricated herself from Rosie’s grip and pulled the covers up, tucking them around her shoulders. She stood for a moment, looking down at the peaceful face, then bent and pressed a kiss to Rosie’s forehead, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair.

Instead of returning directly to her room and the precious few hours of sleep that awaited her, Honoria remained by the bedside, watching Rosie sleep. Her chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of undisturbed slumber, her small hands curled loosely on the pillow beside her face.

Honoria wondered how she would ever be able to leave her behind, and more importantly, how she would be able to explain her sudden decision to leave.

She needed to tell them soon. The time was running out.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Chapter 11

Honoria sat at the edge of the theater box, watching the stage in awe. She had not been to the theater in—well, years. It had certainly changed. It seemed grander somehow, more glittering, the costumes brighter, the music louder—although it had to compete with the constant chatter from the audience.

That, at least, hadn’t changed. People still attended the theater to gawk at others, show themselves off, and, most importantly, share gossip.

Honoria’s aim was the contrary. She needed neither to see nor speak to anyone—and more importantly, not to be noticed by anyone.

She wore a dark brown gown that Lady Somerville had insisted on purchasing for her. Honoria had managed to choose the dullest color and design, allowing herself to blend into the shadows.

On stage, Josephine Claremont, Viscountess Gage, moved gracefully. That was another thing that had changed. Who knew the nobility were now allowed to perform on a grand stage?

Honoria leaned forward, transfixed by the raw emotion. The music swelled around her, and for those precious moments, she forgot herself, her circumstances, and everything but the beauty before her.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Elise clasped her hands together.

“It’s magnificent,” Honoria whispered back. “Viscountess Gage brings so much emotion to the role. So much dignity.”

“Dignity?” Lady Somerville snorted. “It’s a travesty, that’s what it is—for a viscountess to prance about on stage! For shame.”

Elise and Honoria exchanged silent glances filled with laughter.

“I should like to meet her someday,” Elise said, turning toward her guardian. “Uncle Caldwell, would you arrange it?”

Lord Caldwell frowned and opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter a word, Lady Somerville interrupted him.

“I would hope not, my dear Elise. You need to keep respectable company only.”

Caldwell cleared his throat. “Perhaps later.”

“Yes. Much later,” Lady Somerville echoed. “After you are married.”