After the two ladies left, of course.

He stifled a groan. He hated being sick.

Once in the carriage, Honoria allowed herself to sit back and relax. Marcus looked ill, but it was nothing that a week of rest and broth would not cure. But her moment of peace was brought abruptly short when Cecily announced, “One month.”

Honoria looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

“That is my prediction.” Cecily held up her index finger, twirled it in a little circle, then snapped it straight. “One month before Lord Chatteris proposes.”

“To whom?” Honoria asked, trying to hide her shock. Marcus had not shown any marked preference for Cecily, and more to the point, it was unlike her to be so boastful.

“To you, you ninny.”

Honoria nearly choked on her own tongue. “Oh,” she said, with great feeling. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh, no.”

Cecily smirked.

“No, no.” Honoria might have been rendered a monosyllabic idiot, but she was a vocal monosyllabic idiot. “No,” she said again. “Oh, no.”

“I’d even be willing to make a wager,” Cecily said archly. “You will be married by the end of the season.”

“I hope so,” Honoria said, finally finding her vocabulary, “but it won’t be to Lord Chatteris.”

“Oh, so it’s Lord Chatteris now, is it? Don’t think I didn’t notice that you called him by his given name the entire time we were there.”

“That’s how he is known to me,” Honoria protested. “I’ve known him since I was six.”

“Be that as it may, the two of you were . . . Oh, how do I say it?” Cecily pursed her lips and glanced up toward the roof of the carriage. “Acting like you were already married, perhaps?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I speak the truth,” Cecily said, looking extremely pleased with herself. She chuckled. “Wait until I tell the others.”

Honoria very nearly leapt across the carriage. “Don’t you dare!”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“Please, Cecily, I assure you, there is no love between Lord Chatteris and me, and I promise you, we will never be wed. Spreading rumors will do nothing but make my life miserable.”

Cecily cocked her head to the side. “No love?”

“Now you’re twisting my words. Of course I care for him. He was like a brother to me.”

“Very well,” Cecily acceded. “I won’t say anything.”

“Th—”

“Until you are betrothed. And then I shall shout it to anyone who will listen: I predicted this!”

Honoria didn’t even bother to respond. There would be no betrothal, and thus no shouting of anything. But what she did not realize until later was that for the first time she had said that Marcus was like a brother to her.

Past tense.

And if he wasn’t a brother to her any longer, what was he?

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven