Except it didn’t hurt. It just made her feel sick. Sick to her stomach. Sick with herself. It was her fault he’d stepped in that stupid fake mole hole, her fault that he’d twisted his ankle. It was her fault they’d had to cut off his boot, and her fault he was so sick because of it.

And if he died, it would be her fault, too.

She swallowed, trying to quell the choking lump that was forming in her throat, and she leaned a little closer to say, “I’m so sorry. I could never even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

Marcus went quite still, and for a breathless moment Honoria thought he had heard her. But then she realized it was only because her mother had paused in her work. It was her mother who had heard her words, not Marcus. But if her mother was curious, she did not pursue it. She did not ask for the meaning of Honoria’s apology, just gave a little nod and went back to work.

“I am thinking that when you are better you should come to London,” Honoria went on, fixing her voice back into a facsimile of good cheer. “If nothing else, you will need a new pair of boots. Maybe something of a looser fit. It’s not the style, I know, but perhaps you can set a new trend.”

He flinched.

“Or we could remain in the country. Skip the season. I know I told you I was desperate to marry this year, but—” She cast a surreptitious glance at her mother, then leaned closer to his ear and whispered, “My mother seems suddenly quite different. I think I can manage another year in her company. And twenty-two is not so very old for marriage.”

“You’re twenty-one,” her mother said, not looking up.

Honoria froze. “How much of what I said did you hear?”

“Just the last bit.”

Honoria had no idea if her mother was telling the truth. But they seemed to have a tacit agreement not to ask questions, so Honoria decided to respond by saying, “I meant that if I don’t marry until next year, when I am twenty-two, I shall not mind.”

“It will mean another year with the family quartet,” her mother said with a smile. And not a devious smile. A completely sincere, completely encouraging smile.

Honoria wondered, not for the first time, if her mother might be just a little bit deaf.

“I’m sure your cousins will be glad to have you for another year,” Lady Winstead continued. “When you leave, Harriet will have to take your place, and she’s really still a bit young. I don’t think she’s even sixteen yet.”

“Not until September,” Honoria confirmed. Her cousin Harriet—Sarah’s younger sister—was quite possibly the worst musician in the Smythe-Smith family. And that was really saying quite a lot.