Honoria winced. It was true that her uncle William and aunt Maria had chosen to name their daughters Rose, Marigold, Lavender, Iris, and Daisy, but still.

“I know who Miss Royle is,” Marcus said.

“She’s your neighbor. You have to know who she is.”

He just shrugged.

“At any rate, we are here in Cambridge because Cecily’s mother thought we could all use a bit of improving.”

His mouth tipped into a vaguely mocking smile. “Improving?”

Honoria wondered why females always needed improving, while males got to go to school. “She bribed two professors into allowing us to listen to their lectures.”

“Really?” He sounded curious. And dubious.

“The life and times of Queen Elizabeth,” Honoria recited dutifully. “And after that, something in Greek.”

“Do you speak Greek?”

“Not a one of us,” she admitted. “But the professor was the only other one who was willing to speak to females.” She rolled her eyes. “He intends to deliver the lecture twice in a row. We must wait in an office until the students leave the lecture hall, lest they see us and lose all sense of reason.”

Marcus nodded thoughtfully. “It is nearly impossible for a gentleman to keep his mind upon his studies in the presence of such overwhelming female loveliness.”

Honoria thought he was serious for about two seconds. She managed one sideways glance in his direction before she burst out with a snort of laughter. “Oh, please,” she said, giving him a light punch in the arm. Such familiarities were unheard of in London, but here, with Marcus . . .

He was practically her brother, after all.

“How fares your mother?” he asked.

“She is well,” Honoria replied, even though she wasn’t. Not really. Lady Winstead had never quite recovered from the scandal of Daniel being forced to leave the country. She alternated between fussing over supposed slights and pretending her only son had never existed.

It was . . . difficult.

“She hopes to retire to Bath,” Honoria added. “Her sister lives there, and I think the two of them would get on well together. She doesn’t really like London.”

“Your mother?” Marcus asked, with some surprise.

“Not as she used to,” Honoria clarified. “Not since Daniel . . . Well. You know.”

Marcus’s lips tightened at the corners. He knew.

“She thinks people are still talking about it,” Honoria said.

“Are they?”

Honoria shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. I don’t think so. No one has given me the cut direct. Besides, it was nearly three years ago. Wouldn’t you think everyone has something else to talk about?”

“I would have thought that everyone would have had something else to talk about when it happened,” he said darkly.

Honoria lifted a brow as she regarded his scowl. There was a reason he scared off so many debutantes. Her friends were terrified of him.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They were only scared while in his presence. The rest of the time they sat at their escritoires, writing their names entwined with his—all in ridiculous loopy script, adorned with hearts and cherubs.