The Sum of All Kisses

“Of course not!” Honoria exclaimed, but Sarah’s negative howl was considerably louder.

“Oh, but you should!” Frances said with a delighted clap of her hands. “I like Lord Hugh very much. It’s true that he can be a little eccentric, but he’s terribly clever. And he’s a very good shot.”

All eyes swung back to Frances. “He shot Cousin Daniel in the shoulder,” Sarah reminded her.

“He’s a very good shot when he’s sober,” Frances clarified. “Daniel said so.”

“I cannot begin to imagine the conversation that revealed such a fact,” Honoria said, “nor do I wish to, this close to the wedding.” She turned resolutely back to Sarah. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Please say it does not involve Hugh Prentice.”

“It involves Hugh Prentice,” Honoria confirmed. “I need your help.”

Sarah made a great show of sighing. She was going to have to do whatever Honoria asked; they both knew that. But even if Sarah had to go down without a fight, she was not going to do so without a complaint.

“I am very much afraid that he will not feel welcome at Fensmore,” Honoria said.

Sarah could find nothing objectionable about that statement; if Hugh Prentice did not feel welcome, it was hardly her problem and nothing more than he deserved. But she could be diplomatic when the occasion warranted, so she remarked, “I think it is much more likely he will isolate himself. He’s not very friendly.”

“I find it more likely that he’s shy,” Honoria said.

Harriet, still seated at the desk, gasped with delight. “A brooding hero. The very best kind! I shall write him into my play!”

“The one with the unicorn?” Frances asked.

“No, the one I’ve just thought of this afternoon.” Harriet pointed the feather end of her quill toward Sarah. “With the heroine who is not too pink or green.”

“He shot your cousin,” Sarah snapped, whipping around to face her younger sister. “Does no one remember that?”

“It was such a long time ago,” Harriet said.

“And I think he’s sorry,” Frances declared.

“Frances, you are eleven,” Sarah said sharply. “You are hardly able to judge a man’s character.”

Frances’s eyes slitted. “I can judge yours.”

Sarah looked from sister to sister, then back at Honoria. Did no one realize what an awful person Lord Hugh was? Forget for the moment (as if one could) that he had nearly destroyed their family. He was horrid. One had only to speak with him for two minutes before—

“He does often seem uncomfortable at gatherings,” Honoria admitted, breaking into Sarah’s inner rant, “but that is all the more reason for us to go out of our way to make him feel welcome. I—” Honoria cut herself off, looked about the room, took in Harriet, Elizabeth, and Frances, all watching her with great and unconcealed interest, and said, “Excuse me, please.” She took Sarah’s arm and steered her out of the drawing room, down the hall, and into another drawing room.

“Am I to be Hugh Prentice’s nanny?” Sarah demanded once Honoria had closed the door.

“Of course not. But I am asking you to make sure that he feels a part of the festivities. Perhaps this evening, in the drawing room before supper,” Honoria suggested.

Sarah groaned.

“He’s likely to be off in a corner, standing by himself.”

“Perhaps he likes it that way.”

“You’re so good at talking to people,” Honoria said. “You always know what to say.”

“Not to him.”

“You don’t even know him,” Honoria said. “How terrible could it be?”

“Of course I’ve met him. I don’t think there is anyone left in London I haven’t met.” Sarah considered this, then muttered, “Pathetic though that seems.”

“I didn’t say you hadn’t met him, I said you do not know him,” Honoria corrected. “There is quite a difference.”

“Very well,” Sarah said, somewhat grudgingly. “If you wish to split hairs.”

Honoria just tilted her head, forcing Sarah to keep talking.

“I don’t know him,” Sarah said, “but what I’ve met of him, I don’t particularly like. I have tried to be amiable during these last few months.”

Honoria gave her a most disbelieving look.

“I have!” Sarah protested. “I wouldn’t say I’ve tried very hard, but I must tell you, Honoria, the man is not a sparkling conversationalist.”

Now Honoria looked as if she might laugh, which only fueled Sarah’s irritation.

“I have tried to speak with him,” Sarah ground out, “because that is what people do at social functions. But he never replies how he ought.”

“How he ought?” Honoria echoed.

“He makes me uncomfortable,” Sarah said with a sniff. “And I’m fairly certain he does not like me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Honoria said. “Everyone likes you.”

“No,” Sarah said, quite frankly, “everyone likes you. I, on the other hand, lack your kind and pure heart.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Merely that while you look for the best in everyone, I take a more cynical view of the world. And I . . .” She paused. How to say it? “There are people in this world who find me quite annoying.”

“That’s not true,” Honoria said. But it was an automatic reply. Sarah was quite sure that given more time to consider the statement, Honoria would realize that it was quite true.