The Honorable Heir by Laurie Alice Eakes

the lake. Though the sun blazed across the sky, ice still rimmed the lake, shiny on top where the surface had thawed. In no time, they would be able to ice-skate or toboggan. She gave a little hop of excitement at the prospect. Ice and snow were as foreign to Romney Marsh as she had been. Soon, perhaps, if she could make her peace with Georgette, Tuxedo Park would be home again. But Georgette hadn’t responded to any of her notes. Between that and Lord Tristram being determined to ruin her, she was beginning to doubt that anywhere could be home.
    “Lord Jesus, feeling settled somewhere isn’t too much to ask, is it?” she said aloud.
    Catherine didn’t pray a great deal. Perhaps she should, yet now, when her heart ached over the unfair accusation and the not-so-subtle messages that Georgette still wished for nothing to do with her, seemed wrong. If she wasn’t going to keep in contact with the Lord in good times, then she shouldn’t ask Him for help during the bad.
    Guilt and cold air constricted her breathing. Even Estelle, who would disobey their parents with the first opportunity to become a professional musician, could write a song called “Praise.” Perhaps the best alternative was a combination of prayer and request? “Hallowed be Thy name” and “Give us this day our daily bread” in equal measure?
    Contemplations on prayer needed to wait. If she didn’t head home, only a miracle would get her ready for the party on time.
    And tonight, preparing for the party meant more than donning an evening gown and choosing appropriate jewelry that would not bring the wrong kind of attention.
    It meant working out exactly how to manage Lord Tristram Wolfe.
    * * *
    Tristram’s mouth went dry at the sight of Lady Bisterne. In a purple gown that emphasized her long neck surrounded by a necklace of flat gold and enamel plaques, she looked like a queen.
    If Edwin Bisterne had married her only for her fortune, then he had been a bigger fool than Tristram believed. If he’d married her only for her money, then perhaps he owed her those jewels after all.
    Poised in the doorway to the VanDorns’ drawing room for half a minute longer than he should have been, Tristram watched Catherine ministering to the oldest guests. She tucked a pillow behind the back of an aged matron he already knew from experience was more than a little crotchety, then she glided across the floor to move a fire screen to better reflect heat for an old man with twinkling eyes. A middle-aged gentleman caught her hand as she passed. Instead of giving him the set-down he deserved, she offered him a brilliant smile, said something that not only made him release her fingers, but laugh while he let her go.
    Tristram’s conscience bit deep. Believing her guilty of revenge theft, especially once he realized how much she disliked her husband, was easy when he wasn’t with her. But this gracious and elegant lady could surely not so much as contemplate stealing her wedding ring on purpose, let alone an entire vault full of jewelry.
    And yet...
    Deciding he had been the fool this night for accepting the invitation, he entered the drawing room. Mr. VanDorn came toward him, one hand extended in greeting, the other holding a cup from which steam wafted.
    “Hot cider after what was surely a cold ride over.” Mr. VanDorn gave Tristram the glass.
    “I walked.” Tristram took the cup and wrapped his hands around it. “I enjoy walking, weather permitting.”
    “You sound like my daughter.” His gaze flicked across the room toward Catherine. “Which reminds me, she is your dinner partner.”
    Of course she was. Social precedent dictated the two of them would be seated either across from or next to one another. No doubt his hostess would be on the other side.
    “Allow me to make a few introductions for you.” VanDorn set his hand on Tristram’s shoulder. Then he proceeded to introduce people with names Tristram recognized because they occasionally made news in