"I'm so glad you and Dad found each other," Honor said.

"I've loved him for years," Mrs. J. said. "Oh, dear, don't tell anyone I said that. My reputation will suffer greatly." She gave Honor a squeeze. "But it's true."

"You hid it well."

Mrs. J. gave her a pointed look. "And you're hiding something, too, aren't you, Honor?"

Guilt over lying flashed hot and sharp. "Um, no."

Mrs. Johnson huffed. "Please. You can't fool me any better than when you were a little girl."

"I was sixteen when you met me."

"Exactly. And you're a terrible liar. Why are you marrying this man you just met?"

"Shh! Mrs. Johnson, come on!" Honor's face was brick red in the mirror.

"Is it for a green card?"

"Shh! That would be fraud! And I'm not exactly the law-breaking, Jesse James, Tony Soprano kind of person. Am I?"

"No. Which is why I'm so concerned."

"It's just...love."

"Bah."

"Mrs. Johnson..."

"Honor, my dear," she said gently, "I won't tell anyone. But do you think you should be marrying someone you don't love? Settling for a person because he's pleasant and needs a favor?"

Honor wiped her hands on her skirt. "Um, no. I shouldn't. But I-" She took a shaky breath. "You can't tell Dad," she whispered.

"I won't." The housekeeper's eyes were kind, even if her face was solemn.

Honor took a deep breath. "Not everyone gets a true love, Mrs. J.," she whispered. "Some of us make the best with what life offers."

"And you've done that ever since I've known you, Honor Grace! Don't be a martyr!"

"Martyrdom is our family motto," Honor said. "You should know that by now. And Tom's nice. He's a good person. I do have...feelings for him."

"Does he have feelings for you?"

"Yes. I think so. He could, at any rate. Maybe."

"Doesn't that sound heartening." Mrs. J. gave her a pointed look.

Honor sighed. "Faith and Pru are coming back."

"If you need someone to talk to, my dear, you can always come to me."

Her heart softened. "Thank you."

Pru and Faith approached, a long lacy veil trailing from the hands of the consultant. "Don't bother," Mrs. Johnson said. "I'm not wearing it. It looks impudent. The dress, however, I'll take."

As they were paying for the dress, Faith leaned over the counter. "Gwen," she said to the shop's owner, "so long as we're here, can we schedule an appointment for my sister?" She flashed a smile at Honor. "Is that okay? You can't really elope or just go to city hall."

Honor swallowed. "Sure. Why not?"

Because especially after that kiss in the cellar today, she wanted to marry Tom Barlow. Illegal or not.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"THAT'S IT, CHARLIE. Get that hand up, mate." Tom stood behind the heavy bag, trying not to wince. Charlie's jab was pathetic. "Put your shoulder into it, remember?"

"I'm trying!" He wasn't, that was the problem.

"Good! Now your hook. Side of the bag, come on. Get that hand up." Charlie flailed listlessly, his so-called hook weak and off-center. "Brilliant! So how's school these days?" Anyone beat you up recently?

No answer.

One would imagine that if Charlie were being bullied, he'd be interested in learning to fight. Perhaps it was a positive sign that he didn't seem to care about these lessons.

The gym door opened, and Charlie threw himself into the effort, punching like a little dervish, his voluminous T-shirt flopping around him like sweaty wings. The lad glanced at the door-not Abby Vanderbeek. His arms dropped to his sides.

"Hands up," Tom said, reaching out to tap the lad on the side of the head to demonstrate that an opponent could find an opening.

"Don't touch me," Charlie muttered, returning to his lethargic punches.

"There's a tournament coming up," Tom said, more to make conversation than because he thought Charlie would actually be interested. "Ages fourteen and up, division by weight. You could enter. You're getting really good." A lie, of course.

The bell rang, and without a word, Charlie slouched away. Lesson over, apparently.

Furthermore, the kid wouldn't shower at the gym, so he rather reeked on the short drive back to the Kellogg house, ignoring Tom completely, staring out the window.

It was b.l.o.o.d.y amazing, Tom thought as they pulled onto Apple Blossom Drive, how long the kid could hold a grudge. Even if Charlie was correct in blaming Tom for Melissa's death, when would Tom be forgiven? He wasn't the one behind the wheel of the car that'd struck Melissa. He wasn't the one who told Melissa to text and cross a busy intersection at the same time. He'd rewritten his life these past few years for Charlie, and the little b.u.g.g.e.r wouldn't give him the time of day.

He loved Charlie. He hated Charlie. He was afraid for Charlie. Every day, there was another tragic story of a teen suicide. Those faces on the news-so young, so doomed-made a cold sweat break out on Tom's back.

He pulled up in front of the Kelloggs' house. "See you soon, mate," he said.

Surprisingly, Charlie didn't move. "Is anyone else doing that tournament?" he asked, not looking at Tom.

"Um, no, not that I know of." Anyone else would probably mean Abby Vanderbeek. "I'll mention it on Tuesday at the self-defense cla.s.s." He paused. "Are you interested?"

Charlie shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."

"Great! That's brilliant." So maybe boxing was a way to bond. Or impress girls. h.e.l.l. That's why Tom started. Either way, it was a step in the right direction.

"I can look into it for you," he said. "I'd need permission from your grandparents."

Another shrug.

"Right. Well, I'll walk you to the door and mention it, shall I?"

Janice greeted him with her usual once-over. "h.e.l.lo there, Tom," she said to his crotch.

"Janice."

"How was he? Horrible?"

"No, he was great. See you, Charlie." Tom waved, but the gesture was not returned. Then again, Charlie didn't flip him off, either, so maybe that was progress. "Listen, Janice, Charlie might be interested in a boxing tournament for kids his age."

"Really? I can't imagine that he'd beat anyone."

"That's not a great att.i.tude, is it?" Tom said. "If he's motivated-"

Janice snorted.

"He's got potential. I mean, perhaps he's not born to the sport, but if he's interested, let's encourage that."

"Fine. I suppose it'll cost more money."

"I'll cover it. Not to worry." She was staring at his neck, vampirelike, if there were middle-aged vampires who wore pink tracksuits, that was.

"I don't know why you bother," Janice said. "He's not exactly a joy to have around."

Tom gritted his teeth. "He is to me."

"Right." Derision painted her features, and for a second, it felt like Melissa was standing right there.

"I'll be in touch," Tom said.

"Suit yourself," she said. "But don't count on him following through. He's lazy, just like Melissa." One more look at Tom's junk, and she closed the door.

How was that for positive reinforcement?

Tom's jaw was clenched as he got back in the car. Add to this, it was allegedly spring but utterly beastly out. Freezing cold and damp.

How was it that Charlie was better off with those wretched grandparents instead of him? Maybe, Charlie would have a chance in life if the people he actually lived with liked him a bit more. Didn't call him lazy or horrible in front of him.

Tom needed a drink.

The little rat-dog went off in hysterics when Tom came in, yapping without stop. Yark! Yark! Yark! "Spike! Enough," he ordered. The dog ignored him.

Where was Honor? Had she told him she had plans? Was she still cleaning her grandparents' house? There was no note, and no message on his phone. He could call her, he supposed. Then again, what would he say? Where are you? Get back here, I'm in a b.l.o.o.d.y horrible mood and I'd really like not to be alone.

Yark! Yark! Yarkyarkyark! The little dog skittered into the room, then commenced growling. "Really impressive," he said, pouring two fingers of whiskey. "I'm b.l.o.o.d.y terrified."

He sat there, trying to ignore the little ankle-biter, who now had his pants in her tiny teeth. "Come on now," he said, reaching down and scooping up the dog. "Let's be friends, what do you say?"

Spike sank her teeth into his thumb. "p.i.s.s off, Ratty," he said. He set her on the floor and went to the sink to rinse off the blood. Ridiculous little dog. He should get a proper mutt who'd hopefully teach her some manners.

Picking the nasty little baggage up but keeping his hand on her neck so she couldn't twist around and bite him again, he carried her upstairs, opened Honor's bedroom door and set the dog on the bed, where the precious thing continued to snarl at him, sounding more like a rabid hedgehog than a real threat.

It smelled nice in here. Lemony. Neat as a pin, and looking very much as he'd had it, thanks to her paranoia about being discovered. While some of her clothes were in Tom's room, there wasn't room enough for all of them. He opened a drawer to find out.

Rather nice panties, he thought. Pink here, black-and-white polka dots there. Matching bras. h.e.l.lo there. The woman who dressed like a modern-day Puritan had quite lovely knickers. Almost s.l.u.tty, in fact, and wasn't that a plus in the marital column?

Yark! Yark!

Ratty was back, gnawing on his ankle. "You know, Ratty, for a squirrel, you're a right pain in the a.r.s.e," he said. "Enjoy your solitude."

With that, he closed the door behind him, ignoring the scrabbling paws against the door. Back downstairs. No bleeding on the ankle, as the dog's teeth appeared to have gone straight into the bone marrow instead.

He finished his whiskey. Poured another one and drank half of that.

The door opened, and in came his bride-to-be. "Darling," he said. "Where've you been?"

"We were shopping for a wedding dress."

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. "Do we really need to go all out?" he asked, turning to survey her. She looked...good. Irritatingly so.

"We should talk about that." She was blushing. "It was pointed out to me that my family expects something a little bigger than just you and me and a justice of the peace."

"Are you becoming a bridezilla, Honor?"

"No. I'm just saying that I have a family to consider. And also, maybe it'd be more convincing if we had a real wedding. With a dress and flowers and all that. And by the way, the shopping wasn't for me. It was for Mrs. Johnson." She paused. "But I made an appointment for myself." Her face grew even redder.

"Shall we see if Pippa Middleton is free to be your bridesmaid, in case your sisters aren't enough?"

"Why are you in a mood?"

"Your dog bit me. Twice."

"Poor baby."

"Thanks."

"I meant her. Where is she, by the way?"

"I ate her." She waited. "She's in your room."