“So what?” Joan prompted gently.
“So much like a burden.” Victoria’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
Joan crossed to her sister in three quick steps and took both her hands. “You are not a burden, Victoria. You could never be a burden. Do you understand me?”
Victoria nodded. “I made soup,” she said, clearly desperate to change the subject. “It’s probably terrible—I’ve never actually cooked before—but I watched Cook do it often enough that I thought I could manage.”
“I’m certain it’s wonderful,” Joan said warmly. “Shall we have some?”
They settled in the small dining room—one of the few rooms that was reasonably warm and habitable—with bowls of what turned out to be surprisingly decent vegetable soup and thick slices of bread that Victoria said had one of the maids to bake.
Victoria watched Joan eat with anxious attention, and only relaxed when Joan took a second helping.
“This is delicious, truly,” Joan assured her. “You have hidden talents, sister.”
Victoria flushed with pleasure. “It kept me occupied, at least. Gave me something to think about besides…” She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to.
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments before Victoria set down her spoon and fixed Joan with a determined look.
“Where did you go this morning?” she asked. “And don’t tell me it was nothing of consequence. I know you too well for that.”
Joan hesitated, torn between her instinct to protect Victoria from anything that might worry her and her desire to include her sister in her plans.
“I had an idea,” she said slowly. “About how we might occupy our time here. How we might do something… meaningful.”
Victoria leaned forward, interest sparking in her eyes. “What sort of idea?”
Joan set down her own spoon and met her sister’s gaze. “Since we are to be here for some time—perhaps months—I thought we might use that time productively. I thought we might…” She paused, then said in a rush, “I thought we might teach the local children.”
Victoria blinked. “Teach them?”
“Reading, writing, arithmetic, history—all the things they deserve to learn but have no access to.” Joan felt excitement building as she spoke, pushing aside the complicated tangle of feelings about the Duke and his offer. “Most of these children will never attend proper schools. Their parents cannot afford tutors. But that doesn’t mean they should grow up illiterate and uneducated.”
She reached across the table and took Victoria’s hand. “Would you… would you like to help me with this? To teach the children here?”
For a long moment, Victoria simply stared at her. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face—the first real, unguarded smile Joan had seen since the disaster with Julian.
“Oh, Joan,” Victoria breathed. “That’s a wonderful idea. Truly wonderful. I would love to help. I am not as smart as you are but I want to help.” Her smile faltered slightly. “But how would we manage it? Where would we hold the lessons? We cannot bring dozens of children here—the house is barely habitable as it is.”
Joan felt her cheeks warm as the memory of the Duke’s proposition flooded back. His hand on hers.
Be my eyes, and I will give you anything you need.
She suppressed a shiver and forced her voice to remain steady. “I will handle the arrangements. Don’t worry about that.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed with sisterly suspicion. “Joan, you’re hiding something. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing that need concern you,” Joan said firmly. “I promise, I will secure a suitable location.”
Before Victoria could press further, they heard footsteps in the corridor. Sarah, one of the maids, appeared in the doorway with a curtsy.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Sinclair, but a letter has arrived for you. From London.”
Joan’s heart leapt. “From our brother?”
“Yes, Miss. The post rider said it was urgent.”
Joan took the sealed letter, noting Damian’s familiar handwriting on the outside. Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper.
