Now she stood before the looking glass in their shared chamber, hardly recognizing her own reflection. The dress that had been the gift from the Duke was the most beautiful thing Joan had ever seen, a deep crimson silk that seemed to shimmer in the lamplight, with delicate embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. It fit her perfectly, as though it had been made specifically for her measurements.
She guessed he’d sent her the dress to wear to the ball.
How did he know? she wondered. How could he have guessed so precisely?
“You look stunning,” Victoria breathed, adjusting the final pin in Joan’s hair. “Absolutely stunning.”
Victoria herself wore a gown of pale blue that brought out the color of her eyes and made her look ethereal and lovely. For the first time in months, her sister looked truly happy, with roses in her cheeks and light in her eyes.
Peters drove them to the hall in the carriage, and as they descended, several children who had been waiting outside rushed over to greet them.
“Miss Sinclair! Miss Victoria! You came!”
“You look like a princess!” Imogen declared, staring at Joan’s red dress with open admiration.
“You both do,” Percival added shyly.
Victoria laughed and twirled, making her skirts swirl around her. “Shall we go in together?”
They entered the hall—and Joan had to suppress a gasp.
The space had been completely transformed. Garlands of evergreen and holly draped from the rafters. Candles flickered everywhere, their warm light reflecting off polished surfaces. A small orchestra occupied the stage, playing soft music that filled the air with warmth and festivity. Tables laden with food lined one wall, and the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread made Joan’s stomach rumble despite her nervousness.
But it was the people who truly caught her attention. The hall was packed with villagers dressed in their finest clothes, all talking and laughing with an ease that spoke of long-standing community bonds.
As Joan and Victoria made their entrance, conversations faltered. Heads turned. Eyes widened.
Joan felt her cheeks warm under the scrutiny, but she kept her chin high and her expression serene. Victoria squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Timothy Andersen was the first to approach, Percival in tow. “Miss Sinclair, Miss Sinclair. You both look lovely this evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Andersen,” Joan replied warmly. “And thank you again for all your help with the school.”
Other parents began to approach: the physician, the vicar, the baker. One by one, they thanked Joan and Victoria for teaching their children, for giving them opportunities they’d never dreamed possible. Joan felt her throat tighten with emotion at their sincere gratitude.
She was speaking with Imogen’s father when the hall suddenly fell silent.
The Duke had arrived.
Joan turned toward the entrance and felt her breath catch. Laurence Whitby, Duke of Ashcroft, stood in the doorway dressed in evening clothes of black and silver that made him look every inch the powerful nobleman he was. The scars on his face only added to his commanding presence.
Beside him stood a tall, handsome man with warm brown eyes and an easy smile, she decided that must be Hugo, the Duke of Ravenvale. And on the Duke’s of Ashcroft’s other side was a young woman of perhaps one-and-twenty, with golden hair and delicate features. She wore a gown of pale pink that complemented her fair coloring, and she stood close enough to the Duke that their arms nearly touched.
That’s her,Joan thought, something cold settling in her stomach. That’sOctavia St. Vincent.
Everyone in the hall dropped into curtsies and bows. The Duke acknowledged them with a slight nod.
“Rise,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the space. “And enjoy the evening.”
Permission granted, conversations slowly resumed. But Joan noticed people still sneaking glances at their host, equal parts awed and intimidated by his presence.
A server passed by with a tray of wine glasses. Joan took one automatically, bringing it to her lips and drinking deeply.
Victoria looked at her in surprise. Joan never drank, she’d always claimed it made her head fuzzy and she preferred to keep her wits about her.
But tonight, Joan needed something to steady her nerves. She took another sip, the wine warming her from the inside.
Victoria didn’t ask questions, simply placed a comforting hand on Joan’s arm. Joan stroked her sister’s hand in reassurance, trying to project a calm she didn’t feel.
