“I’m getting married.”
The words fell between them like a guillotine blade.
The Duke went absolutely still. The color drained from his face. “What?”
“I’m getting married,” Joan repeated, forcing her voice to remain flat and emotionless. “Thank you for your honesty about Miss St. Vincent, but as I said, there was no need for such clarification. Our arrangement has concluded.”
“Joan, ”
“Since our agreement has ended,” she continued, speaking over him, “I’ll be moving the children out of your hall. I’ll make other arrangements for the school.”
She began gathering her things with sharp, efficient movements. “It’s improper for us to be alone together for so long. Any further communication between us should be conducted through our respective staff.”
She couldn’t risk Julian discovering that the Duke meant anything to her. She couldn’t risk Julian using that knowledge to make things even more difficult, for her sister, for her family.
Better to cut this clean now. Better to end it before it could be used as a weapon.
The Duke stood, his expression shifting from shock to determination. “Fine. I’ll leave for now. But I’ll be back when you’re in a better mood.”
“Your Grace, ”
“I’m not giving up, Joan.” His voice was absolute. “Whatever is happening, whatever you think you have to do, I’m not giving up on you.”
He turned and walked toward the door, his movements stiff and controlled. At the threshold, he paused and looked back.
“I’ll be back,” he said again. “You can count on that.”
Then he was gone, and Joan was alone.
She sank onto one of the benches, her carefully maintained composure finally crumbling. Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and bitter and unstoppable.
I’m sorry,she thought, though she didn’t know if the apology was meant for the Duke, for her siblings, or for herself.I’m so sorry.
But sorry changed nothing. In a few days, she would go to London. And in three days, she would become Lady Aldridge.
And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, anyone could do to stop it.
Joan stepped through the front door of Fairfax Manor, her footsteps echoing in the quiet entrance hall. The acrid smell of tobacco smoke hit her immediately, and she followed it to the small parlor.
Damian stood by the window, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, staring out at nothing. Victoria sat on the settee, her posture rigid and her face absolutely desolate. Both of them turned as Joan entered, rising to their feet in unison.
Joan straightened her back, lifted her chin, and walked to the chair opposite them. She sat with deliberate grace, folding her hands in her lap.
Damian moved first, crushing out his cigarette in a dish before turning to face her fully. “I’ve spoken with several officials this morning,” he said without preamble. “What Julian did last night, coming here with hired men, surrounding our carriage, threatening us, it constitutes an abuse of power and intimidation. He’s going to be questioned by the magistrate.”
Joan kept her expression neutral. “And then?”
“And then I’ll handle it,” Damian said firmly. “I’ve already sent word to Julian that there will be no wedding. That any further attempts to contact this family will result in formal charges being filed.”
Foolish, Joan thought. Brave and loving, but foolish.
Damian didn’t seem to grasp, or perhaps refused to accept. Yes, they were a noble family themselves. Yes, Damian had position and connections. But Julian’s family had roots that went back centuries, had influence that stretched through every level of government and society. They could weather a scandal. The Sinclairs could not.
It was a losing battle, and they all knew it. But Damian, dear protective Damian, was going to fight it anyway.
Joan couldn’t allow that.
She needed to be cold now. She needed to be harsh. It was the only way to make them stop trying to save her.
