She blushed a little in spite of herself. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Papa snorted. “You know very well what I mean. If Evangeline offers you brandy, you must refuse.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“And the same applies to whiskey, port, and any other spirit stronger than a glass of wine, my sly girl. Remember your mother.”
She pursed her lips. “Surely Mother wouldn’t want me to be rude to Aunt Evangeline.”
“No, she will expect you to decline gracefully and charmingly, as you do so well.” His mouth twitched as though he was trying not to smile. “It will make Mother worry if you don’t give your promise on this, and I won’t have her worried.”
“No, of course not.” Joan grew sober again. “How long do you expect to be gone?”
“Two months, perhaps three.”
That was a long time—far longer than she had been apart from both her parents in years, in fact. It hit her hard how worried her father must be for Mother’s health, for him to leave London on less than a day’s notice for several weeks. “You will write to us, won’t you? To let me and Douglas know how Mother is?”
“Douglas won’t be in London,” said her father, a new line of worry appearing in his forehead. “I had planned to go to Ashwood House next month, to see to the work there. Someone needs to oversee the rebuilding after the floods. Since I can’t go, I am sending Douglas.”
“Douglas?” Joan goggled at him, shocked all over again. “You’re sending Douglas to build something?” First Evangeline, now this. It was as if the world had toppled onto its side, upending years of expectations.
“He doesn’t have to build anything. He merely has to supervise the work and keep me apprised of it.” Papa paused. “It will be rather good for him. He’s only got up to trouble in town this year.”
“I know, but ... goodness.” Joan didn’t feel even the slightest tremor of regret for falsely impugning her brother over her waltz with Lord Burke. Not only did he deserve it, she was certain he’d done much, much worse that her parents had never learned about. “How did he take the news?”
“Well enough.” The butler came up and murmured a word to Papa, who nodded and turned to Joan again. “You’ll get on with Evangeline, won’t you? I trust you, you know.”
“More than you trust her.”
“I trust her, too,” he said without blinking an eye. “It’s the combination that worries me.”
A flutter of motion on the stairs caught her eye before Joan could reply. Janet was coming down the stairs, buttoning her traveling coat with one hand and her other arm filled with cushions and throw rugs. Behind her, moving far more slowly and gingerly, came two footmen supporting Lady Bennet between them. Far from protesting, Mother looked pale and tired, and she winced with each step. She looked ill, truly ill, and fear squeezed Joan’s heart. “I’ll be good, Papa,” she promised in a rush. “I’ll mind Aunt Evangeline and make Mother proud of me.”
“I knew you would.” He flashed her a quick smile before striding across the hall and taking the stairs two at a time to his wife’s side. Lady Bennet gave him a weak but grateful smile as he waved aside one of the footmen and put his own arm around her.
Joan felt tears prickle the back of her eyes as her father gently lifted her mother into his arms at the foot of the stairs, handling her as if she were made of glass. All her life, Mother had been the strong one, with a will of iron and an indomitable spirit. Papa was the easygoing parent, able to wink at Joan’s minor sins and willing to slip her a biscuit or treat her to a new bonnet when she’d been scolded and reprimanded by her mother. She’d never thought her father was weak—not physically, not mentally—but it was shocking to see him overrule Mother’s protest that she could walk without blinking an eye, dictating every last detail to the servants, walking away from all his duties and responsibilities without hesitation.
She followed him out to the waiting carriage, and hurried to help Janet arrange the cushions under her mother’s feet and at her back. Twice Lady Bennet was taken with a fit of coughing, and Joan saw the blood-spotted handkerchief before Janet whisked it away and tucked a fresh one into her mistress’s hand. She sent a worried glance at her father, whose grim face indicated he’d seen the blood as well. She ducked her head and smoothed the throw rug over her mother’s feet. Mother looked as if she’d shrunk, and her fingers were almost as white as the handkerchief she clutched. When Joan looked up, Mother gave her a weak smile.
“Thank you, dear,” she said. Her voice was soft and raspy.
Gently Joan took her hand. “Get well again, Mother. I’ve already told Papa he must write to me every week and tell me how you are.”
Lady Bennet smiled. “I shall do my best. And you—” She glanced at Janet. “Your father spoke to you?”
She nodded. “I gave him my promise,” she said quietly. “You’re not to worry about me.”
Her mother’s fingers tightened on hers. “I won’t.” Joan leaned into the carriage and kissed her mother’s cheek in farewell, then stepped down.
Papa was drawing on his gloves; the butler stood behind him with his hat. “I expect it will take several days for the journey,” he said. “I won’t jostle her more than necessary.”
“No, no, of course not.” Joan blinked several times, overwhelmed by the upheaval. “When should I expect Aunt Evangeline?”
His mouth thinned and he glanced down the street. “At any moment. I sent her word this morning we were leaving as soon as possible. I’m sure she’ll be here within an hour.” He paused. “If she doesn’t arrive today, you must go to Doncaster House.”
The Countess of Doncaster was her mother’s sister. Joan would have happily gone to stay at Doncaster House if her cousin Mariah were in residence, but she was not. In fact, she suspected that only the earl was in residence now; Aunt Cassandra had gone to tend Mariah for the birth of her child. Joan wasn’t precisely frightened of the Earl of Doncaster, but she was mightily intimidated by him.
“Er ... perhaps it would be best if I went to the Westons,” she said, adding quickly, “just until Aunt Evangeline arrives, of course.”
