“Well, that will likely make some indecent woman very happy.”
Joan gaped at her. “Evangeline!”
“What?” The older woman was unrepentant. “He’s a handsome devil. Such shoulders! And when he smiles, that dimple ... yes, I daresay he’s a bit wild, but wild men can settle down, my dear; the dull men remain dull their entire lives. Do you want to marry a dull man?”
“Well—no—”
“You could do much worse than Viscount Burke,” Evangeline pointed out. “And you’d never worry that he married you for your dowry.”
She scoffed. “He doesn’t need a farthing!”
“Of course not. And he’s a strong-willed fellow, I think. If he offers marriage, it will be because he wants you desperately.”
All this thinking and talking of Tristan Burke was making Joan’s head hurt. Worse, it was making her heart ache, and she didn’t like that at all. She had suffered infatuations before; they always came to naught, and after a few days of tears and moping, she’d forgotten what had caught her eyes in the first place. She had waited hopefully for calls from the proper, respectable gentlemen her mother presented to her, only to find she couldn’t wait for them to leave once they arrived. As soon as she decided a man was intriguing, he promptly fixed his affections on another girl; and as soon as a man showed any interest in her, however trifling or transient, she quickly realized how insipid he was. She didn’t see how Tristan Burke could possibly turn insipid now, but she still didn’t want to see him turn his wicked smile and lethal charm on any other girl.
“Aunt Evangeline,” she said firmly, trying to force her thoughts into safer paths. “He doesn’t want to marry me. I don’t think he’ll ever marry anyone. He’s paying me attention because Douglas tricked him into a promise—”
Her aunt snorted. “Do you honestly believe he would fulfill it if he found you offensive?”
“Well—perhaps—he did say once that he found challenges irresistible,” she said, feeling the color in her face rise again. “But that means he sees me as a challenge, not as a potential bride. There is a wide gulf between ‘not offensive’ and ‘desperate to marry.’ And I promise you, he is not going to marry me.”
“Not if you keep cutting him off every time he pays you a compliment.”
Joan was shocked. “He didn’t pay me any compliment!” Saying she had finally worn a dress that wasn’t ugly didn’t count as a real compliment, even if he’d managed to make it sound like one. “If he had, I would have ...” Fallen over in shock, she thought. Shock, and a wicked daze of delight. “I would have thanked him very politely.”
Evangeline laughed softly. “My dear child. The way helookedat you was a compliment.”
Mouth open to retort, Joan froze. She closed her mouth with a snap and sat back on the sofa. There was no argument there. But a lady could hardly thank a man forlookingat her. Even if it made her skin tingle. In fact, she probably ought to slap him if his regard made her skin tingle.
Although ... he might like that. His eyes had lit up when she punched him.
“And what’s more, I think you like him. I never saw your face more animated than when you were talking to him.”
“I can’t think why we’re even discussing this,” Joan said, stirring her cold tea energetically. “My parents would never approve of him, so even if he crawled on bended knee to our door and begged Papa for my hand, he would leave disappointed.”
Evangeline scoffed lightly. “You know that’s not true. If you truly care for him—or for any other suitor—you should tell your parents. Neither of them wants you to be unhappy or alone. I cannot believe they would refuse to let you marry a man you really loved, Joan.”
She swallowed. It was hard to imagine Papa refusing her in that situation, but she wasn’t so sure about her mother. “It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “Not now, anyway.”
“Just remember what I said, dear,” came Evangeline’s gentle reply. “Don’t let fear of your mother guide your heart.”
“I don’t fear my mother.” She paused. She didn’t, truly she didn’t ... she was just a little nervous about telling her mother certain things. “And if I had any affection for Lord Burke, let alone true love, and if he showed any such feeling in return, even to the point of wanting to marry me, you may rest assured I would ask Papa to agree if he asked for my hand. As it stands now, though, I see no reason to mention Lord Burke to either of my parents—and I hope you don’t, either,” she added, suddenly having a horrible vision of Evangeline writing to her father in favor of Lord Burke’s as-yet-nonexistent suit, and the attendant furor such a letter would provoke.
Her aunt flinched, and Joan instantly regretted her outburst. “I am the very last person on earth who would press you to marry against your inclination,” Evangeline said softly. “I’m sorry, Joan. I didn’t mean to cause you discomfort. I won’t trouble you about it again.” She got up and left the room before Joan could think of anything to say.
With a groan, she put down her cup and dropped her face into her hands. What a disaster. What had she been thinking? More people than just Evangeline would think she was trying to bring Lord Burke up to scratch, once she was seen driving and dancing with him. She must have been mad not to say a loud and definite no when he asked. Instead—she took an unsteady breath as her pulse skipped a beat. Instead she was looking forward to both sins.
That meant there was only one thing to do, for the good of her nerves and her spirits; there was only one sure way to distract her from her worries and settle her mood, and Joan felt a bit better just at the thought of it.
Go shopping.
Fortunately Abigail Weston could be counted upon. Penelope was great fun, but her attention was always drawn to the most shocking and titillating bit of anything. Abigail, on the other hand, was more thoughtful and mindful of proper behavior, which was probably why she was free to stroll down Bond Street and her sister was not. Penelope, as it turned out, had been careless, and her mother had discovered her reading50 Ways to Sin.
“It was her own fault she got caught,” Abigail said as they walked arm in arm a few steps behind Mrs. Townsend. “I warned her that Mama was expected home at any moment.”
“She was reading it in the drawing room?” Joan couldn’t believe it.
Abigail nodded. “Bold as brass, settled in the window seat with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. Mama saw her from the street, of course, and when she came in and asked what Pen was reading, the silly girl tried to lie.”
