“It looks as though they’ve just arrived.” Evangeline’s face and voice had settled into a chill calm.
The carriage stopped. Joan scrambled to look out the window. A large travel coach stood in the street, with servants handing down trunks and boxes. Her home was ablaze with light, and the front door was wide open to admit the servants with those trunks and boxes. “Oh, help,” she whispered.
Evangeline seized her wrist in an iron grip. “Say nothing,” she commanded. “I will speak to them.” She didn’t let go until Joan gave a nod. Then she took a deep breath and gathered her skirt as the footman swung open the door. “My goodness,” she cried in apparent delight as she stepped out of the carriage. “Have Sir George and Lady Bennet returned, Smythe?”
The butler bowed to her from his place near the door. “Indeed, my lady.”
“How timely!” A wide smile fixed on her face, Evangeline turned to look at Joan as she, too, stepped down. “Joan dear, your parents have returned!” she called. “Your mother must be restored to health. I must say, it doesn’t seem at all a pity now that I felt tired and made you leave the ball early, does it?”
Joan shook her head, too tense to speak. Evangeline was trying to save her, but she knew all too well it would only be a matter of time before her mother heard about tonight. Trying to mimic her aunt’s pleased demeanor, she followed Evangeline into the house.
Papa appeared as the servants were carrying away their cloaks. Evangeline saw him first. “George, you should have sent word that you were returning tonight!” She rushed toward him to clasp his hands. “I’m so sorry we were away; if I’d known, we would have stayed home to welcome you.”
Papa kissed her cheek, but his gaze never wavered from Joan. “We came in a hurry, Evangeline; forgive me.”
“Welcome home, Papa.” Joan hurried forward to embrace him. “Is everything all right? Why were you in a hurry?”
He peered closely at her, a thin line creasing his forehead. “Are you well, poppet?”
She wet her lips and tried to smile. “Perfectly. Why?”
“Is there anything you would like to tell me?” he pressed, in a low, meaningful tone that made her heart almost stop. He knew. How could he know? It happened only an hour ago! Papa hadn’t even been at the ball! How on earth could he know?
“Not really, no,” she squeaked. “Why do you ask?”
His shoulders seemed to fall. His jaw set. “Are you certain, Joan?”
Somehow he knew, and no plausible lie was ready on her tongue. She just stared at her father, wide-eyed.
“Joan.” Everyone turned. Mother stood in the dining room doorway. She looked thinner, with a thick shawl around her shoulders, and she leaned on a cane, but otherwise she looked the same. “What have you been up to?”
Panic rendered her mute. She looked to her aunt in desperation, but Evangeline was already sweeping across the hall. “Marion! How well you look. Come, let us go into the drawing room. Standing so near the open door cannot be good for any of us.”
“Yes, my dear, let us retire to the drawing room.” Papa went and offered Mother his arm. Mother’s gaze didn’t waver from Joan, but she didn’t say another word until they reached the drawing room and Papa closed the doors.
“How was your journey back to London?” Evangeline kept up her determined cheer, pretending not to notice the tension among the rest of them.
“Whatever has been going on here?” Mother asked Joan, ignoring Evangeline’s question.
She swallowed. She’d had a moment to calm herself and think rationally. There was no possible way Papa could have heard about this evening. Whatever had brought them back to London in a hurry had happened days ago. It was possible someone had heard about the ballooning trip, but Joan thought it far more likely that Tristan’s presence in South Audley Street was sufficient. Someone would have noticed his visits and written to her mother. “We were at the Brentwood ball this evening. Evangeline felt a trifle unwell, so we returned home early—happily, as it turns out. I’d no idea you were coming back to town so soon, Mother.”
“We decided rather quickly.” Her mother’s eyes grew wide as she looked down. “Good heavens, what are you wearing?”
She spread her palms against the cool silk of her skirt. “A new gown. Do you like it?”
“I took her to my dressmaker,” said Evangeline quickly, shooting Joan an encouraging glance. “It’s not the most conventional gown, but I think it looks beautiful on her.”
“Can we discuss the gown later?” asked Papa.
“George, she went out in society like this!” Mother sounded aghast. “In conjunction with the other news—” She broke off. “What was wrong with your other gowns?”
“I wanted to try something new. And ... I didn’t think the other gowns were as flattering.”
Dismay flashed across her mother’s face. “They were perfectly fashionable!”
“Again, I must take the blame,” Evangeline tried again. “I noticed a—a certain similarity between Joan’s figure and mine, and since I look absolutely wretched in the current fashions, I thought she might like to try something else as well. I encouraged her—in fact, it was my gift to her, so you aren’t out of pocket for it, George.”
“Hang the bill,” said Papa testily.
