“But it’s so plain!” said Mother at the same time, still staring at the gown in shock. “My daughter—out in that chemise!”
“I think it’s lovely,” murmured Joan.
“Now, Marion, ten years ago she would have worn sheer white muslin over a single petticoat. In our youth, she would have worn painted silk with all manner of birds on it. And in our mother’s day, it would have been heavy brocade.” Evangeline’s voice was growing strained. “This is a lovely silk, and—”
Mother looked up. “Evangeline, she’s an unmarried young lady. She ought not to dress like this.”
“But a simple design suits her. She hasn’t got your figure, Marion—she’s got mine! Ladies like us can’t wear the ruffles and trimmings you can,” Evangeline went on, almost pleadingly. “I only wanted her to wear something becoming.”
Mother’s lips parted in affront. “And the fashions I helped her select weren’t becoming—is that what you’re saying? At least I have the sense not to dress her in something that a loose woman might wear.”
The silence was painful. Joan wanted to sink through the floor, her fingers clenched on the folds of her glorious gold dress, the new dress that suited her and made her feel pretty—even beautiful, if Tristan could be believed. It made her ill to hear her mother’s words, though; not because she thought she looked like a loose woman, but because she knew she was one. She had been wanton and loose and she had loved every minute of it.
“Joan does not look like a loose woman,” said her father firmly, breaking the overpowering tension in the room. “She looks lovely, although far more sophisticated than I’m accustomed to seeing.” He gave her a nod. “That color suits you.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Papa.”
“And I did not race back to London to argue over fashion.” He directed a stern look on his sister and his wife before turning back to Joan. “Do you know why we’ve come home so suddenly?”
She had been throttling her brain in pursuit of that very answer. “I suppose someone wrote to you,” she began, “saying I’d been misbehaving.” This seemed the best plan. It involved some pain, but her chances were better with Papa in the room than they were with Mother alone.
“Go on,” said her father, confirming her suspicion.
She drew a long, shaky breath and turned to her mother. “I owe you an apology. I broke my promise to you. I—I did dance with Lord Burke again.”
“Oh, Joan,” exclaimed Mother in disappointed tones. “You gave me your word—”
“Marion,” said her husband. “Let her speak.”
“I danced with him because he asked me when no one else did, and I—I wanted to dance, Mother,” she confessed—honestly, as it turned out. “And he asked me, at first, because Douglas bade him do it; he told me that himself, and I trust Douglas will admit to it. Douglas thought he was doing a kind thing by asking Lord Burke to call on me and dance with me,” she went on, her voice growing stronger. She had done wrong, of course, but her brother had played a part in instigating the trouble—as usual—and she wasn’t about to shoulder the entire blame herself. “Since both he and Papa would be away from town, he didn’t want me to go into a decline worrying about Mother. I gather Lord Burke is the most respectable of his friends, so he asked it as a favor.”
“And was that the extent of Lord Burke’s attentions?”
“No,” she said, hoping her face wasn’t growing pinker with each word. “He came to tea and took me driving once, and he showed me and Evangeline his house.”
Her father’s gaze moved to her mother. But now her mother was staring in shock at Evangeline—Evangeline, who had been both very good and very bad for Joan these last few weeks. It made her stomach knot even though she didn’t know what to say. Defend her aunt and lie? Admit all that Evangeline had allowed her to do and suffer severe consequences? She couldn’t repay her aunt by turning her mother’s anger on her. After all, Evangeline might be at fault for not keeping closer watch on her, but any sins were solely Joan’s own. She couldn’t even blame Tristan for seducing her. If she had behaved as her mother’s daughter ought, none of this would have happened.
“Did Joan not tell you we disapproved of the gentleman?” Mother sounded as though she was choosing every word with care.
Evangeline was pale but composed. “I saw no harm in it. He’s a very eligible match—”
“He is wild,” Mother cut in. “He’s a notorious rake. His gambling habits are infamous. He’s not on speaking terms with his own family, and when he does appear in society, he usually leaves a scandal in his wake. There is more to eligibility than a charming smile.”
“He’s also titled, wealthy, and young enough to grow into a good husband, with the right encouragement,” argued Evangeline. “He’s not irretrievably wicked.”
“Well,” said Mother quietly, “you’ve been wrong about that before.”
The remaining color drained from Evangeline’s face. She didn’t say a word.
“I wanted to dance with him, Mother.” Joan quaked at the look her mother gave her, but she forged on. “I’ve come to admire Lord Burke a great deal. I danced again with him tonight.”
Mother closed her eyes. “Oh, my dear. Tell me it was only because you wanted to dance. Tell me you only admire his dancing. Tell me—” She seemed to waver, as if she would fall, and Papa was at her side in a moment.
“Dearest, you must go upstairs and let Janet tend you. I will talk to Joan.”
“George, please,” she whispered, trying to shake off his arm.
“I will carry you up the stairs if I must,” he told her. “Joan, ring for Janet.”
