Joan did as she was told, and when her mother’s maid came to the door, Lady Bennet went. Her eyes filled with worry as she looked at Joan, but she left without a word.
“George, I’m entirely to blame,” said Evangeline as soon as the door closed. “Whatever happened that displeased Marion, it was my fault—”
Papa held up one hand. “I’m not looking to cast blame. Don’t berate yourself. May I speak with Joan alone now?”
Evangeline bowed her head. Silently she went out the door, closing it behind her.
Papa turned to Joan and leveled a weary gaze on her. “This is a fine mess, poppet.”
“I didn’t mean to do it.”
“I know. Come sit with me.” He led the way to the sofa and sat down. Joan perched on the other end of the sofa, feeling much less brave now that she would have to explain things to her father. “Why did you dance with the one man your mother told you to avoid?”
She clasped her hands on her lap and studied them. Evangeline had said Papa would give his blessing if he knew Joan really loved Tristan. This might be her best chance to set her father straight, since it was clear Mother’s disapproval was as strong as ever. “Because I wanted to dance with him, and go driving with him, and go ballooning.”
Her father frowned. “Ballooning?”
She nodded even as her cheeks grew warm. So they hadn’t heard about that. At least it wouldn’t be hanging over her head now. “It was thrilling, Papa. I’ve rarely enjoyed myself so much. He can be very charming and engaging when he wishes to be. And—and he’s very handsome, too.”
“Hmph.” His brow was still lowered. “And he took you to see his house?”
“Yes, and Evangeline, too,” Joan replied. “Lord Burke is rebuilding the house, since the roof gave way and several rooms were flooded, and he’s incorporated a number of wonderful inventions. He’s got a whole room just for bathing, Papa, with a water collection system and a special stove to heat the bathwater. I’ve never seen anything so perfectly designed for one’s comfort in a London house! He’s put pipes inside the walls and floor to heat the house even when the fires are out. And there’s a dumbwaiter for coal, so the servants can’t drop it on the stairs. Isn’t that the cleverest thing you’ve ever heard of?”
“Indeed. How very modern.” Papa was still watching her closely, but there was a more contemplative look in his eyes. “And this is why he’s staying in your brother’s house?”
“Yes, because his house isn’t finished. He said he hadn’t decided what color to paint the walls, and he asked my opinion about the draperies and carpets because there are none.”
“Hmm.”
He was taking this rather well. Perhaps Evangeline had been right. “Why does Mother dislike him so?” she asked, encouraged by his tempered response. “I remember he and Douglas got up to loads of trouble when they were boys, but that was a very long time ago.”
He sighed, but with a hint of a guilty grin. “I suppose I’m to blame for that. When I was Douglas’s age, I ran with a wild crowd. They were capital mates for a young man in search of trouble, but your mother found them reprehensible. I think she was correct, too, so don’t scowl at me, miss,” he added. “Not until I left that behind did I realize how right she was. I think she views young Burke as a similarly bad influence on Douglas, and needless to say, he’s the last sort of man she would want her only daughter to marry.”
“But you changed, even though you were one of that wild crowd.”
“I did. And it was largely thanks to your mother.”
Joan thought of what Evangeline had said: Papa changed in order to win Mother’s heart. “Mightn’t Lord Burke be able to do the same? He’s far from the worst of Douglas’s friends.”
“High praise,” her father muttered.
“By that measure, she must think Douglas is wildly unsuitable as well, and yet she was actively conspiring to see him marry Felicity Drummond a month ago.”
“She hopes the right lady will be able to settle his unruly urges and inspire him to become more respectable as a husband.”
She pursed her lips. “Couldn’t one say the same of Lord Burke?” She longed to suggest that she could be the lady who coaxed him to abandon some of his worst habits and behave a bit more respectably, but that unanswered question from Sir Paul Brentwood’s private library clouded her heart; what did Tristan want to come next? She would have sworn he meant to say more, but he hadn’t.
“Perhaps,” her father allowed. “But Mother worries more for Douglas’s refinement than she does for Burke’s—and she’s not eager to risk your happiness on the chance of him reforming. A little excitement—or even a lot—right now isn’t worth a lifetime of despair.”
“No, Papa,” she murmured.
“Well.” He got to his feet. “You should go to bed. We’ll sort this out in the morning.”
“How?”
He looked at her somberly. “I don’t know, my dear.”
Chapter 25
