Without demanding anything of him in return.
Having never felt that type of love before, was it any wonder he’d been suspicious of it? Was it any wonder that he’d squandered it? If Lavinia had taught him anything, it was that commitment did not come without painful consequences. But whatever sickness they’d had between them, it was never love. Which meant he hadn’t ever known what love really was.
Until he’d met Joanna.
Kincaid’s grip tightened around the flask.
What afoolhe was!
All this time, he’d been running from something he’d never even had. And then when hedidhave it, when it was in his grasp and he had only to close his hand around it, he’d allowed Lavinia to yank it away.
Which he was certain had been her intention all along.
“Oi, save some for me,” the duke complained, yanking the flask out of Kincaid’s grip. “Do you’ve any idea how many debutantes are going to be in there tonight? I need all the liquid fortitude I can get.”
And Kincaid needed another chance with Joanna.
A chance he damned well didn’t deserve.
But one he was going to take anyways.
“I have to speak with her,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.
“Your American?” Sterling asked.
For once, Kincaid didn’t try to correct him. Because Joannawashis.
That is, if she’d take him back.
“Yes,” he said, already calculating the time it would take to hail a hansom cab and get across London to the boarding house.
“Then you’re in luck,” said Sterling cheerfully, pointing out the window towards the marble pillars guarding the front entrance of the manor where guests were lined up in a long queue waiting to be admitted. “Because there she is.”
*
“This is it.”Her face tinged pink with excitement and a dusting of rouge, Evie’s gloved fingernails dug into Joanna’s arm as a butler dressed in formal black accepted their invitations (courtesy of Rosemary) and waved them onward. “Our official debut into London High Society!”
“Is it an official debut when no one knows who we are?” Joanna wondered aloud as they followed the crowd through an enormous foyer with hand-painted tile on the floor and gold chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. By her count, there had to be at least two hundred people in attendance. Most likely even double that, as she hadn’t actuallyseenthe ballroom yet. It loomed before them, guarded by towering doors painted a vivid blue with naked cherubs at the top and clouds at the bottom.
She and Evie shuffled ahead at a snail’s pace, giving her plenty of opportunity to take in her surroundings…and the other guests.
Before their father died, Joanna and her sisters had hosted a ball at their stately manor in town. There had been dancing, and singing, and vases filled with white roses. At the time, she’d thought it was the very height of elegance. But when compared to the Countess of Beresford’s birthday celebration, it might as well have been a picnic on a grassy knoll.
The sheer size of the estate was intimidating enough. Why, the foyer alone was the entire size of their cottage! Pair that with footmen milling about carrying sparkling glasses of champagne, real-life swans roaming the front gardens, the most exquisite gowns Joanna had ever laid eyes upon, and the entire affair was absolutely mind-boggling.
A subtle sweep of the room (her third, as it so happened) revealed a sea of unfamiliar faces. She was looking for her cousin. DefinitelynotKincaid. But if she happened to see him, well, wasn’t it better to know where he was? Better to prepare herself ahead of time for the inevitable pain she was going to feel when she saw him. Better to get control of her recalcitrant emotions now rather than later. Because if she started crying again, not only was she going to be disappointed in herself, Evie would be furious. Her sister had already warned her that tears did not come out of silk, and Joanna’s dress was made out of yards of it.
A mossy green that complemented her titian mane, it had a wide-necked bodice that sat just off her shoulders, sleeves adorned with ivory rosettes, and a large skirt decorated with embossed tulle. The gown was simplistic in design, allowing Joanna’s natural beauty to shine through. Evie had twisted her hair into a pile of curls on the top of her head, accentuating the length of her neck and the height of her cheekbones. Candlelight reflected off the alabaster pearls at her ears and throat, the only jewelry she wore. Elbow-length satin gloves, borrowed from Mademoiselle Claudette’s vast collection of accessories, completed her attire.
When Joanna had gazed at her reflection before they left the boarding house, she’d been hard-pressed to recognize herself. In some ways, she felt like a butterfly, set free from its cocoon. In other ways, it was as if she were staring at a stranger.
And a stranger was staring back.
Wasthiswhat her life would have been like if she were raised in London? Fancy gowns and elegant balls and so much tulle beneath her dress she was all but swimming in it.
There would have been no racing through the fields in her bare feet, or skinning her knees climbing trees, or “forgetting” her bonnet when she went to run errands.
For all its hardship, her upbringing had been free of societal constructs. For which she would always be grateful, as she didn’t even need to enter the ballroom to know that this world, with its glitter and pomp, wasn’t for her. Which was why, perhaps, she’d found herself instinctively drawn to Kincaid. Who, unlike her previous suitors, had never cared what she wore or how loudly she spoke or if she didn’t wear a hat.
