“Thereyou are,”said Evie, coming up to Joanna just as she was poised to flee onto the stone terrace. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Joanna brushed her fingers across her lips. They felt hot to the touch, and she feared there was a sign hanging above her head in bold lettering that read“Recently Ravished”. But if there was, it seemed her sister was unable to see it, for Evie hardly spared her a glance.
“I met your half-brother,” she continued. “The Earl of Hawkridge. Do you know his name is WestonWeston? How peculiar.”
Stunned, Joanna lowered her arm as hope fluttered feebly in her chest. She felt drained. Physically. Emotionally. Like a rag that had been wrung out too many times. But if she couldn’t have Kincaid, then maybe at least she could have this instead. It wasn’t everything she wanted. But it was something. And when a person was clinging by their fingernails, they’d be foolish not to reach for whatever was thrown at them. “You met my half-brother? What was he like? Did you by chance bring up Mother’s ring? Is he agreeable to returning it to us?”
Evie gave a snort. “Weston is the mostselfish, domineering,arrogantlout I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. He absolutely, positively, isnevergiving Mother’s ring back.”
Joanna’s hope sank like a rock where it sat, along with her heart, at the bottom of her stomach in a pool of bitterness and regret. “Then all of this was for naught,” she said softly.
Their journey to London.
Falling in love with Kincaid.
Finding her birth father.
It had all amounted tonothing.
“But not to worry,” Evie went on brightly. “Because I have a foolproof plan.”
“We cannot steal the ring.”
Evie blinked. “Steal it? Don’t be absurd. I’m not going tostealanything.” Her eyes gleamed. “I’m going to marry Weston Weston, the Earl of Hawkridge.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Is that everything?”Joanna asked, bending down to peer under the bed. It was three days after the disastrous ball at Beresford Manor, and she and Evie were preparing to leave the boarding house once and for all…with two separate destinations in mind.
Joanna was headed for the docks, where she would board a ship and sail home.
Evie was waiting on a carriage to take her to Hawkridge Manor where she was to be Lady Brynne’s surprise guest at a month-long house party. The key word being surprise, for if Weston knew that Evelyn Thorncroft was on her way to his country estate, he would have undoubtedly barred the gates and dispatched the hounds.
Joanna still did not know precisely how it had come to be. She had quit the ball early while Evie had stayed on. Sometime during the night,hersister had struck up a conversation withWeston’ssister (she really did need to get started on that family tree) and the two women had hit it off famously. The best of friends, Evie had gushed to Joanna when she’d finally made it back to their room at half-past two in the morning.
“She’d love to meet you,” Evie had gone on. “Cousin Rosemary sends her best wishes as well. Apparently Sir Reginald the squirrel scurried out the door just as she was getting ready to depart for the ball and it took her over two hours to find him again. I say she should have let him have his freedom, but she really is attached to the little thing.”
Now Evie took a final glance around the room, and nodded. “That is everything except for the letters you’d like me to deliver.”
“Thank you. I wouldn’t want to forget those.” Reaching inside her bag, Joanna procured four letters. One for Rosemary, one for Brynne, one for Weston, and one for her father, the Marquess of Dorchester. She’d composed a fifth in her head for Kincaid, but she hadn’t been able to put her thoughts to paper. Not when her wounds were still so fresh. Her hurt too deep.
It was why she was returning to Somerville, even though Brynne had extended the same invitation to her as she had Evie. But Joanna couldn’t stand to stay another minute in a place that had brought her such heartache.
So she was leaving.
This very afternoon.
In the spring, she had every plan to return. By then, she was confident her pain would have subsided. And if she saw Kincaid, or even if she didn’t, it would not matter. Because she wouldn’t love him anymore. She wouldn’t feel this…this terribleachein her chest anymore.
In some ways, she was like an injured animal seeking a cave to shelter in until its cuts healed. Not that she preferred to think of it that way. She wasn’t retreating, or running. For once, she was simply making herself accept the full, unvarnished truth.
Kincaid did not love her.
He never had.
And she would rather be alone than married to someone who thought of her as an obligation.
There weresomethings about London she would miss. The sheer size of the city, for one. Every time she’d turned a corner, she had seen a new sight or heard a new sound. The food, while different, had been delicious (particularly the sweets). And then there was the work she had done for Kincaid. The work she had donewithKincaid.
