Well, maybe alittleangry.
“Thomas Kincaid is a pigeon-livered ratbag and I despise the very air he breathes,” she announced when Evie entered the room.
Cautiously closing the door behind her, Evie set down a collection of parcels on the floor and then regarded her sibling with an arched brow. “The same Thomas Kincaid who you were alone with in here yesterday when your hair mysteriously came undone and I found your petticoat behind the dressing table?”
“You couldn’t have found my petticoat. I made sure to put it back on after…oh,” Joanna muttered when Evie pursed her lips. “That was quite clever.”
“Jo, you didn’t—”
“No.No,” Joanna repeated firmly when her sister appeared unconvinced. “We did kiss. But we didn’t…that is to say, I am not a ruined woman.”
“Just a devastated one, then. Jo…” Crossing to the bed, Evie sat down and draped her arm around Joanna’s back. “Whathappened?”
Like a ribbon unraveling, Joanna came undone at the sympathy in her sister’s tone. Laying her head on Evie’s lap, something she hadn’t done since they were children, she recited what Kincaid had told her when he’d ended their agreement, pausing here and there to use Evie’s skirt as a handkerchief to blot at her eyes and nose.
Her sister listened in silence, and when Joanna had finally purged herself of every horrible detail, she stroked her hair and said, “You’re right. Heisa pigeon-livered ratbag. The nerve!”
Evie’s indignation felt good. Like cold water trickled over a fresh burn. It didn’t take the pain away—nothing could do that—but it did serve to lessen the sting, and Joanna was grateful for whatever reprieve she could get.
“I don’t w—want him to be pigeon-livered,” she sniffled.
“I know, sweeting. I know.”
“Pigeons are h—horrid creatures. Do you remember when that white one pecked my sandwich out of my hand?”
“Horrid,” Evie agreed. “Absolutely horrid.”
“I thought he was going to tell me that helovedme.” Grabbing a fistful of Evie’s dress, she blew loudly into the fabric. “Instead, he told me to gohome!”
“Jo, I am heartbroken for you. Truly.” As she spoke, Evie gently but firmly tugged her skirt out of Joanna’s hand. “But thisissilk, and stains are impossible to get out. Particularly of the nasal discharge variety.”
Joanna wiped her nose with the back of her hand and sat up. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite all right.” Going to the wash basin, Evie wet the edge of a towel and began to dab at the damp circle of tears in the middle of her dress. When she was finished, she rinsed the towel clean, sprayed it with one of her many perfume bottles, and then brought it over to Joanna. “Here. Let me wipe your face. I made this chamomile tonic myself, and it should help with your blotchiness.”
Joanna rubbed her swollen eyes. “My face is blotchy?”
“Do you recall what Claire looked like after she climbed the apple tree and was stung by hornets?”
Just the memory made Joanna wince. “Yes. She was nearly unrecognizable.”
“This is much worse.” With all the tender care of a mother bathing her child, Evie ran the damp towel across Joanna’s forehead, cheeks, and chin. “There.” She tapped the end of Joanna’s nose. “That’s much better, sweeting.”
“You’re being so kind to me.”
“We’re sisters,” Evie said, as if that was an answer.
And in many ways, Joanna supposed, it was.
She and Evie may have fought, but they were always there for each other when it mattered. Without hesitation. Without reservation. They were sisters first, and their bond was unbreakable.
Foolishly, she thought she had found that same bond with Kincaid.
She should have known better.
Therewassomething between them.
But it wasn’t enough.
