“How fascinating,” Brynne breathed. “And you never knew? About Joanna’s unique…history? I am sorry to ask such a personal question. But given the connection between our families, I see no reason to purposefully ignore the large elephant in the room. I’ve found they tend to start stampeding when you do that.”
The edges of Evie’s mouth twitched. “We wouldn’t want stampeding elephants.”
“No, not until all the tents have been taken down, anyway.”
“Naturally.”
They exchanged a grin, and Evie’s discomfort began to melt away. Whereas she felt the need to be on her toes around Weston (both figurativelyandliterally, at least when they were kissing), she was very comfortable with Brynne. There was a certain ease between them. A developing camaraderie that usually only came after years of knowing someone. Their habits and their eccentricities. Their strengths and their flaws. Even then, you couldn’t trust that person not to turn their back the instant you fell upon difficult times.
Just like all of Evie’s “friends” had done to her.
Women she’d known since childhood had turned up their noses as soon as it became public knowledge that the once mighty Thorncroft family had fallen off their pedestal. Women she’d laughed with, and shopped with, and stayed up late into the night sipping watered champagne and giggling over Mrs. Waterman’s feathered hat at Senator Bridgeton’s annual ball.
Evie had never thought much of that laughter.
How cruel it was. How much pain it could cause.
Until it was directed at her.
Because her friends had neverdirectlystated they wanted nothing to do with her. Oh, no. That would be much too straightforward. But they’d hosted parties and invited everyone but her. They’d gone shopping for new dresses and not bothered to include her. They’d deliberately crossed the street to avoid crossing her path.
And they’d giggled.
Mercilessly.
Joanna and Claire had never noticed. Or if they had, they didn’t care. Butshehad noticed. Andshehad cared. And she had promised herself that there would come a time when no one laughed at Evelyn Thorncroft ever again.
“Are you all right?” Brynne asked, her gaze both sympathetic and searching. Reaching across the serving table, she gently clasped Evie’s cold, still hand. “You look pale. If this subject is too difficult, we can talk of something else.”
“No, I…” Swallowing with some difficulty, she took a drink of her tea in the hopes that the lemon infused water would help wash away unpleasant memories best left undisturbed. Which was why she’d taken such care to keep them locked in a box where they couldn’t bother her. A box where she kept everything else she didn’t want to face.
Such as the grief she still felt over her father’s death. And the anger at her grandmother for not telling the truth sooner. And the trickling fear that no matter what she did, or who she married, or how much wealth she regained, it would never be enough to fill all this emptiness inside of her heart.
“I am fine,” she said, summoning her biggest, brightest smile as she slammed the lid closed on the box and kicked it into the furthest corner of her mind. “A tad weary from my travels, perhaps. Nothing that cannot be fixed with an afternoon rest before dinner. But to answer your original question, no, my sisters and I never had any reason to believe that we might have different fathers. It wasn’t even a consideration. Maybe if Claire and I looked the same, and Joanna was the proverbial sore thumb…but we all inherited our appearances from various family members. I’ve my father’s dark hair, Claire is as fair as a sunbeam, and Joanna is the mirror image of our mother.”
Brynne sat back in her seat. “Howdidyou find out, then?”
“The ring.” In this, Evie knew she had to proceed with caution. The ruby ring, now in Weston’s possession, had come to mean so many different things to so many different people.
For Brynne and Weston, it was a priceless heirloom to be passed from one generation to the next through marriage, and their father never had any right to give it away to his American mistress as a parting gift.
But for Evie and her sisters, the ring was one of the last physical connections they had to a mother they could barely remember. It was also a means to financial freedom, should they choose to part with it. Two conflicting ideas that she hadn’t yet reconciled…and if her plan went accordingly, she’d never have to. Because if she married the Earl of Hawkridge, the ring would pass toher, thus circumventing the need to sell it…or steal it, which was Joanna’s solution.
All things considered, Evie liked her idea the best.
Being a countess was vastly preferable to being thrown in an English prison. Newgate, she believed it was called. And her complexion wouldneverrecover from being locked in a cell without any natural light.
“After my father died in the war between the states,” she continued evenly, her composure returned now that the box containing all of her unwanted feelings had been successfully closed, “we found ourselves burdened by financial strain. The ring, which Claire found in the attic, was the only thing we had of any value. It wasn’t until it was…taken that our grandmother revealed its significance, and told us that Joanna was really the daughter of a British lord.”
“You mean when the ring was stolen,” Brynne said wryly. “It’s all right. You needn’t dance around the truth for fear of offending me. Just like you and Joanna, my brother and I often find ourselves at odds. Were it my decision, I would have given the ring back to you and your sisters straightaway. Weston, unfortunately, is of a slightly different opinion. But then, he is a man, and men are beholden to what they believe is rightfully theirs, whether it be a crown, or a country…or a ring.”
“Lord Hawkridgehasbeen very reluctant to discuss any means by which the ring might be returned to us,” Evie acknowledged.
“What a nice way to say that my brother is a bullheaded dunce.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “I wouldn’t dare incur your annoyance by disagreeing.”
Placing an arm around her ribcage, Brynne propped her elbow on her wrist and her chin in the palm of her hand. “I like you, Miss Thorncroft.”
