Chapter 3
T here were many ways to die, and when one imagined the manner in which one’s demise would occur, one often hoped for something either peaceful or glorious—after a good life lived and one’s purpose was fulfilled. One did not imagine asphyxiating on toast during one’s breakfast. And when Eddie had awoken that morning, he hadn’t anticipated meeting his demise in such an ignominious manner.
Death by toast. They ought to put that on his gravestone so future generations could enjoy a laugh at his expense.
Chest heaving, Eddie fought to clear his lungs and ease the sharp stab of pain coming from his abused organs. The dining room was silent except for that wracking cough, and the rest of his companions sat like statues, staring at Aunt Christiana—who was gaping at the newspaper in her hands.
“Come again?” asked Suzette, her dark brows furrowed together as her eyes darted between her cousin and mother.
“That cannot be right,” added Frederica.
“It is here, plain as day,” said Aunt Christiana. “Miss Joanna Crosby and Dr. Edward Vaughn were united in marriage.”
“Eddie got married?” asked Pauline.
“Nonsense,” replied her father with a scowl. “He wouldn’t have married in secret. This must be a mistake or a poor jest. Do you know anything about this?”
As Eddie couldn’t manage words, he shook his head.
Turning his attention to his children, Uncle Franklin added, “Do any of you know about this?”
Hard eyes examined the people gathered around the table, and the girls shook their heads while their elder brother rose from his seat to examine the newspaper from over his mother’s shoulder. And still, Eddie struggled to gain control over his body; though no longer in danger, he downed his drink in one to clear his burning throat.
“How very singular,” said Suzette. “Who would put that in the newspaper?”
Floyd barked a laugh. “Miss Crosby is getting bolder by the day.”
“You cannot think she had a hand in this,” said Aunt Christiana with a frown as her son dropped onto his seat with a scoff.
“She’s determined to have her Dr. Vaughn,” replied Floyd as he returned his attention to the breakfast.
At that, Eddie found his voice. “Yes, Miss Crosby is a bit…eager for anyone’s liking, but this is too underhanded for her. I refuse to believe she had anything to do with it.”
“Miss Crosby is nearing spinsterhood, and her family is quite keen to marry her off,” said Frederica with an arched brow as she took a bite of her ham.
“She isn’t a spinster. She’s around my age,” mumbled Eddie as he moved to his aunt’s side, holding out a hand for the newspaper, but the wedding announcement was there precisely as she’d read.
“Nine and twenty is ancient,” said Pauline with the unbridled horror of one who had just taken her first steps into society and thought anything above one and twenty was ghastly.
“I heard Miss Crosby might be a bit…” Frederica paused and lowered her voice. “…touched.”
Eddie straightened and scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She huffed in response. “I heard her father didn’t allow her out in society until she was twenty . Why wait so long if not to hide some great defect? How else do you explain it?”
Floyd waved that away. “I’d say she’s more simple than touched.”
“Yet you claim she masterminded the announcement in the paper?” said Eddie with a scowl.
“If not her, then her aunt,” the young man replied with a shrug. “The lady has done her all to marry Miss Crosby off—”
“As is befitting of a chaperone,” said Aunt Christiana, giving both her children a narrowed look. “Miss Crosby is a bit odd and did make her entrance into society at an older age, but I would hazard to guess that both have more to do with being raised by a widower than any deficiency on her part. Now, no more of that gossip about Miss Crosby. I refuse to listen to any more maliciousness.”
Though that avenue of entertainment was denied them, the cousins began speaking at once, throwing out hypotheses and general utterances of shock and disbelief, and all Eddie could do was stare at the black letters peering up from the page. Sitting amongst so many other happy announcements, his name mocked him, and though Eddie longed to assume it was about some other gentleman, there was no other who bore his exact name, title, father, and home. Though the announcement did not disclose where this supposed wedding had occurred, it was impossible to ignore the many details linking him and Miss Crosby.
This couldn’t have been her doing. From their first meeting when Eddie had just begun his schooling in London, the lady had made her preference known, yet even with all the hours she’d spent batting her eyes at him and laughing uproariously at each of his jests, Miss Crosby had made no effort to trap him or bend him to her will. She was persistent. That was all.
Eddie straightened, his hands falling as he dropped the newspaper on the table with a jolt.
“What is it?” asked Uncle Franklin.
“Mother and Father are going to see this,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead.
With trains now crisscrossing England, one could travel from London to Leeds in a matter of nine hours, and then another five or six hours by carriage to Thornsby. Assuming the presses sent out their bundles as soon as they’d finished printing, the news could arrive that evening. Regardless, no letter of explanation would reach them before it.
Not that it would do any good. Having one’s name linked to a young lady in such a manner would cause trouble, no matter his innocence.
Dash it all, there would be a hullabaloo at Hawthorne House.
“I have to sort this out,” he said, turning toward the door.
“No, don’t,” called Aunt Christiana, making him pause on the threshold. “Do you know how to ‘sort it out’?”
Jaw slackening, Eddie considered that and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “I must do something.”
“That is precisely what you shouldn’t do,” said Aunt Christiana as she rose and guided him back to his seat.
“But—”
“Rushing about will draw attention to the situation,” she said, taking her own chair again. “And if you go to the Crosbys’ home to speak with them about it, people will take it as confirmation that something is afoot. You had no hand in it, so it’s best to leave things be for now. If you kick the hornet’s nest, you will get stung.”
“Listen to your aunt. She has a shrewd mind and always knows what’s best,” added Uncle Franklin, giving his wife a tender smile.
As Eddie glanced at the newspaper, which his cousins were now gathered around, his shoulders drooped. How could one do nothing? His family name and reputation were being damaged as they spoke, and one couldn’t simply ignore such a thing. Yet what else could he do?
Eddie groaned to himself and shoved his plate to the side.
***
Even hours after the party, Joanna felt as light as a cloud—naught but a puff of vapor floating on the breeze. Buttering her toast, she smiled to herself as she recalled her dance with Dr. Vaughn. Over the years, they’d stood up so many times together that it was impossible to remember each in its own right, and those memories blurred together into a whirl of happiness.
Examining her memory of the night before, Joanna scoured it for signs of his feelings. Again.
All these years of kindness must signify something. Aunt Patricia constantly tossed her at bachelors, yet Dr. Vaughn always danced with her of his own volition and was more than merely polite when they spoke. A gentleman didn’t go to such lengths for a lady if he felt nothing toward her. Friendship at the very least, and that was a good foundation for any romance.
Aunt Patricia sighed, drawing Joanna’s gaze to the foot of the table. The lady sat with a hand to her chest as she read through her latest missive from home. When the lady gave yet another heaving huff, Joanna turned her attention back to her toast: this performance wasn’t for her benefit. Yet Papa remained hidden behind his newspaper at the head of the table, his attention fully fixed on the news of the day.
Was it time to surrender her tendre for Dr. Vaughn? Joanna’s thoughts drifted through that all-too-familiar quandary as she bit into her toast, the faint bitterness of the orange rind cutting through the sweetness of the marmalade and the richness of the butter beneath it.
No doubt if people knew of her feelings, they would tell her it was time to surrender her hope, but it was impossible to do so. As Aunt Patricia had said, in time a gentleman would see her value, and of the many she’d known, Dr. Vaughn was the only one who ever spent enough time with her for that to be a possibility.
And he was so very kind. Always ready with a compliment, yet each one felt genuine. As though he truly did see those bits of her as being worthy of praise—
“Cressida?” said Aunt Patricia with a gasp. “Can you believe it? They named my first grandchild Cressida. How terribly odd. Neil’s penchant for mythology is well and good when it comes to his reading, but the child will have to live with the name.”
Setting down the letter, the lady glanced at her brother, who remained barricaded behind The Times . Raising her voice, she gave yet another sigh. “I cannot believe my eldest has a child of his own. It seems as though he and Genevieve married yesterday, and now, they are parents. I just wish I could’ve been there to witness the birth. No doubt, my daughter-in-law would’ve welcomed the assistance and my wealth of experience.”
Yet that earned no response from Papa. Joanna’s eyes drifted between the pair as she munched away.
“Perhaps…” began Aunt Patricia, tiptoeing through the conversation. “I know there are still some weeks left in the Season, but perhaps I could return home early. There is no reason not to cut my visit short.”
Joanna’s cheeks began to heat, and she forced her eyes to her plate.
“It would be such a blessing to be with my family at this momentous time,” said Aunt Patricia with a pointed tone that even Papa could not ignore.
“There’s no reason you cannot go for a day or two next week,” he murmured, flipping to the next page.
Joanna opened her mouth, though her voice failed her. Clearing her throat, she said, “I could go with her, Papa. I know you do not care to spend time in Richmond, but I would like to see more of it. I wouldn’t even need to stay alone at Kinley Manor—”
“Of course not,” added Aunt Patricia with a vigorous nod. “We would be pleased to host our niece until Town quiets again, and then she can return to the care of Mrs. Romney. She always does such a splendid job of watching over our Joanna when I am at home.”
That Joanna managed not to make a face at that statement was something of a miracle; Mrs. Romney was not a cruel lady, but with several daughters of her own to guide through society, she had little time to take care of another’s child. No matter how well Papa compensated her.
Joanna’s stomach threatened to turn at that thought, so she cast it aside and focused on getting through her breakfast. Remuneration wasn’t a reflection on her; of course, the ladies ought to receive some sort of reward for their efforts on her behalf.
Aunt Patricia continued to praise the possibility, but when she paused, a “no” was all the reply the gentleman gave.
With a sharp breath, the lady shifted in her seat as a scowl marred her face. Tossing aside her letter, Aunt Patricia snatched up her copy of The Morning Post and opened it up to find the latest society gossip. When she glanced at her niece, Joanna’s brows twisted as she mouthed an apology, and Aunt Patricia’s shoulders sagged, her expression mirroring her niece’s.
Hand to her heart, she said, “It isn’t you, kitten. I have loved our time together, and since I never had any daughters, I have relished this opportunity to chaperone a young lady through society. I am sorry if I have made you think otherwise.”
Joanna forced a smile and nodded, trying with all her might to convey certainty when the foundation beneath her feet trembled. No matter how earnest Aunt Patricia’s assurances were, it was difficult not to feel like an obligation when she, Papa, and Mrs. Romney all treated Joanna like a millstone around their necks.