Chapter 4
A unt Patricia turned her attention to the newspaper as she munched on her breakfast and sipped her tea, and Papa remained secluded behind a wall of newsprint whilst Joanna glanced between the pair, all too aware of the clinking of silverware against china and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corridor.
“I hear the Eldridges are to have a ball in two weeks’ time,” she said, though Papa didn’t acknowledge it, and Aunt Patricia only gave a vague hum in response. “It is going to be splendid! They are hiring the same musicians as the Turners did for their party at Easter. They were simply brilliant, though I would like it if they had more violins. They had two flutists, which drowned them out terribly.”
Joanna was babbling. She knew she was, but as neither of her companions paid her any heed, she saw no need to curtail the words. “I think Mr. Pittman is enamored with Lilith, though I have no notion as to whether or not she will allow herself to get caught by him. Whenever I think she will cast a beau aside, she keeps him around for a long time, and whenever I think they are a perfect match, she tosses him away without a second thought. I was thinking of asking her on a drive, and we can bring a picnic and make an entire afternoon of it—assuming the weather cooperates, of course.”
“Is that so?” asked Aunt Patricia with a distracted tone that conveyed just how little attention she was paying to her niece.
Sighing to herself, Joanna abandoned the rest of her toast, shoving away from the table and meandering to the door. This was Aunt Patricia’s at-home day, so they would have plenty to occupy their time this afternoon, but until then, there was little for Joanna to do. She supposed she could read a book, but not a single title appealed at present as she was trapped in a novel famine; the last one she’d finished had devastated her in all the best ways, and the ensuing books had paled in comparison—
Aunt Patricia sputtered, her tea splattering across the table, and Joanna wheeled around to see the lady gasping and choking, her hand knocking at her chest. Rushing to her side, Joanna didn’t know what to do, so she began mopping up the mess as Aunt Patricia worked her way through the coughing fit.
And for the first time since sitting, Papa lowered his newspaper enough to glance at his sister—before raising it once more when she began breathing again.
“What is the matter?” asked Joanna.
“You—” wheezed Aunt Patricia. “You are in the papers.”
Papa dropped his own and stared at his sister as she pointed to a section, and Joanna picked up the tea-speckled paper to read, “‘On the 2nd of April, Miss Joanna Crosby, daughter of Mr. Wilfred Crosby of Kinley Manor in Richmond, Surrey, and Dr. Edward Vaughn, son of Dr. Arthur Vaughn of Thornsby, Yorkshire, were united in marriage.’”
Joanna gaped at the announcement, her eyes widening, and Papa ripped his paper open, shuffling through the pages.
“It is listed in The Times as well,” he said, his gaze fixed on the print.
Her hands grew cold as she stared at the words, but no matter how many times Joanna reread them, they remained the same. That ice worked its way through her as she stared at her name connected to Dr. Vaughn’s in such a public manner. Who would do such a thing?
But quick on that question’s heels came another.
Why did they do it? Her cheeks flamed, trapping her in a mix of hot and cold, and that lovely bit of breakfast soured in her stomach. Pressing a hand to it, she tried to breathe, but the more she stared at the words, the clearer the meaning became.
Lungs heaving, she wondered who had discovered her feelings and what would happen now that Dr. Vaughn knew. So many years of carefully cultivating a friendship, and it would all be erased in one fell swoop of the printer’s ink; it wasn’t as though Dr. Vaughn was the first gentleman to catch her eye, and each had shuddered and fled the moment he realized where her heart lay.
To lose Dr. Vaughn and his kindness as well? Tears gathered in her eyes, and Joanna fought to keep them from pulling free of her control (what little there was of it).
“What is the meaning of this, Patricia?” demanded Papa, jerking Joanna from her thoughts. “Is it true?”
“Of course not,” the lady replied. “Perhaps it was meant to read as an engagement instead of a marriage.”
Papa dropped his newspaper down. “That isn’t any better. The jackanapes didn’t speak with me first.”
“Nor me,” added Joanna, though neither her aunt nor father heard her whilst they bickered as only siblings could, trying to piece together a solution to this mystery. Raising her voice, she said, “This is just a mistake—”
“With your name, your father’s name, and your home all mistakes as well?” asked Aunt Patricia.
“Then clearly, it is a jest meant to embarrass us.” Joanna forced herself not to think about why that would embarrass Dr. Vaughn so very much.
Her aunt straightened, a smile stretching across her lips. “Or perhaps it is a sign. The gentleman is clearly enamored with you.”
Oh, how she yearned to believe it. For the briefest of moments, Joanna allowed herself to embrace the fantasy that Dr. Vaughn was nursing some secret tendre for her. Yet something inside her knew the truth and couldn’t deny it.
Joanna’s shoulders fell. “He is kind to me, but nothing more.”
Glancing at her brother, Aunt Patricia shook her head. “Not true, kitten. Perhaps you do not see it, but I have watched you two together many times. That young man is smitten with you.”
With a scoff, Joanna turned away. “Don’t be ridiculous—”
“He dances with you every time he can. Without fail,” said Aunt Patricia, rising to her feet. “While it is not always easy to find you partners, he never requires any prodding. I would even dare to call his actions eager.”
Keeping her back to the others, Joanna’s ribs squeezed, and her heart fought against the pressure, thudding out a dizzying beat.
“And if there is no dancing, he always spares time to speak with you whenever your paths cross. Always quick with a compliment,” added Aunt Patricia. “There was the time at the Harrisons’ party that he secured you a slice of lemon cake simply because you said you liked it. There weren’t enough for everyone, and he gave his up for you.”
And before Joanna could refute that claim, Aunt Patricia listed several more. So many little moments. Insignificant things that Joanna had held close to her heart. Yet when strung together, those tiny links bound her heart to his with mighty chains.
“Perhaps he has been paying court all this time,” said Aunt Patricia. “You are very overt in your preferences for him, and no doubt he took that as a sign—”
Joanna whirled around, her eyes wide. “Pardon?”
But the lady waved it away. “Your face is an open book, kitten. Everyone knows you are mad for him. No doubt he thought there was an understanding between you, and there was a little mistake with the announcement. It is traditional for the lady’s family to post it, but we can forgive a little break in etiquette if it has brought about such a happy union.”
Rising from his seat, Papa strode from the room, not sparing a look at his daughter as his pounding footsteps echoed through the corridor. Aunt Patricia leapt up from her place at the table and swept from the dining room, giving her niece a buss on the cheek as she passed.
The strength leached from Joanna, and she sank to a nearby chair, her gaze unfocused as the lady’s words bounced about her head. They all knew? Dr. Vaughn knew? Her face felt ready to burst into flames, yet the rest of her was as cold as ice.
And as much as she yearned to believe Aunt Patricia’s assessment of the situation, Joanna couldn’t help feeling that she was further than ever from securing Dr. Vaughn’s affection.
***
Rain skittered across the coffee house windows, its pitter-patter accenting the noise of the crowd within, who had embraced the excuse to remain in their haven and not brave the weather outside. Shelves along the walls held neatly stacked cups and brass coffee pots, while the dark oak counter gleamed beneath the watchful eye of the proprietor.
Men gathered in small groups, seated at tables scattered throughout the room as they debated the latest news and traded gossip with all the eagerness of the womenfolk, their voices rising and falling in animated conversation. The air was thick with the scent of roasted coffee beans and the occasional curl of pipe smoke, lending a comforting warmth to the busy, masculine space.
A waiter moved deftly between tables, balancing trays of steaming coffee before placing a cup in front of Eddie. He hardly noticed the loud voices and laughter filling the air, his eyes watching the liquid’s surface shudder. Around him, the sound of clinking cups, bursts of boisterous conversation, and the occasional scrape of chairs on the floor created a constant hum, but he barely heard it, lost in the cacophony of his own thoughts as the room buzzed with life.
“That won’t drink itself, Eddie,” said Morty as he elbowed Harris.
“Leave the man be,” replied the other. “No doubt he has much on his mind at present. Traveling home soon and all. The poor fellow is going to be locked away in the wilds of Yorkshire.”
Morty took a swig from his cup before giving Doyle a waggle of his brows. “That must be it. He’s enjoyed a nice visit to the heart of civilization, but now he has to scuttle back home.”
The third fellow’s expression looked as dour as Eddie felt, and Doyle refused to lift his gaze from the cup in front of him.
“You read the announcement,” said Eddie in a monotone.
Harris and Morty burst out laughing, raising their cups in salute.
“To the newly married man,” added Harris with a guffaw, nearly choking on his coffee.
Eddie stiffened, casting a look about the shop. “Do not make matters worse. You know I am not married, and I will not have you adding fuel to the fire.”
Morty sighed with a wry smile. “We mean no harm, Eddie. It’s just a joke. That is all.”
“Yes, well, I prefer jests that do not land me and an innocent young lady in a world of trouble,” said Eddie.
“‘Young’?” muttered Harris, and that set the pair laughing all the harder. Doyle heaved a sigh, shifting in his seat, and Eddie turned his attention away from the braying hyenas. He didn’t know why he’d bothered coming here but lurking around Barrett Place had proven no less irritating.
A blast of air rushed through the shop, causing the fireplace to sputter as the front door swung open and a gentleman stepped through. Rain sloughed off his greatcoat, splattering the worn wooden floor as his eyes scoured the room. The stranger’s mouth formed a hard line when his gaze landed on Eddie, and though they’d never met before, he knew who this was.
Mr. Rufus Crosby strode to Eddie’s table, looking as thunderous as the world outside, and slammed a newspaper down, causing the china to clatter. “What is the meaning of this?”