Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Joan! You’re home!” Victoria called as she walked back into.
Fairfax Manor. Her mind was still reeling from what had almost happened in the Duke’s study—the way he had pulled her close, the heat of his breath against her lips, the undeniable pull between them that she could no longer pretend didn’t exist.
What was I thinking? she chastised herself.
She entered the manor to find Victoria in the small parlor they had managed to make habitable, surrounded by children’s slates and papers. Her sister sat at the worn table, carefully reviewing the homework assignments Joan had given to Percival, Imogen, and Edmund.
Victoria looked up at the sound of Joan’s footsteps, and her face immediately brightened. She set down the slate she’d been examining and rushed to embrace her sister.
Victoria squeezed her tightly, then pulled back to study Joan’s face with concern. “You look exhausted. Come, sit. I’ve had Sarah prepare you something to eat.”
Before Joan could protest, Victoria had guided her to a chair and was calling for the maid. Within moments, a simple but hearty meal appeared—bread, cheese, cold meat, and ale. Joan realized she was famished and ate gratefully while Victoria returned to her careful review of the children’s work.
“Percival has really improved,” Victoria observed, holding up one slate with evident pride. “Look at his lettering, so much neater than last week. And his arithmetic is coming along beautifully.”
Joan smiled around a mouthful of bread. “He’s a bright boy. They all are.”
She watched her sister work, noting the way Victoria’s brow furrowed in concentration, the gentle smile that curved her lips as she marked encouraging comments on the children’s slates.
This was good for Victoria, having something purposeful to occupy her time, a way to contribute to something meaningful.
She’s healing, Joan thought with relief. Slowly, but she’s healing.
Victoria set down the last slate and turned to face Joan fully, her expression shifting to something more serious. “Joan, I need to ask you something.”
“Of course, dearest. What is it?”
Victoria hesitated, then leaned forward, her voice dropping low despite them being alone. “What exactly are you doing at the Duke’s estate? Peters mentioned you’ve been going there several times a week, spending hours at a time.”
Joan felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I’m helping him with his account books and estate ledgers. It’s the arrangement we made in exchange for use of the hall.”
“But surely he has stewards and men of business who could handle such matters?” Victoria’s eyes were sharp with concern. “Why would he ask you specifically?”
“He… has his reasons.”
Victoria’s gaze intensified. She reached across the table and took Joan’s hands, her grip tight. “Joan, you must tell me the truth. Is he forcing you to do anything? Anything… improper?”
“What? No!” Joan’s voice came out louder than intended, and she felt her face flame even hotter. “Victoria, I would never—he hasn’t—”
“But you’re blushing terribly,” Victoria pressed. “And Peters says you always return looking flustered and distracted. Everyone in the village says the Duke is not a good man, that he never has contact with people, that he’s cruel and unpredictable. I’m worried about you!”
“There is nothing to worry about,” Joan insisted, pulling her hands free. “The Duke has been perfectly proper. Well, mostly proper. He can be infuriating and arrogant, certainly, but he hasn’t forced me to do anything inappropriate.”
Victoria studied her sister’s face with the knowing gaze of a sibling who had spent a lifetime learning to read every expression, every tell. Slowly, her concern shifted to amusement.
“Are you sure,” Victoria said, “that you don’t fancy him?”
“I—what? Don’t be absurd!” Joan stood abruptly. “I am simply fulfilling my end of our bargain. I help him with his ledgers, and in return, he allows us to use the hall for the school. It’s a business arrangement, nothing more.”
“Mm-hmm.” Victoria’s expression was entirely too knowing. “And that’s all?”
“Victoria Sinclair!” Joan’s voice pitched higher with scandalized emphasis. “You will be proper this instant!”
Victoria dissolved into giggles—the first genuine, carefree laughter Joan had heard from her sister in months. The sound was so wonderful, so healing, that Joan couldn’t even maintain her indignation.
She was about to respond when their elderly butler appeared in the doorway, holding a sealed letter.
“Pardon the interruption, Miss Sinclair, but a letter has arrived from London. From your brother.”
Joan’s amusement vanished instantly, replaced by sharp concern. Damian rarely sent letters so close together. The last one had only arrived a few days ago.
“Thank you, Wilson.” Joan took the letter with trembling fingers, noting the hastily scrawled address and the multiple wax seals—as though Damian had wanted to ensure privacy.
Victoria moved to Joan’s side as she broke the seals and unfolded the paper. They read together, Victoria’s hand coming to rest on Joan’s shoulder as their eyes scanned the familiar handwriting.
My dearest sisters,
I hope this letter finds you well and settled. First, I must thank you, Joan, for the delicious cakes you sent. They arrived three days ago and have been a welcome comfort during some rather trying circumstances. Your thoughtfulness never fails to warm my heart.
I have news both good and concerning. The good news first: it appears I am being considered for a promotion. Lord Castleton has been impressed with me, and if all proceeds as expected, I should have a higher position .
Joan felt Victoria squeeze her shoulder with excitement, but Joan’s eyes had already skipped ahead to where the tone of the letter shifted.
Now for the more troubling matter. The scandal involving Julian has taken a rather dramatic turn. His courtesan was invited to a garden party at Lady Pemberton’s estate. How she secured an invitation, I cannot say, though I suspect the Earl used his influence inappropriately.
During the party, she was discovered in a rather compromising position with Lady Pemberton’s eldest son. In his bedchamber. The son is barely twenty and was quite thoroughly seduced, by all accounts. Lady Pemberton is, as you might imagine, absolutely livid.
Word spread through London like wildfire. Julian was seen physically removing Miss Hartley from his residence, though she refuses to leave the premises entirely. She has taken up residence in the gardens and is making quite a spectacle, weeping and begging to be taken back.
Joan felt Victoria’s hand tighten painfully on her shoulder, but her sister said nothing, her eyes fixed on the letter.
Here is where matters become directly concerning for our family.
The Earl came to my offices yesterday, demanding to know Victoria’s whereabouts.
He claims that if he marries her now—despite everything—it will restore both their reputations.
He insists that our family’s respectability combined with his title will be enough to weather this storm.
I refused him, naturally. Quite forcefully. I may have suggested he do something anatomically impossible, though I will spare you the exact wording.
However, I have received word from a reliable source that Aldridge has hired men to locate Victoria. He is desperate, Joan. Desperate men do unpredictable and dangerous things. He believes that forcing a marriage with Victoria is his only path to redemption in society’s eyes.
Joan’s blood ran cold. She felt Victoria begin to tremble beside her.
With my promotion will come increased income.
I am arranging for additional security—trustworthy men who can be sent to protect you both.
I am also beginning to make inquiries about relocating the family permanently.
Perhaps to the countryside, or even to Scotland if necessary.
Somewhere far from London and far from men like Aldridge.
In the meantime, I beg you both to be extremely careful. Lay low. Do not venture far from the manor without Peters. Do not speak to strangers. Trust no one you do not know personally.
I have enclosed what funds I can spare, as well as some perfume I thought you might enjoy, Victoria. A small reminder that you are cherished and valued, regardless of what certain worthless earls might think.
Be safe, my darling sisters. I miss you both terribly and count the days until we can be reunited.
Your devoted brother,
Damian
Joan read the letter twice, then carefully refolded it with hands that shook. When she looked up at Victoria, she found her sister pale as parchment, one hand pressed to her throat.
“He’s looking for me,” Victoria whispered. “Julian is looking for me.”
“Damian won’t tell him where we are,” Joan said firmly, though fear coiled tight in her chest. “And we’re safe here. We’re miles from London, in a place Julian has no reason to suspect.”
“But he has men searching!” Victoria’s voice rose with panic. “Men who could ask questions, who could trace us. What if they come here? What if they find me and drag me back to him?”
Joan stood and pulled her sister into a fierce embrace. “I will not let that happen. Do you hear me, Victoria? I will never let him take you.”
Victoria clung to her, trembling.
“Then we will be careful. We will be vigilant.” Joan stroked her sister’s hair, exactly as she had done when Victoria was a small child frightened by nightmares.
“Peters is loyal and capable. The village is small enough that strangers would be immediately noticed. And we have Damian working to send us additional protection.”
“But what if—”
“No.” Joan pulled back and gripped Victoria’s shoulders, forcing her sister to meet her eyes. “No what-ifs.”
Victoria’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If I had just married him, if I had been braver—”