Chapter 11 #2
“If you had married him, you would be miserable right now,” Joan interrupted firmly. “Trapped in a loveless marriage with a cruel man who keeps his pregnant mistress under the same roof. You did nothing wrong, Victoria. Nothing. Do you understand me?”
Victoria nodded shakily, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Joan wiped them away gently. “We will be careful. We will stay close to home. And we will trust that Damian is doing everything in his power to protect us.”
She didn’t mention her own fear—that Julian’s desperation might drive him to extremes they couldn’t anticipate.
She patted her sister softly and when Victoria smiled through her tears, she returned the smile.
Two weeks had passed in a blur of lessons and laughter, of watching the children’s confidence grow with each passing day.
Joan stood at the front of the hall, her heart swelling with pride as she handed back the first test results to her twelve students, twelve!
The number had grown steadily as word spread through the village of the Lady from Fairfax Manor who actually kept her promises.
“Percival Andersen,” Joan announced, unable to suppress her smile. “Top marks in both mathematics and reading. Excellent work.”
Percival’s face lit up like a lantern as he accepted his slate.
The other children crowded around him, congratulating and good-naturedly teasing in equal measure.
Joan presented him with a small leather-bound notebook, a reward purchased with her own meager funds, and the boy clutched it to his chest as though it were made of gold.
Victoria moved through the students, distributing their own results with encouraging words for each child. Even those who had struggled showed marked improvement, and Joan felt a satisfaction at their progress.
As the children began gathering their things, chattering excitedly about their scores, Imogen suddenly tugged on Joan’s sleeve.
“Miss Sinclair, did you know there’s to be a Winter Solstice ball in just a few days?”
“A ball?” Joan repeated.
“Yes!” Edmund chimed in. “It’s tradition. Everyone in the village attends. There’s dancing and music and food—”
“And you must come, Miss Sinclair!” Imogen insisted. “You and Miss Victoria both! We want to see you in pretty dresses!”
Victoria’s face brightened immediately. “A ball! Oh, Joan, we should go!”
“I don’t think—” Joan began.
“Please, Miss Sinclair!” Percival added his voice to the chorus. “Everyone will be there. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Joan shook her head with a gentle smile. “I’m afraid my old bones can’t bear so much excitement. But Victoria will certainly attend, won’t you, dearest?”
“Your old bones?” Victoria laughed. “Joan, you’re four-and-twenty, not four-and-eighty!”
“Still, I think I’ll remain at home with a book. Victoria will represent our family beautifully.”
The children’s faces fell with disappointment, but they rallied quickly at the thought of Victoria attending. “You’ll wear your prettiest dress, won’t you, Miss Victoria?”
“The children are right. You should come.”
The voice came from behind Joan, deep and cultured and instantly recognizable. The cheerful noise in the hall died immediately, replaced by absolute silence.
Joan turned slowly to find the Duke standing in the doorway, his valet positioned respectfully behind him.
He wore no blindfold.
Joan’s breath caught as she took in his full appearance.
The scars were more extensive than she’d realized, pale pink lines that traced from his temples down past his eyes, puckering the skin slightly at the outer corners.
They gave his already severe features an even more intimidating quality, making him look dangerous and battle-hardened.
But his eyes were fixed somewhere in her general direction with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.
Everyone in the hall dropped into curtsies and bows. Joan followed suit automatically, her students doing the same with varying degrees of grace.
“Your Grace,” Joan managed.
The Duke cleared his throat and turned his attention toward the children. “How progress your lessons?”
His tone was perfectly neutral, merely inquiring.
But there was something in the deep timbre of his voice that made even Joan want to step backward.
The children definitely felt it. They immediately scurried behind Victoria’s skirts, peeking out at the intimidating nobleman with wide, frightened eyes.
No one spoke.
Joan cleared her throat awkwardly. “The children are learning very well, Your Grace. They’ve just completed their first examinations with excellent results.”
The Duke inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
He cleared his throat again. “I have come to inform you all that I will be hosting the Winter Solstice ball this year. Here, in this very hall.”
A collective gasp went through the room.
“You are all invited,” he continued, his gaze sweeping across the space. “The children included.”
Despite their fear, the children’s faces broke into delighted smiles. Joan saw Imogen clasp her hands together in excitement, saw Percival exchange thrilled glances with Edmund.
“The children are very happy to receive your invitation, Your Grace,” Joan said, speaking for the students who were still too intimidated to find their voices. “As are we all. Thank you for your generosity.”
The Duke’s mouth curved into that familiar smirk, and his unfocused gaze seemed to settle on her. “I am glad.”
Joan wondered if he could actually see her clearly or if he was simply very skilled at hiding his impairment. She suspected the latter, he had become remarkably adept at compensating for his limited vision.
“Miss Sinclair,” the Duke said. “A word. In private.”
Victoria’s face broke into a knowing grin. She immediately began herding the children toward the door. “Come along, darlings. Let’s leave Miss Sinclair to speak with His Grace.”
As she passed Joan, Victoria had the audacity to wink. Joan glared at her sister, which only made Victoria’s grin widen. She heard Edmund and Percival giggling as they were shepherded outside.
Then the door closed, and Joan was alone with the Duke.
He stepped closer. Joan instinctively stepped back.
His smirk widened. “Nervous, Miss Sinclair?”
“Not at all, Your Grace.”
He took another step forward. “I have sent a gift to your residence. It should have arrived this morning.”
Joan’s breath caught. “A gift, Your Grace? That’s very generous, but surely—”
“It is merely to thank you for your assistance with my accounts,” he said smoothly. “I thought it would be more appropriate to send it to your home rather than present it to you directly.”
Heat flooded Joan’s face. She coughed delicately. “I am grateful for whatever gift you’ve chosen to send, Your Grace. I’m certain it will be perfectly appropriate.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
What could it be? Joan wondered frantically. Jewelry? Books? Money? But she couldn’t bring herself to ask, couldn’t trust her voice not to betray her curiosity.
The Duke moved forward again, close enough now that she could catch his scent. His hand brushed against hers, the barest whisper of contact that nevertheless sent electricity racing up her arm.
He leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “I look forward to seeing you at the ball, Miss Sinclair.”
His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “I feel red would look exquisite on you.”
Shivers cascaded down Joan’s spine. Before she could formulate a response, he had turned and was walking away, his valet falling into step behind him.
Joan stood frozen in place, her hand pressed to her racing heart, wondering how a simple color suggestion could feel so intimate.