Chapter 13 #2
“It was,” Victoria admitted. “But it was also thrilling. The music, the dancing, the beautiful gowns—I felt like I was in a dream. And meeting new people, making friends with other young ladies, having gentlemen compete for my attention…” She trailed off, her expression clouding slightly at memories of what had come after.
“What about you, Miss Sinclair?” Edmund asked. “Did you enjoy your Season?”
Joan carefully shaped another cookie, not meeting the children’s eyes. “My experience was quite different from Victoria’s. I debuted when I was nineteen, but only as a formality. I had no interest in finding a husband.”
The children stared at her in confusion.
“But isn’t that the whole point of the Season?” Percival asked. “To find someone to marry?”
“For most young ladies, yes,” Joan agreed. “But I already had responsibilities. I was needed at home to help manage the household and look after my siblings. Marriage would have meant leaving them, and I couldn’t do that.”
“So you never danced with gentlemen?” Imogen asked, clearly trying to understand.
“Oh, I danced,” Joan said. “It would have been rude to refuse every invitation. But I made my lack of interest quite clear. Most gentlemen stopped asking after one dance.”
Victoria snorted. “That’s because you spent the entire dance discussing mathematics and philosophy. You terrified them.”
Joan smiled despite herself. “Perhaps. But better to be honest about my intentions than to encourage false hopes.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” Imogen said suddenly, her eyes shining with something like awe.
Joan felt her throat tighten with unexpected emotion. “Thank you, darling.”
“Though,” Edmund added thoughtfully, “you did look very beautiful at the ball. And the Duke danced with you. Does that mean—”
“It means nothing,” Joan said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “The Duke was simply being polite to a guest.”
Victoria’s grin suggested she believed no such thing, but mercifully she said nothing.
Movement at the doorway caught Joan’s attention. Damian stood there, leaning against the frame with a cookie in hand and a soft smile on his face. How long had he been watching?
Their eyes met, and Joan saw approval and affection in her brother’s gaze. She told him about the school she opened expecting some push back but he smiled and told her he was proud of her. She found herself smiling as she molded the cookies. If only things would remain this way.
The afternoon wore on in a pleasant haze of baking and laughter. When the last batch of cookies emerged from the oven, golden and perfect, the children helped pack them into boxes, each child receiving their own share to take home.
“Remember,” Joan said as she handed out the boxes, “these are to be shared with your families. And don’t forget your homework assignments!”
“We won’t, Miss Sinclair!” they chorused.
Victoria hugged each child goodbye, and Joan did the same, her heart full as she watched them race off toward their homes, chattering excitedly about their treasure of cookies.
The house fell quiet in their absence. Damian had retreated to the small parlor with a book, and Victoria was helping Sarah clean the kitchen. Joan stood in the entrance hall, watching the last rays of sunset paint the sky.
A knock at the door startled her from her reverie.
“I’ll get it!” Damian called from the parlor.
“No, no,” Joan said quickly. “It’s probably one of the children who forgot something. I’ll answer it.”
She opened the door, already smiling in anticipation of seeing which child had returned—
And found herself staring at the Duke of Ashcroft.
Oh no.
He stood on her doorstep in his riding clothes, his dark hair slightly disheveled from the wind. His scars were visible in the fading light, severe and intimidating. But his eyes—those storm-dark eyes that had haunted her dreams—were fixed on her face with unmistakable intensity.
“Your Grace!” Joan’s voice came out higher than usual. “What are you—that is—I wasn’t expecting—”
“Clearly.” His mouth curved into that infuriating smirk. “Given that you’re supposed to be ill with a cold.”
Joan coughed weakly. “Yes, well, I’m feeling somewhat better—”
“Are you?” He leaned closer, and Joan’s breath caught at his proximity. “Or are you lying to avoid me?”
His voice dropped lower, intimate and knowing. “I think you’re lying, Miss Sinclair.”
Joan swallowed hard. “Your Grace, this really isn’t a convenient time—”
“Joan?” Victoria’s voice called from inside. “Who is it?”
No. No, no, no.
But it was too late. Victoria appeared behind Joan, still wearing her flour-dusted apron. Her eyes widened as she took in the Duke’s imposing figure, and she immediately dropped into a curtsy.
“Your Grace! What an unexpected pleasure.”
Joan closed her eyes briefly in defeat. There would be no hiding this now.
“Please, come in,” Victoria continued, her voice bright with barely suppressed glee. She shot Joan a look that promised merciless teasing later.
The Duke stepped inside, and Joan had no choice but to close the door behind him and lead him toward the parlor where Damian waited.
This is going to be a disaster, she thought.
Victoria practically skipped ahead of them, and Joan could see her sister was thoroughly enjoying the situation.
They entered the parlor to find Damian rising from his chair, his expression shifting from curiosity to wariness as he took in their visitor.
The Duke’s gaze swept the room and then settled on Joan. “You look beautiful today, Miss Sinclair.”
The words were simple, direct, and utterly inappropriate given the circumstances.
Damian’s face darkened. “That is an inappropriate thing to say to a lady, sir.”
The Duke turned his attention to Damian, his expression unrepentant. “Have you never complimented a lady, Lord Sinclair?”
“Not in front of her family,” Damian shot back.
“Then you’re a coward.”
Joan suppressed a groan. Of course he would say that. Because subtlety is entirely beyond him.
Victoria had settled onto the settee and was eating a cookie with evident enjoyment, watching the exchange like it was a theatrical performance.
Damian drew himself up to his full height. “I don’t know what manner of relationship you have with my sister, Your Grace, but I must insist that you not visit her again. It would be damaging to her reputation.”
“I disagree,” the Duke said calmly. “It’s an innocent visit.”
“Innocent?” Damian’s voice rose slightly. “Anyone seeing you enter this house might think otherwise. Your presence here could scare away potential suitors for my sister.”
The Duke’s expression shifted into something dangerous. He took a step closer to Damian, and Joan saw her brother’s hand clench into a fist.
“Why,” the Duke asked softly, “would you assume I’m not a suitor?”
Victoria gasped—a delighted sound—and her cookie paused halfway to her mouth.
Joan felt the blood drain from her face. “That’s enough!”
She glared at the Duke, who met her gaze with that same infuriating calm.
He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I came to bring Miss Sinclair some medicine for her cold.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a small glass bottle. “A remedy that has proven quite effective.”
Joan took the bottle with trembling hands and immediately thrust it at Victoria, who accepted it with a grin that could have lit the entire room.
“Your Grace,” Joan said through gritted teeth, “let me see you out.”
She didn’t wait for his response, simply turned and walked toward the door. She heard his footsteps behind her, steady and unhurried.
Outside, the evening air was cool against her flushed cheeks. Joan rounded on the Duke the moment the door closed behind them.
“Why did you say that? About being a suitor? My brother has misunderstood—”
“I’m not joking.”
Joan’s words died in her throat. She stared at him, searching his face for any sign of mockery or teasing.
She found none.
“You can’t mean that,” she whispered. “You’ll make the young lady you’re engaged to misunderstand. You’ll hurt her.”
The Duke frowned. “What young lady?”
“The one who clung to you at the ball. Miss St. Vincent.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Octavia? She’s like a sister to me. Nothing more.”
“But she seemed so—”
“On my honor,” the Duke interrupted firmly, “I have nothing romantic with Octavia St. Vincent. I never have, and I never will. She is my friend’s sister. That is all.”
He took a step closer, and Joan found herself backing up until she hit the door. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
“I am not interested in Octavia,” he said, his voice low and intense. “I am interested in you.”
He took her hands in his, his thumbs stroking across her knuckles in a gesture that made her breath catch.
“I want to court you, Joan Sinclair. I want to be your suitor.”
Joan’s heart hammered against her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to say yes, to lean into this moment and let herself believe in the possibility of happiness.
But doubt held her frozen.
“How can I trust you,” she asked quietly, “when you’ve been hiding things from me?”
The Duke’s brow furrowed. “Hiding what?”
“I know you can see.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
She watched the shock ripple across his features, saw the moment he realized she’d seen through his deception. She found out at the ball when he complimented her dress and stared at her. There was no way he was struggling with his visions.
“Joan—”
“Please.” She pulled her hands from his grip, her throat tight with unshed tears. “Please stop playing with me. Since you can see, you don’t need me anymore. I’ll come tomorrow to finalize our arrangement. The school can continue without my assistance at your estate.”
“That’s not why I—”
“Goodbye, Your Grace.”
Joan turned and fled into the house, closing the door firmly behind her. She leaned against it, her eyes squeezed shut, her heart breaking with every beat.