Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
J oanna had claimed the window seat upon entering the small yellow parlor. This was one of her favorite rooms in Crampton Manor, a charming townhouse located in Mayfair. She’d lived here all her life and knew every nook and cranny.
This was her favorite seat because of how perfectly padded the cushion was and how soft the curtains were at her back and how well the sunlight filtered through the window and gave her the light she needed to work on her embroidery. While it wasn’t something she was passionate about, she was determined to make a beautiful vest for her father by the end of the year.
“Oh, there you are.”
She straightened her back at once at the sound of her stepmother’s voice. Any thought of a joyful afternoon had evaporated with just a few short words.
In strutted Beatrice Highler Crampton, nearly forty years of age and the current Countess of Ely. Her pale blonde hair was styled in tight corkscrew curls that peeked under her cap, and her dark blue eyes darted around the room.
Eyes that settled on the other young woman in the room.
Joanna slumped against the wall as her stepsister, Madeline, straightened. Madeline was twenty years of age like herself, with pale blonde hair and quivering lips.
“Mother.” Madeline cast a glance at Joanna, as if she was seeking help from her, before forcing a smile. “I’ve been here all morning, I promise.”
She hadn’t been, but Joanna wasn’t about to say a word. Most likely, Madeline had been down in the stables. They only kept carriage horses these days, but Madeline was very fond of animals. Even now, there was a fluffy white cat named Sampson sitting on her lap.
“Very good. It’s time you worked on your stitching because we must finish preparing your trousseau.”
Oh, bother. What does Beatrice have in mind this time?
Poor Madeline furrowed her brow in confusion. “I must?”
Her mother huffed, which was the most unladylike habit she had. Otherwise, she kept her spine straight, her chin up, and the usual devious expression on her face. Her dress was in the current color of the Season, which had just begun. But the warm orange only washed her out.
Terrible.
But not a word would be said. Joanna bit her tongue and said nothing, hoping that she’d be ignored for the entirety of the conversation.
“Didn’t you hear?” Beatrice pursed her lips in what could only be described as a loud manner before dropping a newspaper on her daughter’s lap with great aplomb. She waited only a moment for Madeline to search for whatever had caught her attention before pointing a finger. “Madeline, do read faster. Can’t you see? We have a new duke in town.”
We don’t get new dukes and new titles. Most likely, it’s going to be an old duke who finally came into the title now that his father or uncle or grandfather has passed. Only a few would ever inherit a title so young. Not that it matters. A title isn’t bound to make anyone interesting.
Even as Joanna got carried away with her musings, she couldn’t help but listen to her stepmother’s impassioned speech.
“The new Duke of Henley is single, Madeline. Do you understand me? The man will be in dire need of a wife. In fact, there are already whispers that he will be married before the Season’s end. Lady Lisabeth believes he could even have someone by the new year. And we shall make certain of that.”
“I… But how can we be sure he wishes to wed?” Madeline asked, her eyes widening every time her mother gestured with her hands. “Isn’t he the one who recently lost his father and brother? Mother, he may still be in mourning.”
Beatrice waved a hand flippantly in the air. It was still graceful and restrained to any onlooker, but it appeared positively indecent from her. Joanna stared at her in surprise and jumped when she pricked her finger. Sucking on it, she watched her stepmother drone on.
“Yes, yes, I’m certain he will follow convention. As though we would let him do anything else. But I have it on excellent authority that he is determined to wed very soon. It is one of the reasons he is in London, I am sure.”
As though a lord would not be needed for Parliament. At least Father cares about his duties, whereas the law seems to be more of a hobby for everyone else.
Unable to help herself, Joanna asked, “What sort of authority could be so excellent?”
“Your father, in fact.” Beatrice shot her a testy look that was so chilly Joanna nearly drooled on herself. She pulled her finger out of her mouth and checked to ensure there was no blood. By the time she looked back up, her stepmother had turned away—most likely, she was determined to ignore her as much as possible.
Which was pretty much most of the time.
She had only been five years old on the morning that her mother had gone out for her usual ride and had not returned. Though it was determined that her heart gave out, her father had never been able to ride a horse again. And Joanna had never learned. A few blurry memories of her mother lived in the back of her mind, but more than anything, she recalled the years of heartache that left their home so quiet.
Four years ago, Beatrice had been widowed and left destitute as a distant cousin took over the baronetcy. She’d moved to London, where Joanna and her father resided year-round, and the day following her year of mourning, the Earl of Ely had married her.
A cloudy morning, it had been. Joanna recalled meeting the polite woman a time or two before the wedding, which she had not attended. She’d been seated in a tea shop with Madeline. The young girl, her age and soon to be her sister, nibbled quietly on her food while Joanna chattered away. Two governesses kept them company while minding their cakes.
It had been awfully awkward.
With time, Joanna managed to let go of the hope she’d harbored at the beginning of the union. She stopped expecting love or even attention from Beatrice and managed to exchange niceties with Madeline, who could appear like a ray of hope but fell too quiet and shy to shine.
“We will get you new dresses. I’ve already made an appointment with Madame Constantine, since Madame Isla is already booked for the entire Season,” Beatrice hissed irritatedly. She squared her shoulders. “We shall find out which events he will be attending and find a way to introduce ourselves. He doesn’t appear to be particular about his wife, but I am determined to make certain he chooses you and only you.”
Madeline had shrunk back into the sofa. Her embroidery sat untouched while she clung to her cat. The poor creature seemed to have realized his predicament and began to mewl.
“Put him down—or you’ll be covered in hair. You know I don’t care for such filthy creatures. Madeline, I need you to focus.”
“Mother, please,” Madeline tried. She’d been out for one Season, so far. While she hadn’t spoken much about how it had gone, Joanna could tell that it had not been that enjoyable. “Isn’t it Lord Nicholas Whitmore? Is that the man you speak of?”
Beatrice fixed her gloves. “Yes, I suppose that would be his name.”
“Oh, I could never marry him. I cannot even be in the same room as him! You told me so last year. Don’t you remember?”
“Well, he wasn’t looking for a wife back then.”
Madeline turned wide, pleading eyes to Joanna, but all Joanna could do was shrug. She was not about to get in the way yet again. The last time she tried to stand up for her stepsister, Madeline had denied everything. It left her in an awkward place, as she was rather struggling with their relationship.
“The man is a rake,” Madeline protested anxiously. She yelped when the cat jumped out of her arms, leaving them empty. “Mother, you cannot change your mind simply because––”
“All men are rakes at one point or another. It matters not what his reputation has been or even what it is now. That hardly matters. Did you not hear a word I said? Madeline, darling, you will be a duchess if you marry him. There won’t be anyone above you in rank, except for royals.”
A small whimper escaped Madeline. She wrung her hands, clearly trying to think of something else to say. But it was near impossible to argue with Beatrice once she had set her mind to something.
I suppose that’s how Father wound up married to her. Sometimes I’m not entirely certain how often they speak to each other. Their marriage was supposed to make him happier. If only I could be certain…
Joanna hadn’t seen her father in nearly three days, now that she thought about it. For a moment, she thought about leaving the room to go look for him. But then Madeline spoke again.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with a man of that reputation. Even if he is a duke. I don’t care that much for his title. And what of Stepfather? What does he say? Surely he would not want such a relation, would he?”
“He is out in Derbyshire, handling estate matters. Besides, he is not particular. Your stepfather will wish you to be married and off his hands. You are a grown lady, Madeline, and it is time you had a house of your own. Don’t you wish for such a thing?”
“Well, yes, I suppose I do––”
What I wouldn’t give for some peace and quiet from her. No matter how much I adore this window seat and my father, I would marry the next pleasant man if I could manage it.
But unfortunately, Joanna hadn’t. Her father’s purses weren’t unlimited. Beatrice proclaimed that they could only manage one girl’s Season at a time, and that fell to Madeline. It was a flawed reasoning, Joanna was certain, but she didn’t care enough to argue.
I just want my peace away from here. I would take Father if I could, but I think his wife must come with him otherwise.
“Very well, then it is decided. We shall find him at the next event and introduce you to him. He is said to have all his teeth, Madeline, and his family owns countless properties. You will never want for anything.”
Madeline sighed, her courage faltering. They all knew she would give in, eventually. It still hurt Joanna to watch. She bit her lip hard, ducking her head as her stepsister murmured, “I should want a husband who would care for me. But perhaps that is too much to ask for, is it not?”
“There is no need to be childish, Madeline. You know how I hate the way you mumble. Above all, you must marry. The Duke remains an excellent prospect. Regardless of his past. In fact, his reputation only proves that he cannot be picky. I suppose if he doesn’t take to you, then we could throw her to him.”
Joanna knew they were staring at her. She felt the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The weight of her stepmother’s disgust always felt awkward on her shoulders, as if it was about to fall off. So, she looked up and straightened her back.
That’s all I am, is it? Wasted goods that will go bad in the dark reaches of the cellar before I ever see the light of day? Born in the dirt and buried in the dirt untouched and unbothered. I wish Beatrice would say what she really thinks. Oh, I would love to hear it!
Joanna stared back at her stepmother to show her own distaste, letting the woman know that she didn’t appreciate being thought of like this. Nothing more than an afterthought, a backup plan, to have a duke in the family. If Madeline couldn’t win the trash, then surely she could.
“Why do you think I will marry someone like him?” Joanna demanded, unable to sit there and take it for another minute. “I share the same opinions as your daughter—I would not want him for a husband. I’m not even out yet.”
“As if that would stop us from finding you a husband. If not the Duke, then we’ll find one of your father’s widowed friends. Someone will take you, eventually,” Beatrice retorted.
Before Joanna could find her breath to respond, her stepmother turned back to Madeline.
“Lemon juice on that face twice a night now, Madeline, until the vows are said. Do you hear me? And no more tarts for you. I think I see dark circles under your eyes. You’re done embroidering today—go off to bed.”
“But I’m not even tired.”
“Go.”
Gritting her teeth, Joanna struggled to contain her anger as Madeline grumbled and took her leave.
All Joanna could do was stare down at her embroidery. The flowers on the vest were coming along great. But was that dark red spot her blood from pricking herself a moment ago? Or was it the light?
Of course, her stepmother would make her ruin such an endeavor. She focused on closing her eyes and catching her breath, trying to tell herself that it didn’t matter what Beatrice said.
Still, her words hurt.
Joanna resented her words and hated how trapped she felt. Even though she had attempted to explain her situation to her father twice, thinking he would understand, he simply couldn’t comprehend that his second wife would ever be cruel to his daughter.
“You just misunderstood her, that’s all,” he said every time she brought something up.
I can already hear him say, “She knows you worry about your future, and we worry about it as well. We all care about your future security, my sweet Jo. You simply misunderstood what she said.”
Horrible.
The entire family was rarely in the same room for him to really hear what Beatrice said to Joanna. It felt like Joanna was lying by the end of her conversations with her father, and she always left feeling even more dejected than before.
So, in the last year, she had given up on expecting her father to come to her defense. She was beginning to slowly feel better about it, about not having anyone come to help her. In the end, she supposed, it would be better. She’d spent most of her life in this house. There was much to do in London, but she never went out much beyond visiting a few friends and the occasional tea shop.
Not even this window seat is safe, is it? Everyone can still find me. There is no place to call my own. How often has Beatrice barged into my bedchamber to scold me about one thing or another? I swear she does it only to remind me that she, not I, is the lady of this house.
Suffocating was the word she would use. But what else could she do? For a moment, she mulled over the idea of marrying some old fellow just to escape. Would it be worth it? What sort of life would that be? What if he was worse than Beatrice? Joanna wondered if that was possible.
“Joanna?”
She choked on her next breath, having forgotten that she was not alone in the parlor. Her eyes found Beatrice. “Yes?”
“I would be careful if I were you, with that impudent nature of yours. It is bound to get you in trouble.” Beatrice sniffed, eyeing her with undisguised distaste. “Perhaps it is time you married, after all. There is little we can do for you here. I am sure your father would agree.”
Then, she lifted her chin a little higher and strutted out of the room, leaving Joanna there, her lips parted in shock.
There were no words. Joanna could hardly think. The hoop and vest fell on her lap, the needle slipping. All she could hear were her stepmother’s words.
Would she rather feel trapped here, she began to wonder, or would she rather marry whomever her stepmother would find for her?
I do not doubt for a second that my father won’t have any say in the matter. He has been withdrawn for most of my life. So long as Beatrice can convince him that this suitor is ideal, I would be married off within the week. Good lord. How did this never occur to me? I cannot… What am I going to do?
She shoved the work off her lap. She didn’t even enjoy embroidery. It was a skill Beatrice had forced on her. Tired of stitching the same things over and over, she had decided on the vest for her father. But truth be told, it wasn’t the finest vest nor the finest embroidery.
Embroidery was proper work for ladies, not reading or thinking like she was wont to do. Beatrice had scolded her for that a dozen times over––Apparently, sharpening her mind was a dreadful thing.
Every day felt like she was being slowly smothered with a goose-down pillow. But now, the thought of leaving it for a husband of Beatrice’s choosing was more horrible than she could fathom.
Panic began to rise in Joanna’s chest. She tried to think. She tried to breathe.
“Joanna?”
“Oh, good Lord!” she gasped, clutching her chest when Madeline poked her head into the room. “What are you doing?”
Putting a finger on her lips, Madeline hastened into the room again. “Mother thinks I’m in bed right now,” she said needlessly.
“And it appears you are not,” Joanna muttered. She rubbed her temples as she felt the onset of a headache. “What is it, Madeline?”
“I just wanted to say how sorry I am.” Madeline’s pretty features contorted in guilt, and she wrinkled her nose. There was a smattering of freckles on her cheeks. Though Beatrice despised them, Joanna thought them lovely.
Madeline was still very much a lovely English lady. Whereas she, Joanna feared, was more of a mousy disposition without anything complimentary.
Joanna shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I suppose I should have spoken up more in your defense…”
But Madeline hastily raised her hands. “Oh, I am glad you did not. Mother can be… She is quiet… Well, you know it. Know her , I mean. I only wish to say how sorry I am. For her behavior, that is. She wasn’t very nice today. I feel awful seeing her treat you so terribly. I do wish she would stop.”
Forcing a smile to show that all was well, Joanna reached out to take her stepsister’s hands in her own. “Thank you, Madeline, but your mother’s behavior is hardly your fault.”
“Perhaps if I didn’t upset her so?”
“No, I think she would still behave like this,” Joanna admitted frankly. “That is simply her character.” Most likely, she supposed, the woman would forever be dismissive and forceful. “She has chosen that path, and you have not, Madeline. You have nothing to apologize for, I promise you.”
Sighing in relief, Madeline brushed aside her hands for a hug.
The gesture surprised Joanna, although this wasn’t the first time. In fact, Madeline often found excuses for them to sit close on the sofa or for a quick embrace. Clearly starved of maternal love, Madeline sought it wherever she could. Joanna couldn’t fault her. She wished for that as well, but she had long since given up on ever experiencing it again.
She hugged her stepsister tightly, finding comfort in her embrace for she could forget for a moment the difficult lives they had.
“I’ll try to do better, I promise,” Madeline reassured her fervently.
“I will attempt to speak up more myself,” Joanna offered. “For both of us. We deserve better.”
“Oh yes! Sometimes, I…” Pulling away, Madeline gave her a hesitant smile. “I don’t think I would truly mind a husband with a reputation. I think he would leave me alone. Don’t you? I could… I could do as I please. That is all I really want. Someone who would leave me alone.”
The thought nearly broke Joanna’s heart. She pulled her stepsister back into her arms as a wave of guilt washed over her.
How could she leave Madeline to face Beatrice all on her own like that? Madeline had suffered like this all her life. She deserved a break, if not her freedom from her overbearing mother.
“Just you wait. We’ll both escape this house, and we’ll find the happiness we want. The happiness we deserve,” Joanna vowed.
She didn’t know how or when that might happen, but she kept her promises. They would find a way. And hopefully, soon.