Chapter 30
Evangeline wasn’t initially worried when they couldn’t find Joan.
Her niece had proven herself trustworthy and well-behaved, after the ballooning incident.
Evangeline thought she’d put Burke on clear notice that he was being weighed in the balance, and that he did not want to be found lacking.
But any suitor would crave a private moment to express his feelings, and she was inclined to grant Burke that much, for Joan’s sake.
If she could help Joan find as much happiness as she felt herself right now, Evangeline would happily face down George and Marion.
Evie, I want to marry you. She had never thought to hear those words and feel anything other than panic and alarm.
But when Richard said them . . . her heart had leapt.
I want everyone to know that I am yours.
She had seen the glances their way, as she walked with him and danced with him.
Some were surprised, but most were merely curious; fire and brimstone had not rained down upon her head, as she’d somehow feared.
This could be my life, she thought, stealing a glance at him beside her.
No more fixing her gaze straight ahead and pretending she didn’t see the wide eyes or hear the flurry of whispers.
No more pretense of leaving separately, even when he intended to walk through the woods from his house to hers for the night.
No more pretense at all, because marriage would make them uninteresting .
. . and respectable. It was an unfamiliar concept, but one she found surprisingly appealing.
However, as they searched all three supper rooms and did not spy either Joan or Lord Burke, thoughts of Richard faded under the wave of concern rising inside her. A private moment was forgivable, if not fully permissible, but now it had been almost half an hour since she’d seen her niece.
When Richard opened the terrace doors and turned back to her, his face grave, a flare of panic shot through her. Where could Joan be?
“I’ll ask her friends,” she said as Richard came back into the house. “We saw them eating.”
“Of course.”
They went back through the supper rooms. She made her way toward the Misses Weston, and tried to catch the elder girl’s eye. Abigail Weston jumped up and hurried over, leaving her sister to entertain the two young men at their table.
“I do apologize for interrupting,” Evangeline told her with a smile, “but have you seen Joan?”
Miss Weston blinked. “No, Lady Courtenay. Not since before the waltz.”
“Ah.” Evangeline kept her smile firmly in place even though her stomach lurched at this news.
“She must have gone to the retiring room. She tried a new hairstyle this evening and was worried it would need repair.” The hairstyle was new, but it was simpler than the usual curls and braids; it should have been fine all evening.
Miss Weston looked skeptical but didn’t argue. Evangeline bade her farewell and returned to Richard’s side. He’d gone back to his sister and Mr. Rieger, and as she approached, Sir Paul and Lady Brentwood strolled up.
“You must come sit with us, Campion,” Sir Paul cajoled. “We’ve seats saved at our own table.”
“Indeed, we have,” added Catherine, turning a brittle smile on Evangeline. “Lady Courtenay, do join us.”
Evangeline smiled back, teeth gritted behind her lips. “That is very kind of you, my dear, but I’m afraid we are already engaged.”
“Perhaps we might join you in an hour,” added Richard. He laid his hand over hers, on his arm. “For dessert.”
Lady Brentwood softened under his regard. “We will look forward to it, sir.”
“Very good,” said Sir Paul in approval.
“Until then,” Richard replied, and promptly led her away. “I presume her friend was no help?” he murmured as they reached the doorway.
“None.” Once clear of the supper rooms, Evangeline turned to face him. “Richard—”
“I know,” he said at once. “We must find her.”
“Or Burke,” she said, leaving unspoken her worst fear: that the pair of them had slipped off alone together, to do God-knew-what. Evangeline wanted no part of explaining that to her brother. “I’ll check the retiring room.”
He nodded. “I will ask the footman in the reception hall if Burke has left.”
She picked up her skirts and hurried away, down the corridor and up the stairs to the room set aside for ladies.
Several people were within, one getting a button sewn back on her glove and one lying on a chaise looking a bit green.
In the middle of the room stood a young lady, sobbing hysterically, as her mother and another girl tried to soothe her; two maids fussed over the torn flounce of her gown, trailing across the floor.
No Joan. Evangeline bit her lip and pretended to powder her nose, as the glove-less matron eyed her closely.
She walked out as calmly as possible, and began opening doors along the corridor.
A small parlor: empty.
A larger music room: empty.
Another parlor, more feminine: also empty.
Evangeline tried to tell herself to remain calm.
There was likely a very reasonable explanation, she repeated over and over in her mind.
The Brentwood house was rather large, and if Burke meant to propose or declare himself, he might well have whisked Joan away to a quiet area just as Richard had done.
Any moment now she would turn a corner and spot them, Burke on one knee and Joan beaming with happiness.
But she couldn’t stop thinking that she shouldn’t have let Richard whisk her away. She was meant to be watching her niece, not hearing passionate declarations of love herself—even if it had made her heart flutter in way she hadn’t felt in years.
Richard came up the stairs, so rapidly she knew he also had no news. When he turned around the banister and their eyes met, her composure began to crack.
“Where is she?” she whispered as he strode toward her.
“Shh.” The retiring room door had opened behind him, and he stepped to the side, shielding Evangeline from view. “Neither has left the house.”
“Via the front door,” she replied in an urgent whisper. “Where is she?” Panic rippled along her nerves.
He glanced over his shoulder. The woman with the repaired glove was slowly going down the stairs, craning her neck to stare at them. Richard led her toward the back of the house. “I also checked the antechamber and morning room. I saw neither on that floor.”
And Evangeline had opened all the doors on this floor.
That left the upper floors, with the family’s private rooms, or the servants’ rooms. No matter how fascinated Joan had been by the water heater and new plaster in Burke’s Hanover Square home, Evangeline thought it very unlikely she and Burke were studying the Brentwoods’ flues and linen closets. Which meant . . .
She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight and dry.
She knew very well why a woman would sneak off to a private room with a man; she’d done it herself.
But she’d trusted Joan to be more sensible, more aware.
Surely Marion had raised her daughter to be more conscious of propriety than Evangeline had ever been.
But Joan has already done this, whispered a terrible voice inside her head. Joan let Burke take her ballooning, without a word to Evangeline. And she’d enjoyed it.
She gripped Richard’s arm so hard he started. “We have to find her. Now!”
For once he didn’t argue. Up the back stairs they went, as rapidly as possible. With Richard reminding her to be as quiet as she could, they opened every door that wasn’t locked.
“Joan!” she whispered, trying to keep her voice down but nearing hysteria. “Joan!” The last door opened under her hand and she lurched into the room, only to stop short.
There stood her niece and Lord Burke. His arms were around her, and they might have been admiring themselves in the mirror over the small fireplace, a lovely romantic couple.
But Evangeline’s frantic eyes took in Joan’s high color and disarranged hair, Burke’s sleepy-eyed smile, the wrinkles in both their clothing. Behind her, Richard swore under his breath. He could tell, too.
Her heart seemed to stop, then resume with a ferocious banging that made her vision dim. Oh God. George had trusted her to keep his only daughter safe, and she had failed, distracted by her selfish desires, her lack of sense, and her complete and utter stupidity.
“What the devil are you doing?” Richard snarled at Burke.
The younger man gave him a cocksure glance before giving Joan an intimate look that made the girl blush and smile. “What does it look like?”
If there had been any kind of weapon in her hand, Evangeline would have murdered him on the spot.
“Joan—Joan, come with me right now. We have to go!” Before she flew at Burke and gouged out his eyes, before she flung herself off the roof of this house in shame.
Now the only thing she could do was get her niece safely out of this nightmare. She couldn’t think of anything else.
And Burke, the reprehensible scoundrel, merely kissed Joan’s hand and gave her another searing look.
Leaving Richard to deal with him, she seized Joan’s wrist and towed her out of the room, down all those stairs, into the hall where she hissed at a servant to fetch their things and summon their carriage. Her hands shook as she practically pushed the girl into it.
Once inside, she took a deep breath to calm her thundering pulse. “I hope,” she said carefully, “I shall have nothing dreadful to confess to your parents.”
Joan’s reply, cautious but still entirely too self-satisfied, made her throat clench. “I’m sure you don’t.”
Her brother would never speak to her again. Marion would despise her until the end of time—with good reason. She would be banished from her family forever. She tried to hold herself together; Joan was at fault, too, but only because Evangeline had been criminally negligent.
Joan began to apologize, seeming to sense at last how badly she’d erred. Evangeline’s hopes that she would disclose good news—namely, a marriage proposal—were crushed, as the girl went silent at that query.
“But I want to marry him,” Joan added in a small voice.
“I should bloody well hope so!” she snapped.
“You may have no other choice.” She couldn’t fend off the memory of her father’s expression when he’d walked in on her and Court—the contained fury, but also the stony acceptance, as if he weren’t surprised at all.
George isn’t like that, she reminded herself frantically—but then, she’d at least been a widow, not a modest, virginal young lady.
And while Court had been brazen in his seductions, he’d recoiled from any actual danger.
She had no illusions Burke was the same.
If George lost his temper and called out Burke, Evangeline had no doubt the viscount would meet him.
Perhaps she could prevail upon Richard to give her his pistols, and she could save her brother the trouble of shooting the viscount, she thought wildly.
She would ambush him on his way home. Perhaps she could whisk Joan away to Chelsea and pretend she’d been taken very ill, and not bring her back to London until any scandal had blown over.
And then she stopped thinking at all, as the carriage turned into South Audley Street. A travel chaise stood outside the Bennet home. Janet, Marion’s maid, stood on the steps directing the unloading of luggage.
George and Marion were home. And her sins were about to catch up with her.