Chapter 11
The next day Joan got a better idea of what life with Evangeline would be like.
Her aunt’s trunks arrived, along with her maid, Solly.
Solly turned out to be a tall, statuesque African woman.
She was missing two fingers on her left hand and spoke with a melodic accent that seemed to make her words flow like honey.
She smiled and laughed with Evangeline in a familiar way that would have sent Janet into fits.
But Joan was most dazzled by her aunt’s wardrobe. Evangeline’s dress upon arrival had been no exception: everything she owned was bright, daring, and unconventional. And she invited Joan to examine all of it, promising they would call upon her dressmaker that very day.
“Be sure to let me know if you see something you particularly like,” Evangeline told her as Solly unpacked, laying out a veritable rainbow of finery.
“Federico will decide what he wants to make for you—that’s how he is, vexing man—but if he refuses to listen, Solly can alter any of my gowns to fit you. We’re of a height.”
That was true, although Joan was fairer than her aunt.
She touched a luxuriant vine embroidered across the bodice of a deep red gown.
Most of Evangeline’s gowns were in colors and styles far too bold for an unmarried woman of Joan’s age.
That didn’t stop her from wishing she could wear them, but if her mother heard she was wearing orange or scarlet around London .
. . “How did you discover Mr. Salvatore, Aunt Evangeline? I’ve never heard of a man modiste before. ”
“He is Sir Richard’s tailor. We met in passing, and a few days later he sent me a sketch of a gown.
He hadn’t much liked what I’d worn when we met, so he suggested a better design.
” Evangeline laughed. “I thought it highly amusing, so I ordered the gown—and oh my, it was so much more flattering! Sir Richard agreed, and I’ve patronized Federico ever since. ”
“Isn’t it . . . immodest to discuss such things with a man?”
Her aunt made a face. “Immodest! He doesn’t require you to stand in your shift.
He’s got a perfectly respectable and accomplished female assistant.
And what is modest, anyway? Ten years ago girls your age wore sheer white dresses that would hardly be sufficient for a shift now, and more than one lady’s modesty was violated by a strong breeze.
And you must know gentlemen talk about ladies’ garments.
I daresay they think about them almost as much as ladies do. ”
You should wear gold, echoed Lord Burke’s voice. You look like a half-opened umbrella. Joan flushed. “Yes, I suppose they do,” she muttered. “That doesn’t mean they know anything.”
“Federico does.” Evangeline rose. “Let me write to him now. And do ask Solly to show you anything you want to see.”
Solly proved herself a willing accomplice. She shook out and displayed morning dresses and evening gowns, pelisses and shawls. There was a wonderful variety to Evangeline’s clothing, quite unlike Joan’s own wardrobe.
“These are just lovely,” she said wistfully, stroking a walking dress of cream silk with narrow, dark blue stripes. It would have made a perfectly fashionable man’s waistcoat, but was bold and unexpected as a dress.
“Lady Courtenay likes to look her best,” said Solly fondly.
Joan sighed and handed over the walking dress.
She also wanted to look her best. No, she wanted to look lovely, which might be, she feared, better than was possible.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and tried to see any potential.
She was still tall, still plump, and her hair was still straight and brown, suitable only for binding up in braids or torturing into ringlets with a hot iron.
But then again . . . Evangeline was almost as tall, and just as plump.
So far she hadn’t worn a single ringlet.
And while her clothing obviously hadn’t come from the latest pages of Ackermann’s, it nonetheless made her look ravishing instead of umbrella-like. Perhaps there was hope.
Solly was putting away the hatboxes. “Do you wish to see, miss? You will like this one, I think.” She opened one of the boxes.
Joan lifted it out. As bonnets went, it was on the plain side, and not as unconventional as she’d expected. She held it above her head, trying to get an idea of how it would look on her. The current mode in bonnets invariably made her look like a giantess.
“Try it,” murmured Solly. “She will not mind.”
Joan hesitated, then smiled broadly. “Just for a moment,” she agreed, and rushed to sit at the dressing table.
She put on the bonnet, and turned her head from side to side.
The crown was softer, not as high as was fashionable; the brim was wider and not so peaked.
The only plume on it curled around the crown, adding no height at all.
And best of all, it didn’t make her face look round.
A pleased smile touched her lips. Yes, there was definitely hope.
There was a light tap at the door. “You’ve a caller, Miss Bennet,” said Smythe.
Admiring herself in Evangeline’s bonnet, Joan barely glanced at the butler. “Yes? Who is it?”
“Viscount Burke.”
She nearly sent the hatpin into her scalp. “Who?”
“Lord Burke.” He held out the silver tray to prove it with the plain calling card. Joan gazed at it in alarm. What the devil could he want?
“Shall I tell him you are not in?” inquired Smythe after a long moment.
“Ah . . .” She set the bonnet back in its box. “No, I’ll see him.”
She told herself it was just curiosity that drove her.
It had been five days since The Kiss, after all.
As much as she wanted to deny it, Joan had wondered, with a bit of nervous hope, if he might call on her.
If perhaps he’d found the kiss just a little more than the means to silence her for a moment.
If, by some rare chance, he had been as struck by it as she had been.
From his absolute absence, she had concluded he had not, the cursed libertine.
And yet, today he was here in her drawing room.
In the corridor she took a quick look in a nearby mirror.
Nothing on her face; her teeth were clean; and her hair lay flat, thankfully.
Lifting her chin and hoping a cool composure would hide the sudden thumping of her heart, she went into the drawing room.
“Good day, Lord Burke.” She made the barest curtsy.
He was standing on the other side of the room, staring out the window, and whipped around at her greeting.
For a moment he seemed frozen, staring at her with an expression perilously close to a glare before bowing.
“Miss Bennet.” There was a long pause. “I want to offer my most sincere wishes for Lady Bennet’s full recovery. ”
“Thank you.” He’d come to say that? Joan waited, but he merely stood there looking at her, far too attractive for her peace of mind. “Have you brought a message from Douglas?” she asked at last.
His mouth tightened. “Of a sort. He didn’t send you a note, then.”
“No, why would he? I understood he was to leave for Norfolk—in fact, I thought he already had. I can’t think what he would have needed to say to me before he left.”
Lord Burke closed his eyes for a moment, as though reining in his temper.
“Is something wrong with Douglas?” she asked, perplexed beyond measure by this visit.
“I am here to offer my escort,” he said shortly. “If you wish to go out.”
Joan’s jaw dropped. “Escort!”
“At your brother’s behest,” he added. “Bennet feared you’d sit at home alone in your parents’ absence.”
Douglas? Douglas had sent him to squire her about? He was only here as a favor to her brother?
Joan drew a furious breath. How dare Douglas send his reprobate friend to dog her heels around town?
And how dare Lord Boor agree to it, after the way she had made clear her dislike of him and his manners?
She would show them both, she would . . .
she would . . . A fiendish thought hit her, and instead of lashing out at Lord Burke, she smiled.
Sweetly. She would teach them both a lesson, and have a cracking good time doing it.
“Did he? How very solicitous and thoughtful of him! And how very kind of you to devote so much time to my amusement.”
He had obviously expected a different reply. His vivid green eyes seemed to stare right through her. “Yes, it was very benevolent of me, wasn’t it?”
“And conveyed with such solicitude and enthusiasm!” She laid one hand on her bosom, still smiling brightly. “Your reputation for charm is well earned, sir.”
He gave a little huff. “I should hope so. You had better keep it in mind.”
Joan made herself giggle like one of the simpering girls who always seemed to snap up husbands in their first season. “How could I forget? After our last encounter, I mean.”
“Oh?” He crossed his arms and looked interested. “What, particularly, about our last encounter struck you so deeply?”