Chapter 24
The frisson of panic bloomed into full-scale alarm. It was one thing to contemplate her mother hearing about tonight, and a very different thing to be faced with the consequences right this minute. “Now?”
“It looks as though they’ve just arrived.” Evangeline’s face and voice had settled into a chill calm.
The carriage stopped. Joan scrambled to look out the window. A large travel coach stood in the street, with servants handing down trunks and boxes. Her home was ablaze with light, and the front door was wide open to admit the servants with those trunks and boxes. “Oh, help,” she whispered.
Evangeline seized her wrist in an iron grip.
“Say nothing,” she commanded. “I will speak to them.” She didn’t let go until Joan gave a nod.
Then she took a deep breath and gathered her skirt as the footman swung open the door.
“My goodness,” she cried in apparent delight as she stepped out of the carriage.
“Have Sir George and Lady Bennet returned, Smythe?”
The butler bowed to her from his place near the door. “Indeed, my lady.”
“How timely!” A wide smile fixed on her face, Evangeline turned to look at Joan as she, too, stepped down.
“Joan dear, your parents have returned!” she called.
“Your mother must be restored to health. I must say, it doesn’t seem at all a pity now that I felt tired and made you leave the ball early, does it? ”
Joan shook her head, too tense to speak. Evangeline was trying to save her, but she knew all too well it would only be a matter of time before her mother heard about tonight. Trying to mimic her aunt’s pleased demeanor, she followed Evangeline into the house.
Papa appeared as the servants were carrying away their cloaks. Evangeline saw him first. “George, you should have sent word that you were returning tonight!” She rushed toward him to clasp his hands. “I’m so sorry we were away; if I’d known, we would have stayed home to welcome you.”
Papa kissed her cheek, but his gaze never wavered from Joan. “We came in a hurry, Evangeline; forgive me.”
“Welcome home, Papa.” Joan hurried forward to embrace him. “Is everything all right? Why were you in a hurry?”
He peered closely at her, a thin line creasing his forehead. “Are you well, poppet?”
She wet her lips and tried to smile. “Perfectly. Why?”
“Is there anything you would like to tell me?” he pressed, in a low, meaningful tone that made her heart almost stop. He knew. How could he know? It happened only an hour ago! Papa hadn’t even been at the ball! How on earth could he know?
“Not really, no,” she squeaked. “Why do you ask?”
His shoulders seemed to fall. His jaw set. “Are you certain, Joan?”
Somehow he knew, and no plausible lie was ready on her tongue. She just stared at her father, wide-eyed.
“Joan.” Everyone turned. Mother stood in the dining room doorway. She looked thinner, with a thick shawl around her shoulders, and she leaned on a cane, but otherwise she looked the same. “What have you been up to?”
Panic rendered her mute. She looked to her aunt in desperation, but Evangeline was already sweeping across the hall. “Marion! How well you look. Come, let us go into the drawing room. Standing so near the open door cannot be good for any of us.”
“Yes, my dear, let us retire to the drawing room.” Papa went and offered Mother his arm. Mother’s gaze didn’t waver from Joan, but she didn’t say another word until they reached the drawing room and Papa closed the doors.
“How was your journey back to London?” Evangeline kept up her determined cheer, pretending not to notice the tension among the rest of them.
“Whatever has been going on here?” Mother asked Joan, ignoring Evangeline’s question.
She swallowed. She’d had a moment to calm herself and think rationally.
There was no possible way Papa could have heard about this evening.
Whatever had brought them back to London in a hurry had happened days ago.
It was possible someone had heard about the ballooning trip, but Joan thought it far more likely that Tristan’s presence in South Audley Street was sufficient.
Someone would have noticed his visits and written to her mother.
“We were at the Brentwood ball this evening. Evangeline felt a trifle unwell, so we returned home early—happily, as it turns out. I’d no idea you were coming back to town so soon, Mother. ”
“We decided rather quickly.” Her mother’s eyes grew wide as she looked down. “Good heavens, what are you wearing?”
She spread her palms against the cool silk of her skirt. “A new gown. Do you like it?”
“I took her to my dressmaker,” said Evangeline quickly, shooting Joan an encouraging glance. “It’s not the most conventional gown, but I think it looks beautiful on her.”
“Can we discuss the gown later?” asked Papa.
“George, she went out in society like this!” Mother sounded aghast. “In conjunction with the other news—” She broke off. “What was wrong with your other gowns?”
“I wanted to try something new. And . . . I didn’t think the other gowns were as flattering.”
Dismay flashed across her mother’s face. “They were perfectly fashionable!”
“Again, I must take the blame,” Evangeline tried again.
“I noticed a—a certain similarity between Joan’s figure and mine, and since I look absolutely wretched in the current fashions, I thought she might like to try something else as well.
I encouraged her—in fact, it was my gift to her, so you aren’t out of pocket for it, George. ”
“Hang the bill,” said Papa testily.
“But it’s so plain!” said Mother at the same time, still staring at the gown in shock. “My daughter—out in that chemise!”
“I think it’s lovely,” murmured Joan.
“Now, Marion, ten years ago she would have worn sheer white muslin over a single petticoat. In our youth, she would have worn painted silk with all manner of birds on it. And in our mother’s day, it would have been heavy brocade.
” Evangeline’s voice was growing strained. “This is a lovely silk, and—”
Mother looked up. “Evangeline, she’s an unmarried young lady. She ought not to dress like this.”
“But a simple design suits her. She hasn’t got your figure, Marion—she’s got mine! Ladies like us can’t wear the ruffles and trimmings you can,” Evangeline went on, almost pleadingly. “I only wanted her to wear something becoming.”
Mother’s lips parted in affront. “And the fashions I helped her select weren’t becoming—is that what you’re saying? At least I have the sense not to dress her in something that a loose woman might wear.”
The silence was painful. Joan wanted to sink through the floor, her fingers clenched on the folds of her glorious gold dress, the new dress that suited her and made her feel pretty—even beautiful, if Tristan could be believed.
It made her ill to hear her mother’s words, though; not because she thought she looked like a loose woman, but because she knew she was one.
She had been wanton and loose and she had loved every minute of it.
“Joan does not look like a loose woman,” said her father firmly, breaking the overpowering tension in the room. “She looks lovely, although far more sophisticated than I’m accustomed to seeing.” He gave her a nod. “That color suits you.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Papa.”
“And I did not race back to London to argue over fashion.” He directed a stern look on his sister and his wife before turning back to Joan. “Do you know why we’ve come home so suddenly?”
She had been throttling her brain in pursuit of that very answer. “I suppose someone wrote to you,” she began, “saying I’d been misbehaving.” This seemed the best plan. It involved some pain, but her chances were better with Papa in the room than they were with Mother alone.
“Go on,” said her father, confirming her suspicion.
She drew a long, shaky breath and turned to her mother. “I owe you an apology. I broke my promise to you. I—I did dance with Lord Burke again.”
“Oh, Joan,” exclaimed Mother in disappointed tones. “You gave me your word—”
“Marion,” said her husband. “Let her speak.”
“I danced with him because he asked me when no one else did, and I—I wanted to dance, Mother,” she confessed—honestly, as it turned out.
“And he asked me, at first, because Douglas bade him do it; he told me that himself, and I trust Douglas will admit to it. Douglas thought he was doing a kind thing by asking Lord Burke to call on me and dance with me,” she went on, her voice growing stronger.
She had done wrong, of course, but her brother had played a part in instigating the trouble—as usual—and she wasn’t about to shoulder the entire blame herself.
“Since both he and Papa would be away from town, he didn’t want me to go into a decline worrying about Mother.
I gather Lord Burke is the most respectable of his friends, so he asked it as a favor. ”
“And was that the extent of Lord Burke’s attentions?”
“No,” she said, hoping her face wasn’t growing pinker with each word. “He came to tea and took me driving once, and he showed me and Evangeline his house.”
Her father’s gaze moved to her mother. But now her mother was staring in shock at Evangeline—Evangeline, who had been both very good and very bad for Joan these last few weeks.
It made her stomach knot even though she didn’t know what to say.
Defend her aunt and lie? Admit all that Evangeline had allowed her to do and suffer severe consequences?
She couldn’t repay her aunt by turning her mother’s anger on her.
After all, Evangeline might be at fault for not keeping closer watch on her, but any sins were solely Joan’s own.
She couldn’t even blame Tristan for seducing her.
If she had behaved as her mother’s daughter ought, none of this would have happened.
“Did Joan not tell you we disapproved of the gentleman?” Mother sounded as though she was choosing every word with care.