Chapter 10

10

About half an hour ago,Joanna had been shown into the drawing room, clenching her hands, fully ready to be turned away by her aunt, but hoping she wouldn’t be. The opulent room was just as she remembered it from living here for four years after her mama’s and papa’s deaths in a carriage accident. Full of intricate paintings and art pieces, furniture that might as well have belonged in Versailles with gilded, carved feet. High ceilings and tall windows draped with crimson curtains with golden flower patterns let in plenty of light.

Her aunt had stood up to greet her, and in the moment before her putting on the polite and indifferent mask of a duchess—who had everything one could want and need and not a care in the world—Joanna glimpsed the person she’d seen many times while she’d lived at Neverton Place.

A deeply lonely and miserable woman.

“Joanna,” her aunt said warmly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I hope I’m not unwelcome,” Joanna said.

A slight expression of guilt crossed the duchess’s features. “Of course not. Please, do sit.”

She asked Goodridge, who stood in the doorway awaiting his mistress’s orders, to bring tea. He bowed and disappeared behind the door.

“My uncle is not here, is he?” asked Joanna carefully.

Her aunt smiled politely. “No. Do not be concerned with my husband.”

Silence fell on the room. So much was unsaid between them. How could her uncle have robbed Gideon of his inheritance? Why did contact between the two parts of the family stop so abruptly in the past three years? Why didn’t the duchess take some action to ensure her husband did the right thing by Gideon? Did she have any clue that her husband was involved in something criminal that involved Whitechapel and could put her in danger?

And did she know that he was prostituting his own niece to the prince?

“Are you well?” the duchess asked. “And Charlotte and Gideon?”

Joanna cleared her throat. Perhaps she should tell her aunt about Charlotte…or Whitechapel. But why would her aunt take Joanna’s side when she’d lose her security, status, and wealth if anything happened to Ashton? Why would the duchess do something now when she hadn’t stood up and protected her nieces and her nephew the day Gideon came of age—the day when instead of celebrating his nephew’s name day, Ashton had ordered them out of his house?

No. It was best to be careful. Their uncle had made it clear they were on their own, and despite her aunt’s tears, she had done nothing to contradict this.

“Everyone is well,” said Joanna with a tight smile. “Thank you for your kind invitation to the ball.”

“Of course. Did you enjoy yourself?” asked the duchess.

Enjoy herself? Joanna’s mind was flooded with the memory of the most blissful encounter of her entire life: the dance…the talk…the kiss.

“Very much,” she said while her cheeks heated.

The door opened and the butler, followed by two footmen, brought in trays with teacups, a teapot, and silver plates with pastries, biscuits, tarts, scones, and Bath and Chelsea buns. While they set everything up on the round tea table covered with a pristine white lace cloth, Joanna and the duchess sat down at the table. When they were alone again, Joanna took a sip of tea with milk. The duchess’s eyes were sad on her.

“I regret we’re not close anymore, Joanna,” the duchess said, her eyes brimming with tears. “Your uncle and I were never blessed with children of our own, as you know. I had no siblings or cousins. So when you and your siblings stayed with us, it felt as though I was experiencing motherhood for the first time. You three were the nearest I ever came to having my own family.”

Sadness filled her chest, and Joanna couldn’t taste the tea in her mouth. Perhaps she was wrong about her aunt. “Then why did you not stop my uncle and protect us?”

The duchess’s perfect hourglass figure sighed deeply. She looked at the untouched scone on her plate. “Because it is impossible to contest Stuart. He always wins.”

Joanna covered her aunt’s hand with her own. “‘Always’ seems an absolute word. Even the mightiest can be swayed on occasion.”

Her aunt looked at her with a pained expression. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s—” She opened her trembling lips to say something but stopped herself and withdrew her cold hand from under Joanna’s. With a shaking hand, she picked up her butter knife and awkwardly put clumps of clotted cream on her scone. “He can be very paranoid. Like this recent and sudden increase in very strange footmen who guard him like dogs. Or his other eccentricities… His selfishness… That is why Gideon is quite clever not to try and fight to get his inheritance back. He’d only make it worse. He should just stay calm and obedient like he has and wait until Stuart has passed on, and then he can inherit the title and all this. It would be a bad mistake to make the duke angry. Trust me.”

Joanna swallowed hard. Her aunt was scared of her own husband. How terrible it must have been for her to live her whole life with someone who failed to be her rock, but was instead her tormentor.

With a teaspoon, her aunt picked a little from a saucer that held a dark red preserve. She could ask about Portsmouth… Or Chesapeake Bay. She could ask what a Valiant was.

Or, she could start with the most obvious.

“Does he have dealings in Whitechapel?” asked Joanna.

The duchess froze with her scone halfway to her mouth. Her expression suddenly grew sharp and alert. “Why would you ask such a strange question?”

Joanna licked her lips. Could she hint at something? Or should she be careful?

“Aunt, as you say, my uncle is a dangerous man. He—”

The door opened and the butler came in again. “The Duchess of Grandhampton and Lord Seaton.”

Joanna’s stomach dropped to her feet. As the tall, muscular frame of Spencer appeared in the doorway, all air was sucked out of her lungs. A sensation like lightning shot through her as their gazes locked, and the shock she felt was mirrored on his gorgeous face. How could he be so striking, like a living, breathing piece of art, with his proud features and intense, dark eyes?

The momentary jolt of joy and excitement was then, however, replaced by a boiling annoyance. She’d been making progress with her aunt, and based on her worried reaction, she did, indeed, know something about Whitechapel. Joanna might have gained a powerful ally.

Instead, Spencer had interrupted her!

Just like yesterday.

“Ah, Penelope!” exclaimed Joanna’s aunt, clearly relieved, but her expression was still nervous at the same time. “And Lord Seaton…”

“My brother-in-law,” said the Duchess of Grandhampton, and it was just then that Joanna properly got a look at the woman.

Oh, but she was lovely. Her face was not just pretty but truly beautiful, with big, long-lashed eyes, high, plump cheekbones, and full lips. It was the face of a woman who must attract plenty of male attention.

There was something about her that also had one feel an immediate liking for her as a person—perhaps the kind and intelligent eyes and the friendly smile. There was no trace of the arrogance that some blue-blooded women and men had about them.

It was silly, perhaps, but even though the Duchess of Grandhampton had said Spencer was her brother-in-law, Joanna sensed an awkwardness between them. Perhaps it was in the physical distance between them, which was much more than the social distance required. Perhaps it was in the tension that tightened the shoulders of both. Or in the wooden masks of politeness…

Something about the woman before her reminded Joanna of how Charlotte had stolen the first and only boy to whom Joanna had ever taken a liking, and that made her feel a sharp cut of jealousy towards the young duchess.

Which the duchess had done absolutely nothing to deserve.

But she couldn’t help it. The feeling clutched at her, and she couldn’t shake it off.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lord Seaton. Please do both of you join us for tea,” said Joanna’s aunt. “Goodridge, please bring more tea and teacups for my guests.”

The butler bowed and retreated, and Spencer and the duchess proceeded into the room and took their places at the tea table.

“This is my niece, Miss Joanna Digby,” said the duchess.

“Pleased to meet you.” The Duchess of Grandhampton beamed, and Joanna pressed out a polite smile. It truly was hard not to like the young woman.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace,” replied Joanna.

“Very pleased to meet you, Miss Digby,” said Spencer, and Joanna felt his knee brushing hers under the table.

She jerked from surprise and from how inappropriate and scandalous this was. Right in front of her aunt! At that, the teacup she held shook violently, and her tea spilled on the tablecloth and on her hand.

She gasped. While both duchesses got to their feet, Spencer was faster. He grabbed his napkin and laid it on Joanna’s hand, his touch searing her more than the hot tea ever could.

The temperature of the tea was far from scalding. It was more the shock of the spill than any real harm, and within a moment or two, she realized that it hadn’t truly damaged her skin. The burning sensation quickly subsided, leaving her more startled than injured.

“I’m all right,” she said under the weight of his intense eyes.

“Perhaps some cold water…” he suggested.

“I’m fine. My tea wasn’t very hot.”

She laid the napkin on the table.

When the butler brought teacups, her aunt asked for cold water, but Joanna refused, feeling uncomfortable being fussed over.

When the butler and footmen left, an awkward conversation started where they first discussed opera and the fire, then other fires in London, then the weather, then how soon London would be empty, as most people were leaving to spend autumn and winter in the country, and how everything would be quiet. Both duchesses talked at length about art.

Joanna sat as if on needles. Spencer’s knee settled against hers once more, her skin melting through the layers of her petticoat and her simple dress. She knew why he was here. He had the same idea as her, the clever wolf that he was.

Joanna wished she had come earlier. She really needed to ask if her aunt had seen her husband do anything suspicious. But how could she ask that now, in front of company?

“Is your husband well, Duchess?” Spencer asked. “I have not seen him for a while.”

Her aunt put her teacup so silently against the saucer, it could be made of cloth.

“He’s well, thank you. He’s a popular subject today.” She chuckled, throwing a nervous glance at Joanna.

“Is he?” asked Spencer, glaring at Joanna. “Well, he’s a prominent man, is he not?” He turned to the Duchess of Ashton. “Please tell me, by any chance, does the duke do some charity for the less fortunate? Say, in Whitechapel?”

The duchess widened her eyes and looked at Joanna. “My niece asked almost the exact question earlier.”

Spencer’s gaze scalded Joanna. “Did she?”

“Why do you want to know?” asked Joanna.

The young Duchess of Grandhampton was looking between Spencer and Joanna with narrowed eyes and a clear expression of suspicion.

“I want to know,” replied Spencer, “because I’d like to contribute to a good cause.”

“Then why don’t you ask the Duke of Ashton yourself?” Joanna remarked.

“I could ask you the very same thing,” he replied.

“The duke is not here, is he?” she said.

“An excellent observation. I should always come to you if I want one.”

“You should, sir. If you can’t make one yourself. I’m happy to oblige.”

“What politeness,” he said. “What grace.”

“Something you need a lesson in, as well.”

Distantly, Joanna was aware that her aunt sat with a confused look bouncing between her and Spencer. The Duchess of Grandhampton was hiding a smile.

Realizing the extent of her lapse, Joanna parted her lips, ready to apologize to both duchesses. This had gone too far. It was as though she’d forgotten there were other people in the room at all!

But before she could say anything, the door opened again and her uncle came in, freezing with his hand on the doorknob when he saw her.

Then his gaze fell on Spencer, and it grew dark, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bared for a mere moment.

Spencer’s face paled, then color hit his high cheekbones and neck. His hand clawed into a fist around the butter knife, his knuckles whitening. Joanna’s own stomach flipped at the sight of her uncle. He’d never been close to either of his nieces or his nephew, always acting like a stranger around them even while they were children.

“Good afternoon, all,” said Ashton. “What an unexpected company.”

“Ah, Your Grace,” said her aunt, who gave a strained smile and avoided looking at her husband. “We were just talking about you. It seems our company wants to know if you have any charity dealings in Whitechapel.”

Ashton slowly walked towards the table, his eyes on Spencer. “I have, indeed. Though, I probably need to look it up in my study. My memory sometimes fails me. Do you not agree, Lord Seaton? The most important information is usually kept in the study, is it not?”

Spencer held Ashton’s gaze like his life depended on it. His thigh touching hers under the table felt as rigid as a log. She could see a vein beating violently on his temple.

“Usually,” Spencer replied through gritted teeth.

“Give me a piece of advice, Lord Seaton,” said Ashton as he leaned against the back of his wife’s chair. “Say someone sneaked into your study looking for your secrets, what would you do to them?”

“I don’t have any secrets.”

“Say you had. Important secrets that were about much more than just you. What would you do?”

Joanna swallowed hard. He knew. Somehow, he knew it was Spencer in the study! Did he realize she had been there, too? It didn’t seem so. But then he never really noticed her.

“Some secrets are hidden crimes, and a man who holds them is a criminal. If you ask me, a criminal must be punished.”

One moment, Ashton’s face turned dangerous and snakelike. The next, he put on the polite social smile, but his eyes were still venomous.

“Exactly. Punished. Do you not agree that they deserve a quick and precise bullet to the head?”

“I would say a noose,” said Spencer. “So that every last commoner could see.”

Joanna’s legs were shaking uncontrollably, and she felt Spencer’s hand cover hers under the table. It was so warm and so reassuring, like fire on a cold day.

“I’m afraid I must return home,” Joanna said, jumping to her feet.

She shouldn’t have come. Neither should have Spencer. Why did she have the feeling of a cold knife tip dragging down her spine?

“So should we,” said the Duchess of Grandhampton, rising to her feet. “It was wonderful to visit with you,” she said to Joanna’s aunt. “And good to see you, Duke,” she said politely to Ashton.

Spencer rose, as well. “Ashton.” He nodded slightly, making the barest acknowledgment possible.

Feeling like she had to flee to safety, Joanna hurried outside, barely mumbling her goodbyes to the Duke and Duchess of Ashton. Joanna, Spencer, and the Duchess of Grandhampton descended the grand stairs, then went along the gravel path to the Seaton carriage, where Spencer had kissed her just yesterday. Her cheeks heated at the thought. Joanna, of course, didn’t have a carriage waiting for her and was planning to walk until Hyde Park, where she’d catch a hackney.

“Please, Miss Digby, allow us to take you home,” suggested the Duchess of Grandhampton.

“Thank you, there’s no need,” said Joanna.

“We insist,” said the duchess.

“My sister-in-law is right,” said Spencer. “It’s no trouble.”

Not knowing what other excuse to offer, Joanna nodded. “Thank you.”

The Duchess of Grandhampton was already sitting in the carriage, and Spencer was helping Joanna in when he held her hand longer than he should have. He leaned closer to her, his warm breath brushing against her cheek.

“Well played, Miss Digby,” he murmured. “We’ll see how well you do on Sunday. I look forward to our next round. But rest assured, I always play to win.”