Chapter Twenty

When a knock sounded at the door early in the morning, Joanna buried her nose in her book. “If that’s Kincaid,” she said scathingly, “tell him I am not in.”

After pouring out her innermost feelings to Evie and crying a few more tears, Joanna had picked herself up, dusted herself off, and decided that a man wasn’t going to ruin what little time in London she had left.

Even a man who had stolen her heart.

She would need it back at some point. As the daughter of a doctor, she was fairly certain a person couldn’t go parading about with an empty hole in their chest where a vital organ ought to be.

But not today.

Today, she refused to think about Kincaid at all.

Except he was knocking on the door at half-past seven.

Which made him rather hard to ignore.

Pigeon-livered ratbag, indeed.

“Our room is the size of a henhouse,” Evie pointed out as she abandoned her garden of powders and creams, cinched her dressing robe, and went to the door. “I’m fairly certain he is going to see you.”

“Not. In,” Joanna repeated.

“Fine,” Evie sighed. The door creaked on its hinges as she opened the door a crack. “I am terribly sorry, but–oh. You’re not who I was expecting.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” asked a woman whose voice Joanna had never heard before. It was light, and melodious, and she could tell their visitor was smiling even though Evie was blocking the doorway.

“Who is it?” she asked, closing her book and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“Not Kincaid,” Evie replied. “Are you still out?”

“No, I’m in.”

“You’re not in, or you’re–”

“For heaven’s sake,” Joanna grumbled. In two steps, she was across the room–it really was the size of a henhouse–and peering over Evie’s shoulder at a curvy brunette with a heart-shaped face, twinkling eyes that couldn’t decide whether they wanted to be blue or gray, and a beaming smile that stretched ear to ear.

“Oh,” she gasped in delight, “I am so happy to finally meet you!”

Joanna grunted when the young woman flung her arms around both sisters and gave them a hug that was astonishingly strong for her petite size.

“Help me,”Evie mouthed.

“Er, it’s nice to meet you as well,” Joanna said as she carefully extracted herself from the enthusiastic embrace. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Of course.” Using her palm, the brunette gave herself a light smack in the middle of her forehead. “I always forget that part. Or rather, I never get to do it as not many people are interested in meeting me.” Her grin unwavering, she stuck out the hand she’d just used to hit herself. “Miss Rosemary Stanhope. I am your–”

“Cousin,” Joanna said, stunned. “You’re our cousin.”

Evie turned to her. “This is our cousin?”

Rosemary’s nose wrinkled. “Are you disappointed? It is all right. I am accustomed to it.”

“Disappointed?” Joanna repeated. “We’re thrilled! Aren’t we Evie?”

“I could have done without the hug.”

Joanna pressed her lips together.

“Yes, yes.” Immediately putting on her most charming smile, Evie shook Rosemary’s hand. “Absolutely thrilled.”

“Come inside, come inside. I apologize for the mess,” Joanna said with a pointed glance at the dressing table which was all but hidden beneath Evie’s various creams and pots and potions, “but we were not expecting company.”

“I’d hoped to surprise you,” Rosemary confessed. “Or else I would have sent word.”

“This is a wonderful surprise, and please do not take this unkindly, but…what are you doing here?” Sitting on the bed and leaving the chairs for her cousin and sister, Joanna’s head tilted in confusion. “I was under the impression our great-aunt was not exactly…eager to make our acquaintance.”

“She’s not,” Rosemary said. “I mean, she is. Well, she will be. Eventually. But my grandmother can be quite…set in her ways.”

“We know the feeling,” Evie said dryly.

“How did you find us?” Joanna asked.

Color bloomed in Rosemary’s cheeks as she sat down. “I, er…that is to say, I followed the detective yesterday after he left our house,” she confessed, smoothing a wrinkle on her skirt. “He led me straight here. I would have come in, except I lost my nerve. But I found it again this morning. Try and try again, as my grandmother always says! Usually, she’s referring to my failed attempts at landing a suitor, but I thought it could apply to this, as well.”

“We’re glad that you are here.” Refusing to acknowledge the tightening in her throat at the mention of Kincaid, Joanna forced a smile onto her face. It wasn’t exceedingly difficult. She was happy to meet her cousin. Elated, really. But over all that elation was a dark, heavy raincloud.

A raincloud made all by the heavier by the knowledge that she should have been ecstatic.

After weeks of uncertainty, she had everything she could have ever possibly asked for. The location of her mother’s ring. The identity of her birth father. And other family, besides! That was everything she’d come to England to find. But in seeking those answers, she’d found something else. Something even more valuable.

Love.

True love.

Or so she’d allowed herself to believe.

Now when she returned to Somerville, she’d have the ring, and the knowledge of where she came from. But she’d be leaving her heart behind in London. More than that, she’d be leaving behind the possibility of what could have been. What would have been, if not for Kincaid’s inability to give what they both desperately needed.

Did he really think she would hurt him, as that other woman had? That she would take his love and twist it into something unrecognizable? Or was he just so badly wounded from what had happened to him that he was unable to see the light of what could be through the shadows of what had been?

That was an answer Joanna did not have.

Because Kincaid had refused to give it.

Once again, he had just closed himself off and pushed her away.

As if she meant nothing.

As if they meant nothing.

And maybe that was what hurt worst of all. Not that he’d all but shoved her out the door, but that he hadn’t even been willing to try.

“You seem upset,” Rosemary observed, her smile wavering as she looked at Joanna. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.” She started to stand. “I will go, and–”

“It’s not you,” Joanna said hurriedly. “Honest. It’s…it’s something else. Someone else. Please stay. There is so much I’d like to ask you.”

Sinking back down into her seat, Rosemary clucked her tongue in sympathy. “It’s the Marquess of Dorchester, isn’t it? Silly me. If I found out my father wasn’t who I thought he was, I’d be upset as well. ”

Joanna exchanged a quick, startled glance with Evie. “How do you know about the marquess?” she asked, puzzled. “I was under the impression it was…well, that it was a bit of a secret.”

Rosemary giggled. Then her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, you’re serious. Nothing in the ton is a secret. Not really. Plus, I may have…erm…eavesdropped on my grandmother and Mr. Kincaid. I didn’t mean to.” Her round cheeks flushed, reminding Joanna of the doll that Claire used to carry around with her everywhere she went. “It’s just that we do not get many visitors, and I thought the detective may have been a suitor come to call, and so…I pressed my ear to the door and listened to the entire conversation.”

“Have you met him?” Joanna slid to the edge of the mattress. “My…that is to say, the Marquess of Dorchester.”

“We have been introduced,” Rosemary nodded. “I even danced with the Earl of Hawkridge once.” Her blush intensified. “I trounced on his instep so hard that he walked with a limp for the rest of the night. He never asked to sign his name to my card again.”

“What are they like?” Joanna asked earnestly. Try as she might, she’d been unable to form a picture of her birth father and her half-brother in her head. Perhaps because every time that she’d tried, her thoughts just kept veering back to Kincaid, like a moth that couldn’t leave an open flame alone even though it knew that if it got too close it would singe its wings.

“The marquess and the earl?” Rosemary asked.

Joanna nodded.

“We don’t really…that is to say, our social circles don’t intersect with any sort of regularity. Probably due to the fact that mine is shaped more like a square.” She smiled apologetically. “Rest assured that you are going to be far more popular than I. People don’t tend to notice plain.”

“You’re not plain,” Joanna protested. “Is she, Evie?”

“I’ve seenworse,” said Evie. For her, it was a very high compliment indeed.

“It’s all right,” Rosemary said with a shrug. “I don’t mind. Truth be told, there are many good things about being a wallflower. No one ever notices when I go back for thirds at the sweets table. And I’d much rather read a book than remember the steps to a waltz.”

“Reading is much more important than dancing,” Joanna agreed. She hesitated, and then asked, “What does he look like, my half-brother? I have been trying to conjure an image of him in my mind, and….” Her hands lifted in the air. “I cannot.”

“He’s very handsome,” Rosemary said at once. Then she gasped, and covered her mouth as another pink blush stole across her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re his sister. I mean, his half-sister. I mean, his–”

“It is all right,” Joanna said gently. “Please do not feel flustered on my account.”

Evie perked up. “Handsome, did you say?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Joanna muffled a snort as she noted the calculating gleam in Evie’s eyes. “He’s my brother. Surely you can set your sights on someone else. Anyone else, really.”

“He is your half-brother. With absolutely no relation to me. And he is an earl.”

“I was under the impression you wanted a duke.”

“If I could find one, I’d happily marry him. Until then…tell us more about the Earl of Hawkridge,” Evie ordered Rosemary, who bit her lip.

“Well…” their cousin began. “He is quite tall. And he has black hair, unlike his sister–”

“He has a sister?” Joanna interrupted. “I have a sister?”

Kincaid had failed to mention that part.

Then again, he’d failed at a lot of things.

“Yes. Lady Brynne. They’re twins.”

Weston and Brynne.

Evie and Claire.

As Joanna shook her head in disbelief, she struggled to wrap her mind around the idea that her number of siblings had just doubled.

“How long are you planning to be in London?” asked Rosemary. “There’s so much I’d like to show you. Are you staying through Christmas?”

Evie glanced at Joanna, whose gaze fell to her lap as a sharp pang resounded within her chest.

“We’re leaving soon,” she said, drawing a circle around her knee. “Most likely within the next day or two.”

“But you cannot,” said Rosemary, positively aghast. “You’ll miss the Countess of Beresford’s birthday celebration. She’s throwing an enormous ball. Everyone will be in attendance.”

Joanna’s pulse leapt. She knew that name; Kincaid had spoken it in the park before he’d stomped on her heart. Her half-brother was going to be at the ball. As well as Kincaid, and maybe even the ring. “Did you say the Countess of Beresford?”

Evie gripped her chair. “Did you say ball?”

“It’s going to be an absolute crush,” said Rosemary. Then she frowned. “I am not looking forward to it, if I were being honest. As I said, I am not exceedingly popular.” Her nose wrinkled. “People find me odd. I think it is the squirrel.”

“I don’t think you’re odd at all,” Joanna declared, and she meant it. Rosemary may have been a tad shy and awkward, but that’s what made her so endearing. They’d only just met, and already Joanna had the feeling they were going to be good friends.

Unfortunately, it seemed Evie had a different opinion in regards to Rosemary’s unique charm.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said politely. “You have a squirrel?”

“Sir Reginald.” Rosemary patted her shoulder. “He usually sits here, but I left him at home this morning. I did not want to make a poor first impression.”

Evie edged her chair back a few inches. “I see.”

“Sir Reginald sounds delightful,” said Joanna with a reproachful glare at her sister, whose eyebrows rose as if to say, “What would you have me do? She has a pet squirrel”. “When is the ball, again?”

“Tomorrow night. Which is why you cannot leave yet!” Rosemary gazed anxiously between them. “I always sit in the corner by myself. And Grandmother said this time I have to leave my book at home. But if you were there with me, it would be entirely different! I’ve always wanted a sister. But surely cousins are the next best thing! Oh, please say you’ll come. Please?”

Joanna looked at Evie.

Evie looked at Joanna.

“Yes,” they said in unison. “We’d love to.”

* * * *

Unfortunately, it seemed attending a ball wasn’t as easy as saying “yes”.

According to Evie, none of the dresses they’d brought with them were suitable. Which meant Joanna spent the rest of her day traipsing about London in search of a gown that was not only within their meager budget, but ready to wear.

Finding the Holy Grail would have been a far easier task, but at least it provided a welcome distraction from her constant thoughts of Kincaid. Never mind that they were soon to be at the same ball. She wasn’t going there to see him. Definitely not. She was going there to spend time with her cousin, and to possibly catch a glimpse–or mayhap even meet–her brother, the Earl of Hawkridge.

Truth be told, Joanna didn’t know how she felt about her newfound family.

It was, in a word, overwhelming.

And difficult to fully comprehend.

Joanna did not care that her father was titled or “one of the most wealthiest and powerful men in England”. She would have been pleased if he were a baker or a blacksmith or a candle maker. Such an occupation certainly would have lent itself to fewer complications.

Showing up on the doorstep of a baker and announcing herself as his long-lost daughter was one thing.

But arriving at the private estate of a marquess...well, that was something else entirely.

Add to that an earl, and a duke!

It was almost too much.

It was too much.

What did she know about British aristocracy? Their rules and rigid propriety. Their customs and traditions. When–if–they were introduced, she wasn’t going to fit in.

She, an American who hated bonnets and didn’t have the foggiest idea of which fork to use for dessert, would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. Having already been rejected once, she didn’t know if she had it in her to face rejection again.

But there was always the chance, however slight, that she would be welcomed with open arms. Which was why she was attending the ball. To catch a glimpse of her half-brother from afar and see if he was someone whom she might get on with, as she had with Rosemary. Well, that, and if she didn’t go, Evie would murder her in her sleep.

Joanna hadn’t seen her sister this happy since they’d left Somerville. All she’d wanted this entire time was to go to a ball. And Joanna wasn’t going to be the one to deny her that small pleasure. Especially given how well Evie was handling everything.

To Joanna’s surprise–and relief–her sister hadn’t been jealous, or put out by the revelation that her sister had noble blood running through her veins. Quite the opposite. She was absolutely thrilled by the news, and saw this ball as the first of many.

But first, they needed gowns.

After walking for what felt like hours, they found a small, inconspicuous shop tucked away off the main thoroughfare. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but the windows were clean and someone had taken care to plant flowers along the edge of the short walkway. Joanna hoped it was a promising sign of what awaited them inside, for her legs were beginning to tire and her head felt heavy on her shoulders.

She wanted a bath, and a nap, and a glass of wine. Not necessarily in that order. But Evie was determined to find the perfect gown, and when she got that certain glint in her eyes, no one could dissuade her.

Especially not Joanna.

A cheerful bell announced their entrance. Almost at once, they were greeted by a short, plump woman with black hair streaked with gray and a kind smile.

“Bonjour,” she said, her voice warm and welcoming and undeniably French. “How can I be of assistance?”

“We have been invited to the Countess of Beresford’s ball,” Evie said with thinly veiled excitement. “And we are in need of the appropriate attire.”

The dressmaker blinked in confusion. “But is zee ball not tomorrow?”

“Exactly,” Evie said solemnly.

“We’ve hardly any money and little to trade.” As this was their seventh stop, Joanna saw no reason to beat around the bush. “But we would be appreciative of anything you might have that we could use. A dress that was returned, or didn’t fit, perhaps. We’re not picky.”

The dressmaker placed her hands on her rounded hips and sniffed. “Clients do not return dresses to Mademoiselle Claudette.”

Evie elbowed Joanna sharply in the ribs. “You’ve insulted her!” she hissed. “Clients do not return dresses to Mademoiselle Claudette.”

Joanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I heard her. I am standing right next to you.”

“Well, go stand over there,” she said, pointing across the tiny shop. “Let me handle this.”

With no desire to argue, Joanna did as she was told. Absently running her fingers along the edge of a wooden mannequin, she waited while Evie and Mademoiselle Claudette spoke in low, quick tones. There was an audible gasp, a torrent of French, and Joanna turned just in time to see the dressmaker clap both hands to her cheeks.

“I have zee perfect gowns for you and your sister!” she announced. “Zey were commissioned by the Earl of Tremont for his wife, but zey were meant for greater things.”

“I’m sorry,” Joanna began with a reproachful look at Evie, “but we don’t have that sort of money. I wish we did–”

“Tra la la,” Mademoiselle Claudette scoffed. “I should be zee one paying you! Do not move a muscle. I’ll be right back to take your measurements. If I work through zee night, the gowns shall be ready in time. You will be zee talk of zee ton!”

“What did you do?” Joanna demanded as soon as the dressmaker had disappeared behind a heavy velvet curtain. “We couldn’t buy a potato sack if we wanted, let alone dresses that are intended for a countess!”

Evie shrugged. “I simply told her who you are and promised to tell anyone who asks that our gowns were designed by Mademoiselle Claudette.”

“What do you mean, you told her who I am?” Joanna asked suspiciously. “Why would she care about a penniless American?”

“But you’re not a penniless American, are you?” Evie wandered over to a shelf stuffed with bolts of fabric and removed a small swatch of violet silk. “You’re the daughter of the Marquess of Dorchester.”

Joanna paled. “You didn’t tell that to the dressmaker, did you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s the truth.” Evie held the silk to her face. “Does this pair with my complexion, or wash me out?”

“Evelyn.”

“Oh, don’t be upset with me. We needed the gowns, and we weren’t about to be given them by asking nicely. We’ve lost so much, Jo. Our parents. Our home. Mother’s ring.” Lowering the fabric, Evie gave it a fond pat before she returned it to the shelf. “Maybe this is the world’s way of repaying us. Of giving us something back after all that we’ve gone through. That you’ve gone through.”

Her sister did have a point.

They had been through a lot. More than Joanna would ever wish upon anyone else. Surely two dresses and a ball weren’t too much to ask for in return. Still, she felt a flicker of discomfort at using her father–a father she’d never met–as currency.

“Just…do not do it again, all right?” she said.

“Fine,” Evie sighed.

Mademoiselle Claudette returned, armed with a cloth measuring tape draped around her neck and a dozen pins held between her lips. One at a time, she ordered the sisters onto a wooden dais where she measured, poked, and prodded until Joanna was on the verge of leaping into the first rowboat she could find and paddling back to America. At long last, the dressmaker nodded in satisfaction and tucked her measuring tape between her breasts.

“Zee gowns will be ready tomorrow. Come in zee morning for a final fitting.”

“Another one?” Joanna groaned.

“We cannot wait,” Evie beamed as she put on her hat and knotted the strings beneath her chin. “Thank you, Mademoiselle. What an honor to be dressed by the finest modiste in all of London.”

“Thank you,” Claudette replied as she led them to the door and waved farewell.