Chapter Twenty-One

“You look like shite,” Sterling commented as Kincaid climbed into the duke’s carriage. With a crack of the whip and a slap of the reins, the glossy black town coach lurched forward, headed for Beresford Manor in the middle of Grosvenor Square.

“This is your tailcoat,” Kincaid reminded his so-called friend as he tugged at his sleeve.

“Aye, and you look like shite in it.”

“Sod off.” While he was not lacking for clothing, Kincaid did not have the formal attire required of such a prestigious event as the Countess of Beresford’s ball. Sterling had sent his tailor over in the later afternoon to dress him accordingly. The sizes of the two men were similar enough that only a few lines had needed to be adjusted. When the tailor was finished, Kincaid had glanced at himself in the mirror and was startled to see a nabob staring back.

He hated that his first thought had been of Joanna. Of what she would think of his appearance, and if she would prefer his regular attire to being trussed up like a damned penguin. He hated it not because he didn’t want to think about her.

But because he did not deserve to.

After the way he’d ended things between them…after the hurt he’d seen in those beautiful, blue eyes…he didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as she did.

Joanna had given him her heart to care for.

And he’d returned it to her in pieces.

Just as Lavinia had done to him.

In the carriage’s inky interior, Sterling’s teeth flashed white. “Had a row with your American, did you? Either that, or one of those flea-infested felines you insist on keeping in your house died.”

The duke’s abhorrence for any animal smaller than a horse was well known. Normally, Kincaid found his friend’s aversion amusing if only because he knew the real reason Sterling despised cute, fluffy creatures. When he was a child, Sterling had been bitten by his mother’s terrier in a very…sensitive area. Since then, he had developed an innate distrust for any tiny creature with teeth.

But this time, Kincaid didn’t chuckle.

He didn’t even crack a smile.

“My cats are well, and Miss Thorncroft and I did not have a row.” He stared out the window. “I chose to end our…partnership.”

“Why the devil would you do that?” Sterling asked.

“If tonight goes according to plan, Miss Thorncroft’s ring will be in my possession by the end of the evening and both she and her sister can depart on the next ship bound for Boston.”

Little more than a week ago, those very words had brought him a sense of relief.

Find the ring, give it to Joanna, and send her back to where she’d come from.

But tonight, he felt nothing but despair…and doubt.

“That’s the bloodiest stupid idea I’ve ever heard,” Sterling said with a snort. “Should I tell you why?”

“No,” Kincaid said unequivocally.

“First, because it’s obvious you’re in love with the chit. And second, because the Earl of Hawkridge is the meanest, most frigid bastard I’ve ever met in my life. You’ve a better chance of winning a derby race with a damned donkey than getting him to give you that ring.”

Kincaid’s gaze flew away from the window. “How the hell do you know about the Earl of Hawkridge and his connection to Joanna?”

“Who doesn’t know?” Removing a silver flask from his pocket, Sterling took a sip and offered it to Kincaid, who declined with a curt shake of his head. “You’re aware of how fast gossip travels once it’s let out of the bottle. I’m a bit annoyed I didn’t figure it out myself. JW. Jason Weston. ‘Tis obvious now, isn’t it? All of it happened before my time, naturally, but I’ve heard whispers over the years about the Marquess of Dorchester and his American mistress. No idea they ever had a child, though. Or that that child was your client.” Grinning, Sterling nudged Kincaid in the side. “You sly dog. Going after the granddaughter of a duke. Smart on you.”

“I didn’t go after the granddaughter of a duke,” Kincaid scowled. “I didn’t know who she was when I–”

“Fell in love with her?” Sterling finished when Kincaid stopped himself short. “It’s all right, old chap. Happens to the best of us. I must say, all this chatter about your American has done me a great service. Haven’t had a single person look at me as if I were a crazed murderer in at least a day.”

“Congratulations,” Kincaid said bitterly.

The duke lifted a cool brow. “Thank you. Given that the detective I hired has done bugger all to clear my name, I need whatever reprieve I can get.”

Guilt filled Kincaid. “I am sorry. I…” Removing his spectacles, he buried his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m a bloody mess.”

“That much is obvious. Care for a nip of that scotch, now?”

Blindly, he reached for the flask and raised it to his mouth. “I fucked it up,” he said before he took a long swallow and handed the liquor back.

“Fucked what up?”

“Everything.” The carriage rolled to a halt. They’d reached their destination, but neither man made an attempt to disembark. “From the start, I told myself not to get involved with Joanna. I knew how it was going to end. Along the way, something changed, and I…I saw a future between us. How, when, it didn’t matter. I saw it. It was there. Then I spoke with Lavinia–”

“Lavinia Lavinia?” Sterling interjected. “The blonde bitch who enjoys yanking the wings off of flies just to watch them squirm? You’re the fly in that analogy, by the by.”

Kincaid pinched the bridge of his nose and then sat back, letting his head fall against the seat with a soft thud. “I know.”

“Tell me you didn’t listen to a word that scheming harlot said.”

He closed his eyes.

Sterling cursed under his breath.

“Goddamnit, man. You let her get inside your head again?”

“She raised some valid points,” Kincaid defended.

“Did she? Or did she merely say what you wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t…I don’t…Bloody hell.”

Sterling was right. He’d listened to Lavinia because she had told him what he wanted to hear. Not on the surface, but down deep. Where the keystone to the wall he’d built around his heart was buried. He’d listened to her because it had been easier than embracing the alternative. He’d listened to her because he was still afraid.

Afraid of losing his heart.

Afraid of losing himself.

But was that not what he’d done when he watched the brightness dim in Joanna’s eyes?

He had put that hurt inside of her.

He had taken away her smile.

He had…he had done to Joanna what Lavinia had done to him.

The realization hit Kincaid like a brick to the face.

Mentally reeling, he grabbed Sterling’s flask again and gulped it down.

Joanna wasn’t better off without him.

And he sure as hell wasn’t better off without her.

She challenged him in ways that no one else ever had. Because no one else knew him like she did. Joanna saw him. The good and the bad. The light and the dark. She loved him despite his flaws and his imperfections. She loved him even though he’d done everything in his power to keep her at arm’s length.

She loved him.

Without reservation.

Without ulterior motives.

Without demanding anything of him in return.

Having never felt that type of love before, was it any wonder he’d been suspicious of it? Was it any wonder that he’d squandered it? If Lavinia had taught him anything, it was that commitment did not come without painful consequences. But whatever sickness they’d had between them, it was never love. Which meant he hadn’t ever known what love really was.

Until he’d met Joanna.

Kincaid’s grip tightened around the flask.

What a fool he was!

All this time, he’d been running from something he’d never even had. And then when he did have it, when it was in his grasp and he had only to close his hand around it, he’d allowed Lavinia to yank it away.

Which he was certain had been her intention all along.

“Oi, save some for me,” the duke complained, yanking the flask out of Kincaid’s grip. “Do you’ve any idea how many debutantes are going to be in there tonight? I need all the liquid fortitude I can get.”

And Kincaid needed another chance with Joanna.

A chance he damned well didn’t deserve.

But one he was going to take anyways.

“I have to speak with her,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

“Your American?” Sterling asked.

For once, Kincaid didn’t try to correct him. Because Joanna was his.

That is, if she’d take him back.

“Yes,” he said, already calculating the time it would take to hail a hansom cab and get across London to the boarding house.

“Then you’re in luck,” said Sterling cheerfully, pointing out the window towards the marble pillars guarding the front entrance of the manor where guests were lined up in a long queue waiting to be admitted. “Because there she is.”

* * * *

“This is it.” Her face tinged pink with excitement and a dusting of rouge, Evie’s gloved fingernails dug into Joanna’s arm as a butler dressed in formal black accepted their invitations (courtesy of Rosemary) and waved them onward. “Our official debut into London High Society!”

“Is it an official debut when no one knows who we are?” Joanna wondered aloud as they followed the crowd through an enormous foyer with hand-painted tile on the floor and gold chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. By her count, there had to be at least two hundred people in attendance. Most likely even double that, as she hadn’t actually seen the ballroom yet. It loomed before them, guarded by towering doors painted a vivid blue with naked cherubs at the top and clouds at the bottom.

She and Evie shuffled ahead at a snail’s pace, giving her plenty of opportunity to take in her surroundings…and the other guests.

Before their father died, Joanna and her sisters had hosted a ball at their stately manor in town. There had been dancing, and singing, and vases filled with white roses. At the time, she’d thought it was the very height of elegance. But when compared to the Countess of Beresford’s birthday celebration, it might as well have been a picnic on a grassy knoll.

The sheer size of the estate was intimidating enough. Why, the foyer alone was the entire size of their cottage! Pair that with footmen milling about carrying sparkling glasses of champagne, real-life swans roaming the front gardens, the most exquisite gowns Joanna had ever laid eyes upon, and the entire affair was absolutely mind-boggling.

A subtle sweep of the room (her third, as it so happened) revealed a sea of unfamiliar faces. She was looking for her cousin. Definitely not Kincaid. But if she happened to see him, well, wasn’t it better to know where he was? Better to prepare herself ahead of time for the inevitable pain she was going to feel when she saw him. Better to get control of her recalcitrant emotions now rather than later. Because if she started crying again, not only was she going to be disappointed in herself, Evie would be furious. Her sister had already warned her that tears did not come out of silk, and Joanna’s dress was made out of yards of it.

A mossy green that complemented her titian mane, it had a wide-necked bodice that sat just off her shoulders, sleeves adorned with ivory rosettes, and a large skirt decorated with embossed tulle. The gown was simplistic in design, allowing Joanna’s natural beauty to shine through. Evie had twisted her hair into a pile of curls on the top of her head, accentuating the length of her neck and the height of her cheekbones. Candlelight reflected off the alabaster pearls at her ears and throat, the only jewelry she wore. Elbow-length satin gloves, borrowed from Mademoiselle Claudette’s vast collection of accessories, completed her attire.

When Joanna had gazed at her reflection before they left the boarding house, she’d been hard-pressed to recognize herself. In some ways, she felt like a butterfly, set free from its cocoon. In other ways, it was as if she were staring at a stranger.

And a stranger was staring back.

Was this what her life would have been like if she were raised in London? Fancy gowns and elegant balls and so much tulle beneath her dress she was all but swimming in it.

There would have been no racing through the fields in her bare feet, or skinning her knees climbing trees, or “forgetting” her bonnet when she went to run errands.

For all its hardship, her upbringing had been free of societal constructs. For which she would always be grateful, as she didn’t even need to enter the ballroom to know that this world, with its glitter and pomp, wasn’t for her. Which was why, perhaps, she’d found herself instinctively drawn to Kincaid. Who, unlike her previous suitors, had never cared what she wore or how loudly she spoke or if she didn’t wear a hat.

There wasn’t a minute during their time together that she’d ever felt as if she were pretending to be someone else. Someone less intelligent. Someone more proper. Someone other than precisely who she was.

And he’d loved her for it!

She knew he had.

Which made his betrayal all the more cutting.

When sharp needles pricked the corners of her eyes, she blinked them furiously away. She hadn’t come here to bemoan her broken heart or dissolve in a puddle of self-pity. She was here to support Rosemary, who didn’t fit in with the ton any more than Joanna did. She was here to give Evie her shining moment in the spotlight, for if ever that was a person designed to flourish in such a setting, it was her sister. And she was here to see her half-brother. Who, if he was a man of decency, would agree to return the ring so that she and Evie might at long last return home. Wearier and, hopefully, wiser from their voyage across the pond.

The sky blue doors opened, admitting the next rush of bodies, of which Joanna and Evie were a part. They formed another line at the top of a wide staircase which led down into the middle of the sunken ballroom, a vast space lit with dozens of crystal chandeliers, polished wood floors, and windows framed with red velvet drapes. Chairs lined the one side, a buffet of food and drink occupied the other, and the back doors, all glass, were propped open to reveal a stone terrace and the torchlit rose garden beyond. An orchestra comprised of violinists, harpists, and even a pianist played from a second-floor balcony overlooking the room, their music guiding the dancers through the steps of a complicated waltz.

When it was over, everyone clapped, and the butler at the head of the stairs began to announce the arrival of new guests before another dance began.

What a slow, unwieldy process Joanna thought as she and Evie gradually moved closer to the stairs. If it were up to her, she’d let everyone in at once. No need for such revelry. Why, a person was as likely to spend as much time in a line as they were dancing. But then, it wasn’t her decision to make. She was simply a spectator. A spectator who very much wished the buffet table had chocolate-covered marzipan.

When it was finally her and Evie’s turn to be recognized, Evie told their names to the butler. Joanna started to walk down the steps before he could bellow them out (for a man short in stature, he was really quite loud), but Evie grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” she hissed. “This is the best part.”

Sucking in a mouthful of air, the butler puffed out his chest and shouted, “Miss Joanna Thorncroft and Miss Evelyn Thorncroft of Somerville, Massachusetts.”

The entire room went absolutely silent.

Had a pin dropped, everyone would have dove for cover.

In unison, every pair of eyes turned to the top of the staircase.

Evie gave Joanna a small nudge. “Still think no one knows who we are?”