Chapter Twenty-Two

This time, the carriage's axle did not break (a small miracle but, at this point, Evie would take whatever she could get) and she arrived in England's busiest city by late afternoon. She had the driver bring her straight to Mrs. Privet's Boarding House; the last place she knew Joanna to have been with any certainty.

It was strange to walk through the front door and into the velvet walled lobby with its sagging floors and moth chewed furniture. In some aspects, it felt as if only yesterday she and her sister had come here to request lodging. Fresh off the ship that had ferried them across the Atlantic, they'd been energetic and hopeful. Joanna more so than Evie, as she'd still been queasy from spending the better part of a month spitting up into a bucket. But they had both been looking forward to what London might bring them.

For Joanna, the secrets of her past.

For Evie, a handsome duke to marry, as if they were low-hanging fruit that she had only to pluck off the tree. A notion that she'd found herself quickly disabused of. While dukes were plentiful in all of the romantic novels that she'd occasionally stolen from Joanna's bedside table, it immediately became clear that their abundance in real life had been greatly exaggerated.

The one thing Evie hadn't been searching for?

Love.

Which made it an even crueler twist of fate that it was the one thing she'd found.

As she rang the bell on Mrs. Privet's desk and waited for someone to come down the stairs to assist her, she could not help but reflect on how different she was now than she'd been then. If she were to stand in front of a mirror that somehow revealed all of her innermost thoughts and desires, she doubted if her past self would even recognize the woman that she'd become.

How vain she had been! Vain, and foolish, and appallingly arrogant to ever believe that she wanted a life without love. That money and social clout were the most important things a person could have, and everything was secondary. Including her own happiness. For while she might have had the respect and admiration of her peers had she married for wealth and status alone, she would have eventually lost the respect and admiration she had for herself.

And she never would have found true happiness.

The poets were right, it appeared.

Pompous literary lyrists that they were.

In the words of Alfred Tennyson, it really was better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all. A difficult lesson that she was glad to have learned. For even though her heart was broken, the pain was a sign that she'd had a heart to break.

And wasn't that a beautiful thing?

"Miss Thorncroft!" a familiar voice rang out from the top of the staircase. "What are you doing here? I did not expect you back for another week at least."

"Mrs. Benedict." Smiling warmly at the widow as she hurried down the stairs, Evie embraced her at the bottom. A longtime resident of the boarding house, Mrs. Benedict had befriended Evie within the first few days of her arrival. While Joanna was doing heaven knew what with her private detective, Evie and Mrs. Benedict had played many a game of whist, strolled through Hyde Park, and even dined at the Claridge Hotel.

"I've come to see Joanna," she explained as the two women broke apart. "My cousin, Miss Rosemary Stanhope, joined me at Hawkridge Manor and shared that my sister did not depart London as planned. Have you seen her? Is she still staying here?"

An odd flicker of emotion passed over the widow's countenance. "I…I have seen her. Recently, as a matter of fact. But she is not here at the boarding house."

"Then where has she gone?"

"To live with Mr. Kincaid."

Evie's eyes widened. "To live with him? Are you certain?"

She'd known that Joanna choosing to remain in England could only mean that she and Kincaid had worked out whatever ills were plaguing them. But surely her sister would have known better than to completely tear asunder her reputation by deciding to live with a man she was not related to.

Or maybe not.

Joanna was nothing if not stubbornly impulsive, and when she fixed her heart on something, she often lost her head.

But to have become a private detective's mistress…

That surely went beyond the pale, even for Joanna.

"It appears I've arrived not a moment too soon," she said grimly. "Can you direct me to Mr. Kincaid's residence? I've never been there before."

Mrs. Benedict nodded. "It is not difficult to find, nor is it far. Just follow this street out to its end, turn left, and…"

"Someone–someone is at the door," Joanna gasped as the unmistakable sound of a fist knocking on wood carried up the stairs and into the bedchamber where she laid sprawled on her back across the mattress.

"They can come back later," Kincaid murmured against her flesh. "After you've come. For the second time."

"It would be the third, actually, and they sound quite insistent." Tightening her grip on the wooden spindles that comprised the headboard of their very large bed, Joanna pulled her naked, slender body upright. Her hair spilled across her shoulders in a riotous curtain of flame. "We should see who it is. Maybe it's a new case."

On a sigh of exasperation, Kincaid lifted his head from between her thighs and sat back on his haunches. "You're serious, aren't you? You really want to stop in the middle of our lovemaking to go answer the door."

"It is the afternoon," she pointed out. "Besides, what if it's another client? Another wealthy client." She arched her eyebrows suggestively. "It would be our third one this week."

"Only because you let it slip that I am representing the Duke of Hanover." Reaching around her, Kincaid grabbed his spectacles off the bedside table and slipped them onto his face. As his eyes came into focus, he used them to glare at her. "You never should have that let slip. Sterling requested my discretion."

"But Sterling isn't even in London, is he?" she said lightly. "And it's not as if I put out an advertisement in the paper. I merely told a few people, who told a few other people. You should be thanking me. In less than a month, you've seen more business than all of last year. Which reminds me. I think we should put a sign out front. It would lend an air of professionalism and impress our more esteemed clientele." She spread her hands apart as if the sign was directly in front of her. "Thorncroft and Kincaid, Private Investigators."

"If you were a private investigator, which you're not, your name wouldn't be first on the sign. Furthermore, that isn't even your–get back here," he demanded, grabbing her ankle when she tried to slip off the bed. "I'm not nearly finished with you yet."

Squealing, Joanna let herself fall back onto Kincaid's hard chest. But when he began to kiss his way down her neck, she resisted.

Barely.

"They're still knocking. It must be important."

"It better be," he growled.

They helped each other dress, Joanna's layers of garments taking considerably longer to put on, and went to answer the door together.

"Please pardon the delay," Kincaid began. "We were–"

"EVIE!" Joanna screeched, launching herself at her sister with such force that they were both propelled off the front steps and onto the stone pathway. "What are you doing here?"

Prying Joanna's arms off her neck, Evie coughed and said, "I could ask you the same thing. I will ask you the same thing." Her blue eyes flicked to Kincaid, who was standing in the doorway, then narrowed on Joanna. "What are you doing here? Mrs. Benedict said that you've moved in. But that cannot be true. Even you wouldn't do anything so reckless." She hesitated. "Would you?"

"Come in, and I'll explain everything." She pushed her sister past Kincaid, then glanced back him over her shoulder. "You don't mind if we borrow your office, do you?"

"I–"

"Splendid." Ushering Evie inside the room (which was now, courtesy of Joanna's organizational skills, meticulously clean), she shut the door in Kincaid's face and leaned against it. "I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you," she said with feeling, and it was true. Despite the happiness she had found with Kincaid, she'd been unable to escape the vague notion that something was missing. And it wasn't until the door had opened and she'd seen Evie's face that she realized she wasn't missing something, but rather someone.

"I've so much to tell you," she said, clapping her hands together. "I had planned to surprise you when you returned from the house party, but this is even better. Is it done?" Her head tilted. "I could have sworn it was for the entire month."

"It was," Evie said shortly. "I left early. Jo…are you…and Kincaid…er…"

"Intimate?" Joanna grinned. "Yes, exceedingly so. But I already know what you're thinking, and it's all right."

"How can sleeping with a man out of wedlock be all right?" Evie cried. "Never mind what it will do to your good name. When Grandmother hears of this–"

"Kincaid and I were married two days after you left for Hawkridge Manor. I should have sent word," she said in a rush when Evie paled. "But it happened so fast, and it was a small ceremony. There were no guests. Just our two witnesses, Mrs. Benedict and James. We'd like to return to Somerville and have a reception in the summer with you, and Claire, and Grandmother. Maybe even Rosemary could attend, if she wouldn't mind the travel."

Evie was silent for such a long while that Joanna began to fret.

"I am sorry," she began, raising her arms beseechingly. "Please forgive me. You should have been there. I know that. But you'd only arrived at Hawkridge Manor, and I did not want to pull you away so soon, and–"

"James is a cat," Evie interrupted.

"What?"

"James." Her sister's dark brows drew together in bemusement. "You told me that James was a witness for your wedding, but he is a cat."

"Oh. Yes, well, we couldn't find anyone else at the last minute and the vicar's eyesight wasn't very good, and…" Joanna relaxed when Evie began to laugh. "You're not angry."

"No, I'm happy for you. I am. Of course I wish I could have been there, but I understand why I wasn't, and you're right, we'll have a grand celebration this summer. I'm happy for you. So very, very h-happy." Evie's voice cracked and, all of a sudden, she wasn't laughing, but crying.

Stunned, Joanna ran across the room and wrapped her arms around her sister as Evie's entire body shook with sobs. There were only two times she recalled that Evie had ever cried. Or at least, that she'd seen her cry. The first, when Evie was of school age and a bully by the name of Violeta Arbor had mocked her dress. And the second, when she'd tried out some sort of new cream and her entire face and neck had turned as orange as a carrot.

"Evelyn, what's happened?" Joanna said, aghast.

Lifting her tear-stained countenance from where she'd buried it the crook of her sister's shoulder, Evie drew a deep, trembling breath. "I fell in love."

Had her sister revealed that she'd joined a traveling circus and would be performing with elephants, Joanna might have been more prepared.

"You…you fell in love," she repeated, slowly and carefully, to ensure that was what Evie had really meant to say.

"Is that so impossible to believe?" Evie asked, lifting her head.

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "It's just that…well…I was under the impression you didn't believe in it. Love, that is."

"I've always believed in it," her sister sniffled. "I simply didn't think it was advantageous for me, personally."

"And now?"

"And now it turns out I was right. Love isn't advantageous." More tears brimmed in Evie's eyes. "It's awful."

Taking Evie by the arm, Joanna gently guided her out of the office and across the hall to the parlor. Once plain, barren, and all but screaming "a bachelor lives here", she had since turned it into a cheerful receiving room for clients, complete with serene paintings of the countryside, calming blue draperies, and a matching set of second-hand furniture upholstered in striped satin and trimmed in rosewood. Sitting her sister on a sofa, she sat directly beside her and clasped their hands together.

"Speaking from experience," she began, "love is awful. It was for me, at first. But love is also grand. And…and magnificent. And glowing."

Evie wiped her damp nose with her sleeve. "Do I look like I'm glowing?" she said miserably.

"Well, no," Joanna admitted.

"That's because the man I fell in love with just proposed to someone else."

"Oh." Desperately, she searched for the right words to bring a glimmer of light to a situation that seemed as dark as it could possibly get. "That's…"

"Not good."

"No." Sometimes, Joanna supposed, there weren't any right words. There was just pain. To be felt, and absorbed, and reckoned with. "That's not good at all. I'm sorry, Evie."

"The worst part is that I didn't plan to fall in love with him." She gave a bewildered shake of her head. "It just…happened. And I thought it had happened to him, too, but it must not have, or else he wouldn't have asked Lady Martha Smethwick to marry him. Do you know that she is a diamond? I was a diamond, in Somerville. But here…here I'm just stupid quartz."

Joanna had absolutely no idea what Evie was talking about.

"Quartz is pretty," she said tentatively. "I love quartz."

"No one loves quartz."

"Well I do. And if this man you've fallen in love with had an ounce of sense in his head, he would love it, too." Joanna paused. "Who is he, by the way? A guest at the house party, I presume."

Evie pursed her lips. "Weston. I've fallen in love with Weston. Whom I hate. And don't look surprised. I told you I wanted to marry him."

"Wanting to marry someone for their fortune and falling in love with them are two very different things. If I recall, the last time we spoke about Weston, you referred to him as a ‘selfish, domineering, arrogant lout'."

"He's all that and more."

"And yet you love him?"

"I didn't say I was happy about it."

Joanna sighed. "Thorncroft women really don't do anything the easy way, do they?"

Joanna had just gotten Evie settled in the guest bedroom with a cup of hot tea and a slab of chocolate when someone knocked on the door again.

"Who is it this time," she muttered under her breath as she hurried back down the stairs and through the narrow foyer, James trailing after her like a silent black shadow. Kincaid had stepped out shortly after Evie arrived; as much to give the sisters privacy as to follow a new lead on the Duke of Hanover's case.

It appeared there'd been a sighting of Hannah, the lady's maid who had worked for the duke's mistress…and had disappeared, somewhat suspiciously, a few days before Eloise's untimely death.

If Kincaid could find Hannah, and question her, it might prove to be the break in the case they desperately needed. For thus far, despite their best efforts, Kincaid and Joanna had been unable to unearth any evidence that pointed at anyone other than Sterling as the murderer. Which was particularly vexing, given that he was innocent.

Someone very clever had gone out of their way to frame the duke…and they'd done an excellent job at covering their tracks.

"I'm almost there!" she called out irritably when the knocking grew louder and more insistent. Despite her earlier insistence that Kincaid answer the door, she was of half a mind to let whoever this was come back at a later time so that she could focus all of her attention on Evie.

She'd never seen her sister in such a state.

Then again, she'd never seen her sister in love. And having just gone through the process herself, Joanna could attest to how painful it could be when things did not turn out how you expected them. Thankfully, she and Kincaid had worked through their differences and she had never been happier. She only hoped that, soon, the same might be said of Evie.

When whoever was on the other side of the door struck it hard enough to rattle the brass knob, Joanna flicked a glance at James. "If it's someone come to rob us, I'll grab Kincaid's pistol from the office and you scratch his eyes out. Deal?"

James gave a loud meow, which she took as a resounding yes.

"Do you know," she said as she opened the door, "it's appallingly rude to–you."

The man on the other side of the threshold frowned at her. "Do I…Joanna. I mean to say, Miss Thorncroft." Visibly taken aback, he removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair, shoving a wave of inky black off his temple. "I…I…"

"Actually, it's Mrs. Kincaid now." Joanna's smile could have been carved from the edge of a razor blade. "Won't you come in…brother?"