Chapter 22

CHAPTER22

“Are you well?” Joanna asked. A simple enough question, but the answer was beyond Edwin’s capability.

He adjusted his collar and cravat. “It is warm in here.”

“Indeed it is,” she replied awkwardly. “I almost wish we had ridden our horses. I might have arrived disheveled and filthy, but, my goodness, it would be an arrival that no one would forget. And I would not be boiling alive.”

Edwin could not muster the words to reply, his mind still racing with thoughts of what they had done—what they had almost continued to do—upon the squabs where she sat, smiling as if all was well. Had he been ordinary, had he been raised by loving parents, had he not squeezed the life from his father to save his brother, had he not been haunted by a past that had made him hated, everything might have been well. He might have been euphoric, eager to fall in love with his wife. But the world did not work like that, nor did it desire him to be happy.

I cannot make that mistake again, he told himself. I cannot get too close again. For in the closeness of her, in the scent of her, in the touch of her, in the promise of her, he lost all sense and reason.

“Does my gown appear creased?” she asked. He heard the note of desperation in her voice and flinched inwardly. His silence wounded her; he knew it, but he could not change it.

He clenched his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms. “It does not.”

“Well, that is… fortunate,” she said quietly. Sadly.

Forgive me, he wanted to say. It is not you. You are perfection. You are all I could ever hope for, and all I never knew I desired, but… you will want a family, and I cannot offer it. He knew it made him a traitor to the promise they had made, to be entirely honest with one another, but his fear of her changing his mind was greater than his need to keep that promise.

He stuck his head out of the small window, drinking in the fresh air. Up ahead, he saw a manor appearing in the distance. And not a moment too soon, for if he had to spend another hour in the carriage with his wife, he was quite certain he would crack at the sight of her confused, sad expression.

* * *

The sting of Edwin’s sullen transformation faded to a dull ache as Joanna entered the grand residence of Rotherham Hall on his arm. They were neither the first nor the last guests to arrive, but a considerable throng had gathered throughout the house, and there was music drifting from the ballroom. A pleasing sound that soothed Joanna’s injured heart.

“Are you nervous?” she asked her husband.

He straightened his back. “There is no need for nerves.”

“You owe me a shilling,” she teased, willing another smile to form.

He nodded, “I shall add it to the tally.”

Where did you go, Edwin? Her stomach sank, for the man at her side was not the man who had kissed her like he would die if he did not.

This was not the man who had ignited feelings she did not know her body was capable of feeling. This was not the man who had poured sunshine into her, setting her alight in the most wondrous way. But neither was he the man who had smiled at her sleep-talking or the man who had clumsily made a joke or the man who had come to collect her from the gardens or the man who had brought her his mother’s gown as a heartfelt offering. In truth, he seemed to have reverted to the man she had faced at the church, upon their dismal wedding day.

Nearby, a young lady’s jaw dropped. “Is that…?”

Her companion nodded in a daze. “That is them!”

“I heard they were to attend, but I did not think they would be mad enough to accept,” said a third, scornfully.

“Was he always so handsome?” asked a fourth.

The first lady who spoke tilted her head to one side. “He does not look like a killer to me.”

Their chaperone, a sour-faced crone, snorted. “That is the danger of a handsome face, ladies. Do not be fooled.” She glared at Joanna. “You need only look at that gown to see they are well matched.”

Joanna lifted her chin, proud of the gown she wore. And as they walked further into the manor, making their way toward the ballroom, she was rewarded for her courage by the whispers that circulated around the much-anticipated pair.

“Look at that gown!” one lady gasped. “Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? His Grace must be wealthy.”

“She does not look real, does she? Remarkable,” an older lady murmured, watching so intently that she spilled her cup of punch.

Meanwhile, a gentleman asked his companion, “Is she foreign? I do not believe I have seen her before, and I would assuredly remember such a lady.”

Of course, the whispers surrounding Edwin were not so complimentary, though his steadfast, blank expression did not reveal whether or not he heard a word of it.

“Despicable.”

“The gall of the man.”

“Did you hear what he did to his poor father and brother?”

“I hear he has a torture chamber in the underbelly of his manor.”

“You would think he understood that he is not welcome.”

“That poor wife of his. Do you think she knows?”

Joanna bristled at every unkind muttering, clutching tighter to her husband’s arm, flashing her most winning smile to the guests as they passed. She wanted to kill them with kindness, showing them that there was nothing to fear from the man who walked at her side. She would not have minded taking a few cups of punch and throwing them in the faces of those who said the most unpleasant things, but that would only make matters worse.

I must be calm. I must remember my purpose, she told herself, smiling until her cheeks ached.

Unscathed, they finally made it to the ballroom, where couples danced elegantly upon the parquet floor, the music rising and falling with the dancers’ steps. Yet, as the Duke and Duchess of Bruxton entered through the double doors, Joanna could have sworn she heard the string section falter; a bow squeaking sharply on a violin. Or, perhaps, that was just her nerves fraying.

The entire congregation turned to stare, a ripple of whispers growing louder and louder until they nearly drowned out the pleasant music. For the first time in Joanna’s life, she felt truly unwelcome.

“Sister!” Nancy’s sweet voice pierced the air, as a figure in lavender muslin came barreling through the dumbstruck crowd.

Nancy careened into Joanna, throwing her arms around her older sister, hugging her tightly in view of everyone who was still staring. “I have missed you desperately, sister,” she cried. “Your letters soothed me, of course, but they were not the same as having you near.”

“I have missed you, too,” Joanna replied, closing her eyes as she hugged her sister back. She needed to block out the glares for a moment.

“Goodness, I have lost count of the times I have gone to your bedchamber to gossip and drink tea, only to find you absent,” Nancy continued, pulling back to get a better look at Joanna. “Are you well? You look well. Indeed, it took me a minute to recognize you, for you are quite transformed! You never looked so beautiful at home, I am certain.”

Joanna chuckled. “That is because you were always the beauty at home.”

“Nonsense.” Nancy cast a shy glance at Edwin and dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace, it is a… um… pleasure to see you again.”

Edwin bowed his head. “Indeed.”

“My father is here somewhere,” Nancy said. “He is eager to speak with you.”

Edwin pulled his shoulders back. “I shall find him. Ladies, enjoy your reunion.”

He made to leave, but Joanna’s hand shot out, grasping him by the hand before he could take more than a step. He looked back at her, surprised. And she had to smile as she noted the subtle bob of his throat; a habit she had begun to understand, for it revealed more than he likely knew. He was nervous.

“You do not intend to dance with me?” Joanna asked silkily. “As a happily married woman, I had hoped we might dance all night together. There is no one to stop us, after all.” She made sure to speak loudly, so those nearby would hear.

Panic flitted across Edwin’s face. “We can dance. Not all night, though.”

“Now?”

He licked his soft lips, so recently kissed. “Allow me to speak with your father first. I will return for you in due course.”

“Do not stay away too long, my darling,” she urged, practically forcing her hand—still holding his—up to his mouth as if he was the one controlling the gesture.

He seemed to understand, placing a gentle kiss upon her glove. “Of course, my… darling.” The term of endearment rolled awkwardly off his tongue, but the fleeting shine of warmth in his eyes and the secondary bob of his throat served as affection enough for Joanna.

He is still in there, she realized, cupping figurative hands around the flame of hope that flickered in her chest.

With that, Edwin left the sisters to their own devices, while he weaved through the crowd in search of Joanna’s father. Although, she was not convinced that was truly where he was headed. He likely needed a moment alone to gather his thoughts and settle his nerves after striding through that terrible gauntlet of vicious whispers and cruel stares.

“Now, you must tell me everything!” Nancy grabbed Joanna’s hand and, allowing no time for protest, dragged her toward the French doors that led out into the gardens.

* * *

“But are you truly happy?” Nancy squinted, clearly doubtful of the tale she had just heard from Joanna: a somewhat altered version of the truth. “It rather sounds as if you are living in a hovel.”

Joanna had to laugh. “It is hardly a hovel, Nancy. And though it is falling down in places, there is a charm to it that I have come to appreciate. I have discovered a purpose I did not know I had or needed. That is worth navigating a few broken floorboards.”

“But… gardening?” Nancy looked horrified. “That is a servant’s work, not that of a duchess.”

Joanna shrugged. “I enjoy it, and Edwin is encouraging, so why should it fall to the servants when I have two perfectly good hands of my own?”

“I suppose you have always been somewhat unusual,” Nancy conceded, as the sisters were joined on the garden piazza by their mother, Peggy, and Jane.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Peggy asked, swaying slightly. “I do hope you are not spilling all the secrets of Bruxton Hall, dearest Joanna.”

Joanna observed the older lady, noting her unsteadiness. “Are you well, Peggy?”

“She has befriended the punch bowl,” Jane explained in a whisper, though Joanna doubted Peggy would have heard, even if Jane had shouted it. “I have been trying to steer her away from polite company, lest she should say something untoward.”

Joanna blinked. “How friendly has she become with said bowl?”

“Exceedingly,” Jane replied, speaking close to Joanna’s ear. “I believe it has been tainted with an immense amount of brandy, if the smell is any indication.”

Peggy squeezed one eye shut and stared at Joanna, as if that was the only way she could get her sight to cooperate. “His father used to drink, you know?” she said, much too loudly. “From the moment my sister married that bastard to the moment she died, alone, fighting to keep herself and her son alive, that man drank and drank. Where do you suppose he was when my sister gave birth?”

“Peggy, I think you ought to—” Joanna tried to say, but Peggy could not be stopped.

“He was in London, indulging in one of his harlots,” she went on, as the color also drained from Joanna’s mother’s face. “He left her alone, locked away. She tried to call for help when her pains came, and every blessed servant did their best to batter down the door. Mrs. Hislop broke her wrist in the attempt if you have ever wondered why her hand is stiff sometimes. No one could gain entry. My sister even tried to climb out of the window, but she was too weak.”

Joanna listened in horror, discreetly aware of the guests who milled about nearby, possibly within eavesdropping distance, but she no longer had any desire to stop Peggy.

“She brought Edwin into the world,” the old woman continued, “and clung onto life—no food, no water, no assistance—until his father deigned to return, stinking of his sins, and opened the door. Of course, it was too late by then. My sister was half-dead already, and he made no attempt to summon a midwife or a physician. He plucked Edwin out of her arms and left her to die. Mrs. Hislop did summon a physician, and me, but there was nothing to be done. That bastard was not even at her side when she passed. Only Mrs. Hislop and myself.” Tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks, her breath catching. “It was not until after that cretin’s death that Mrs. Hislop told me the true story. I suppose she thought I would kill him myself if I knew.”

Joanna rested her hand upon Peggy’s shoulder. “I did not know.”

“No one does!” Peggy replied. “But I am glad the wretch is dead! Good riddance, I say! My sister would always make excuses for him, and every night, I cursed myself, wishing I had done more when I had the opportunity. If I had confronted him, if he had said something or done something, I am certain my sister would still be with us.”

“Does Edwin know of this?” Joanna murmured, glancing at her mother, who looked as if she had the weight of the world upon her shoulders.

Peggy snorted. “Goodness, no. It would kill him, and that sweet boy has endured enough.”

“Sweet boy?” Joanna’s mother raised her head, wearing an expression of utter confusion.

Joanna nodded. “He is not as he seemed when we first met him, Mama. He is… kind and thoughtful and protective and so very dear to me that I do not think I could ever bear to be without him. There is no darkness in him, Mama, except the shadows that his past has cast over him.” She took a breath, her heart aching. “I… cherish him, and wish he knew how beloved he was.”

“He is?” Joanna’s mother clamped a hand to her mouth, trembling as if she might cry. “You are not merely saying so, to soothe my worries?”

Joanna shook her head. “He is everything I did not know I wanted, and he does not deserve the scorn of society. If you knew, if everyone only knew the truth, they would welcome him with open arms.” She turned to Peggy. “And you should have told him what happened to his mother, for I suspect he has spent his entire life thinking he was responsible for her death. It would not kill him; it would free him from those shackles.”

Everyone had fallen silent, though not in a contemplative fashion. They were all staring at something over Joanna’s shoulder, shifting awkwardly.

Puzzled, Joanna turned, her heart leaping in fright and joy at the sight of Edwin striding toward her. Reaching her, he bowed and offered his hand.

“Dear wife, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” he asked.

Joanna took his hand without hesitation. “My darling husband, the honor would be all mine.”

As they walked back toward the manor, following the call of the music, Joanna observed her husband’s face. He had his gaze fixed straight ahead, his shoulders stiff, his throat tight with nerves, but there was something else in his expression that struck her heart like a spear. A muscle twitched in his jaw, his eyelids flickering, as if he was doing everything within his power not to let tears spill.

Oh, my dearest Edwin…

He had heard everything.