The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(28)

For the governess appointments. She’d wondered if he might disinvite her, after what had happened at the ball. “If you’d still like me to come.” Perhaps he just needed an opportunity to relieve her obligation.

His brow furrowed slightly, and he blinked. “Of course. What do I know of such things?”

“About the same as me.” She didn’t mean to sound tart but feared she may have.

Nora’s gaze whipped to hers, and Jo felt the intensity of her silent reaction as if she’d shouted, What is wrong with you?

“Are you saying you’d rather not come?” he asked.

Now he was giving her the opportunity to withdraw. How kind. And she meant to take it.

“Of course she does,” Nora answered before she could. She smiled placidly at both of them. “Joanna is delighted to help.”

Knighton still looked a little unsure but ultimately nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you at noon. Come, Evie.”

Abbott returned at that moment with a bag containing her marzipan. “Here you are, Lady Evangeline.”

She took the bag. “Thank you, Abbott. Are they all there, or did you eat one?” She winked at him, and Jo was charmed anew.

Abbott chuckled. “I was tempted, but I did not.” He winked back at her.

Evie turned to her father. “Papa, we need a butler like Abbott. He’s ever so much kinder than Kerr.”

Jo was sorry to hear that things weren’t improving with his servants. Perhaps she’d discuss it with him tomorrow.

What? She’d been trying to avoid tomorrow’s appointment, and indeed all future encounters with the earl, not further embroil herself in his life.

The girls said their goodbyes, and Knighton and Evie left.

Nora immediately turned to Becky. “Time to go upstairs for reading.”

Becky slipped from the settee. “Yes, Mama. Don’t you want to see my marzipan?”

“Of course, dear. After reading. I’ll come fetch you in a bit.”

The girl nodded and took herself off.

Jo tried to follow her, but Nora stopped her with her demonstrable Big Sister tone. “You are not running away. You may not want to tell me what’s bothering you, but if you don’t, I shall suspect it’s to do with Lord Knighton. You began acting peculiar after you danced with him. You disappeared directly after—for quite some time—and you’ve been in a funk ever since. Did something happen?”

Jo’s grip on the letters tightened, and she had to mentally tell herself to relax her hands before she crumpled them. “No. It’s just…dancing with him reminded me of Matthias.”

Nora paled slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to arouse old memories. But you did say you weren’t still harboring a tendre for him.”

“No, I am not.” Jo thrust her shoulders back and decided to let go—at least a little. “Matthias was a wretched husband. I don’t miss him in the slightest. He didn’t care much for me. In fact, he was often cruel.” Her sister’s eyes widened, and Jo could see the question in her troubled gaze. “Please don’t ask me to explain. I’d rather leave everything to do with him where it belongs—dead and buried with him. Dancing with Lord Knighton, indeed just being at the ball, put me in a position to entertain a man’s attentions, and I’d rather not.”

Nora nodded sympathetically. “I understand. You need time.”

Jo wanted to say that she couldn’t possibly understand, but that would only invite more curiosity. “I may never want to marry again. Being alone is better.” If she’d had children, it would be downright perfect.

Nora clenched her jaw for a moment. “I am trying to understand,” she said softly, and Jo appreciated that she was maybe beginning to realize that they’d led very different lives. They might be sisters and best friends who loved each other dearly, but their experiences were disparate, and there were some things they didn’t—and couldn’t—share.

“Thank you,” Jo said simply. “I’m going to post these letters.”

She left the drawing room before she was tempted to let down more of her guard. And once she did, she feared the dam she’d worked so hard to build up would crumble completely.



Hudson stepped into Bran’s office carrying a coat, waistcoat, and cravat just before noon. “I’m afraid it’s time to dress, my lord.” The valet wore a vaguely pained expression that reflected what Bran felt.

“I suppose so.” Resigned, Bran stood from behind the desk and allowed Hudson to garb him. All the while, Bran silently counted the hours until he could remove everything he was currently donning. At least the tailor was working out well, after some initial problems. He’d learned to copy the way Bran’s former tailor on Barbados had made his shirts. Bran was ecstatic. It was, to date, the best thing that had happened to him in London.

Right after kissing Mrs. Shaw.

Joanna.

Mrs. Shaw was so formal. In his mind, he’d decided to think of her as Joanna. After the intimacy they’d shared, it seemed only right. And yet not, since that intimacy seemed to be a one-time occurrence. Her refusal of his marriage proposal had come fast and stinging.

He’d been a bit anxious to see her yesterday, and he’d noted that she tried to escape the drawing room without even speaking to him. Then she’d clearly tried to avoid coming here today. All he could think was that he’d completely overstepped by kissing her. But she hadn’t stopped him. In fact, she’d kissed him right back. Enthusiastically.