Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(10)

At the end of the garden Mary came to the gate that led to the mews and the stables that held the Caire horses and carriages. She was just about to turn and take the path back again when she heard a strange sound.

“Hist!”

Mary blinked.

“I say, hist!”

Mary walked to the gate and peered through the crack.

Looking back at her was a wide brown eye. “Let me in, will you?”

Curious, Mary unlatched the gate and opened it.

On the other side stood a figure in a cloak, her head covered by a hood. Beside the hooded figure was a short, plump maidservant with a very disapproving expression on her face.

The hooded figure immediately shouldered past Mary and into the garden, then glanced back at the maidservant, who was still in the mews. “Come in, Pickering!”

The maid grimaced and reluctantly stumped into the garden.

Her mistress turned to Mary and threw back her hood.

Mary stared. It was the oddest thing. For a moment she thought she knew the other woman. That she must be a good friend whose name was just on the tip of her tongue.

And then she realized.

No. It was the face—the face that was the same as hers.

The lady—for she must be a lady—stared back, seemingly equally startled. “Oh my. It’s true, isn’t it?” She stepped forward, peering at Mary. “It’s really true.” She smiled suddenly, widely and happily. “You’re my sister.”

Mary’s lips parted, her mind entirely blank with wonder. “I…”

“Oh, where are my manners?” the other girl continued. “I’m Joanna, but you can call me Jo if you wish. I’ve always wanted someone to call me Jo. It sounds so dashing, don’t you think? And you’re Cecilia. Shall I call you Cece? Then we can be Jo and Cece.”

She beamed.

“Erm…” Mary tried to think of a polite reply to this woman—her sister—but all she could come up with was that she wasn’t sure she wanted to be called Cece.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Jo enveloped Mary in a hug before she could reply, squeezing her warmly. “You can’t comprehend how often I dreamed of you when I was little. Mama would cry when you were mentioned, and Papa just clamped his jaws together and wouldn’t say anything.” She drew back to gaze into Mary’s face. “I thought you might be a ghost or a fairy tale—someone not real at all. But you’re not. You’re here.”

Mary swallowed, feeling her throat grow tight again. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? I never knew about you.” She touched Jo’s cheek with a trembling finger.

Her sister. She’d grown up surrounded by other girls, some of them good friends, but they weren’t related to her. She hadn’t recognized her eyes and mouth in the other girls.

They weren’t family.

“But now we’ve found you,” Jo said.

The maidservant cleared her throat loudly behind them. “My lady. Do try and remember why you came.”

“Oh yes. Yes, thank you, Pickering.” Jo’s expressive face fell, becoming tragic as she peered at Mary. “You will do it, won’t you?”

“Do what?” Mary asked cautiously.

“Why, become Lady Cecilia,” Jo exclaimed. “Come live at Angrove House and be my sister. You must, you simply must. Promise me you will, do!”

Mary had the oddest feeling that she’d somehow missed part of the conversation. “I…”

“It’s just…” Jo’s big brown eyes filled with glistening tears as she clasped her hands under her chin. “I don’t love him. Lord Blackwell.”

Oh.

For the last couple of minutes Mary had almost forgotten the viscount. But he was the rub, wasn’t he? If she accepted this fairy-tale life, complete with a loving family, she would have to accept him as fiancé, too.

Him and everything he made her feel.

She remembered him as she’d last seen him, the afternoon before. His blue eyes had been devilish as he’d looked up from her hand, as if he could see inside her. As if he might know all her secret desires.

She shivered…and realized that Jo was still talking.

“…He’s quite charming and witty and very handsome—I’m sure everyone thinks so—but I’ve known him all my life. He’s like a brother to me. It would be quite incestuous were I to marry him. And besides, I love…I love…” She hiccupped on a sob, unable to speak, and threw herself rather abruptly on Mary.

Mary staggered but caught the other girl, patting her back helplessly as she looked over Jo’s shoulder at the maid.

Pickering sighed. “My lady loves another, miss.”

Jo sobbed harder at her maid’s words.

Pickering had to raise her voice to be heard. “My lady has been distraught at the thought of marrying Lord Blackwell while her affections lie with another. When she heard that you had been found at last, my lady felt a great weight had been lifted from her mind with the prospect that you might take her stead in marrying Lord Blackwell.”

“Oh, Cece!” Jo whimpered. “Could you? Could you marry him? I vow you’ll not regret it. All my friends think him the epitome of masculine comeliness and grace. I just…I just love my Johnny so very much.”