Love and Other Scandals (26 page)

“Yes, because his house isn’t finished. He said he hadn’t decided what color to paint the walls, and he asked my opinion about the draperies and carpets because there are none.”

“Hmm.”

He was taking this rather well. Perhaps Evangeline had been right. “Why does Mother dislike him so?” she asked, encouraged by his tempered response. “I remember he and Douglas got up to loads of trouble when they were boys, but that was a very long time ago.”

He sighed, but with a hint of a guilty grin. “I suppose I’m to blame for that. When I was Douglas’s age, I ran with a wild crowd. They were capital mates for a young man in search of trouble, but your mother found them reprehensible. I think she was correct, too, so don’t scowl at me, miss,” he added. “Not until I left that behind did I realize how right she was. I think she views young Burke as a similarly bad influence on Douglas, and needless to say, he’s the last sort of man she would want her only daughter to marry.”

“But you changed, even though you were one of that wild crowd.”

“I did. And it was largely thanks to your mother.”

Joan thought of what Evangeline had said: Papa changed in order to win Mother’s heart. “Mightn’t Lord Burke be able to do the same? He’s far from the worst of Douglas’s friends.”

“High praise,” her father muttered.

“By that measure, she must think Douglas is wildly unsuitable as well, and yet she was actively conspiring to see him marry Felicity Drummond a month ago.”

“She hopes the right lady will be able to settle his unruly urges and inspire him to become more respectable as a husband.”

She pursed her lips. “Couldn’t one say the same of Lord Burke?” She longed to suggest that she could be the lady who coaxed him to abandon some of his worst habits and behave a bit more respectably, but that unanswered question from Sir Paul Brentwood’s private library clouded her heart; what did Tristan want to come next? She would have sworn he meant to say more, but he hadn’t.

“Perhaps,” her father allowed. “But Mother worries more for Douglas’s refinement than she does for Burke’s—and she’s not eager to risk your happiness on the chance of him reforming. A little excitement—or even a lot—right now isn’t worth a lifetime of despair.”

“No, Papa,” she murmured.

“Well.” He got to his feet. “You should go to bed. We’ll sort this out in the morning.”

“How?”

He looked at her somberly. “I don’t know, my dear.”

Chapter 25

A
fter a sleepless night, Joan dragged herself out of bed. When she rang the bell, Janet came instead of Polly, gimlet-eyed and thin-lipped, as if she disapproved as much as Lady Bennet did of Joan’s failings.

But if Janet’s appearance was meant to encourage a return to better habits as well, it failed spectacularly. When Janet brought cold water to wash in, Joan sent her back to get warm water. Ever since Tristan had shown her his bathing room, she had asked Polly to bring warm water in the morning, and she wasn’t about to go back to splashing herself with frigid water first thing in the morning. When Janet asked what she wished to wear, Joan deliberately ignored the pink-striped dress the abigail suggested, and chose the bright blue dress she had worn when Tristan took her and Evangeline on the tour of his home. Janet shook her head but she buttoned up the dress without a word. In fact, she said little of anything until Joan stopped her from plaiting her hair into a braided coronet.

“Just smooth it back into a knot, not too tightly,” she directed.

Her mother’s abigail put her hands on her hips. “And what’s got into you, Miss Bennet? I’ve fixed your hair this way a hundred times.”

“I know. But I had a chance to try things differently while you were away, and I like it better looser.”

“It’s not the fashion,” Janet protested. “It’s so plain!”

“I think plain suits me.” She took a deep breath. “In dresses and in hair. If I were a slim, dainty girl, ringlets and ruffles would look lovely on me, but I’m not, and they don’t. Every time we pulled my corset as tight as it would go, to minimize my figure, I only felt short of breath. My hair might as well have been a wig, covered in pomade to make it hold the curls. This way I feel much better, and I believe I look better, too.”

Janet was taken aback by this speech, but slowly a look of faint respect came over her face. “You’re finding your own style, then. There’s not many ladies who have the will to defy current fashions, miss.”

Joan faced herself in the mirror. She had tried every fashionable thing, and never been pleased with how she looked. Now, for the first time she thought she looked attractive. “I do.”

“Just like your mother,” murmured Janet, sweeping Joan’s long hair back and twisting it into a knot. “The Bennet ladies know what they want, and won’t be deterred from it.”

That statement sank into her mind like a balm. As Janet pinned up her hair—a much quicker job, now that it didn’t require several braids and the curling tongs—she thought maybe it was more true than she had expected. She had worn what her mother suggested, but that was before she’d discovered what would be most flattering to her. She had wanted to look lovely in those other dresses, but when they didn’t, she didn’t have much idea why not or what else to try. As much as she wished to be dainty and petite, there was no escaping the fact that she wasn’t . . . and Tristan liked her as she was. Now that she knew simplicity suited her, she was determined not to wear the puffs and lace and ruffles that had made her look ridiculous before. That determination
was
very like her mother, she belatedly realized; the main difference was that Mother looked beautiful in the latest fashions, so there was no conflict for her. Joan would have to be braver, or pray for a radical change in fashion, but either way she intended to keep to her new style.

Emboldened, she went in search of her mother. She wasn’t ready to make a complete confession, but she felt far more confident about her choices, both in fashion and in conduct. Until she had some sign otherwise, she chose to believe that Tristan had honorable intentions.

To her surprise, Evangeline was with her mother. Mother was settled on a chaise near the window, a warm throw over her legs. The table beside her was spread with breakfast for two. After last night Joan would have sworn they wouldn’t be on speaking terms, but things appeared quite civil between them now. Evangeline rose from her chair opposite Mother as Joan hesitated in the doorway.

“Good morning,” her aunt said brightly. “Come in, have some tea with us.”

Joan crossed the room and pulled up another chair. “How are you this morning, Mother?”

“Happy to be home. It was a long drive from Bath.”

Joan darted a glance at Evangeline, but her aunt was busy preparing a cup of tea. “I’m glad you’re back,” she murmured.

Her mother gave her a wry look. “Are you, indeed?”

She nodded. “I missed you. And I’m enormously relieved to see you so well.”

“We all are, Marion,” added Evangeline as she offered Joan a plate of muffins.

Mother smiled. “Thank you both.” She hesitated, then reached for Joan’s hand. “My dear, I owe you an apology. I was wrong to criticize your gown last night. I was very . . . startled by it, and spoke rashly. It did not make you look like a loose woman, and I regret ever saying that.”

“Oh,” she said, taken aback. “I—I understand.” Evangeline beamed at her. “I think it suits me, Mother. I wish I could wear lace and flounces and be fashionable,” she said with real yearning. “But those trimmings just make me look like a giantess.”

“Of course they don’t,” her mother replied. “But you should wear what fits your taste, and you’re certainly old enough to choose that for yourself. Your father—and your aunt—were thoroughly correct about that, and I was wrong.”

“Oh,” said Joan again, too shocked to say anything else.

“And about Lord Burke . . .” Mother paused. Joan braced herself. “I should have offered you a chance to explain. I would like to hear what happened.”

She took a deep breath. “Douglas asked him to call on me while you were away. He came to tea . . .” She hesitated, looking to her aunt for guidance, but Evangeline merely nodded. “He asked me to go driving, and he sent me flowers. And he asked me to dance last night.” She wasn’t about to admit the last sinfully wonderful thing she had done with Tristan to anyone on God’s earth.

Lady Bennet closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “Are you in love with him?”

Her face burned. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “I think so. Yes.”

Mother faced her again. “Has he given you any sign he intends to propose marriage?”

What to say? Both her aunt and her mother were watching her intently. Her throat felt dry. “No,” she whispered. “Not specifically.”

Mother seemed to wilt. “Dearest,” she began. “My darling girl. I’ve always wanted you to be happy, with a family of your own and a husband who respects and adores you. Lord Burke . . .” She shook her head helplessly.

“He hasn’t given any sign he doesn’t intend to propose, either,” Joan pointed out.

“Well, that’s a little harder to judge, isn’t it?” Mother asked dryly. “I don’t want you to be swayed by a handsome face and rakish air. I know how alluring a dangerous man can seem. You wouldn’t be the first to be foolish over a man, but I want—desperately—to spare you an unhappy end. Many a woman has thought herself in love, only to discover she was the only party who felt so deeply. I don’t want to see you led down the path to heartbreak or ruin.”

She gaped at her mother. “Not the first—? You don’t mean
you
—?”

“She means me,” said Evangeline quietly. “And if anyone wants to spare you that unhappiness more than your mother does, I do.”

Joan snapped her mouth closed.

“You asked me once if I loved my husbands, and the truth is, I was miserable in both my marriages.” Evangeline was pale but her voice was even. “I first married when I was young—barely more than a girl, really—to Lord Cunningham. He was old enough to be my father; in fact, he had been at university with my father. I was impulsive, even headstrong as a girl, and my father believed I needed a firm hand. Needless to say, the marriage was a dismal failure, and the best that could be said was that it was mercifully short. Cunningham had a weak heart, and the strain of reining me in must have been too much for him.”

“I’d no idea,” said Joan softly.

Her aunt’s smile was forced. “It’s not something I remember fondly. But there I was, a young widow, determined to enjoy my life a little at last. I embarked on an affair with the Earl of Courtenay within weeks of Cunningham’s death. I felt I deserved a little pleasure, and . . .” Her voice faltered. “I was reckless and indiscreet. My father discovered us and demanded a marriage. I tried to argue that I was a widow and had the freedom to do as I chose, but my father was an old-fashioned man, and he cared nothing for my opinion. He challenged Courtenay to a duel if there were no wedding, and so we were wed within a fortnight. I persuaded myself it meant Courtenay loved me, but I soon realized it meant he didn’t want to face my father. Courtenay had a fondness for young women, and having a wife didn’t dampen his enthusiasm for seducing them. He lingered too long in the bed of a pretty young bride a few years after we married, and her husband shot him on the spot.” She sighed. “So you see, it’s really dismal luck for me to marry.”

“Courtenay was a snake,” said Mother with fervor. “He was handsome and charming but full of ill intent. He deserved to be shot, in my opinion, and you were well rid of him.”

Evangeline turned to her gratefully. “Thank you, Marion. I ought to have listened to your advice about him.” The two women shared a glance before turning back to Joan.

“I don’t want to frighten you, dear, but I—we”—Mother corrected herself with a nod at Evangeline—“want you to understand how a woman can be lured into wickedness and not realize what she’s fallen into until it’s too late.”

It took her a moment to reply. Her heart ached for Evangeline. No wonder she held Sir Richard at bay. Of course, Joan didn’t think Sir Richard was like either of Evangeline’s first two husbands, but what a terrible blow . . . “I don’t believe Lord Burke is a hard-hearted rake,” she said. “He’s not the most respectable person, but Papa was also once a rake, and he changed. Evangeline told me he did, Mother—for you.”

“Your father was never as scandalous as Lord Burke,” Mother replied. “He kept some bad company, but he was decent at heart. He never would have trifled with me. His father was strict and raised him to be an honorable man. Lord Burke, on the other hand, has run wild his whole life, unmoderated by any family influence.”

“But his parents died when he was only a small child!”

Lady Bennet held up her hands calmingly at Joan’s protest. “I don’t blame him for it, my dear. I am only stating a fact: Lord Burke has been allowed to do whatever he wished since he was a boy, and it’s apparent in his behavior today.”

“He was allowed to run wild because he was all alone,” Joan said. “With no one to comfort him or guide him. Who would not run wild, if forced to live with his dour aunt, Lady Burke? Yes, she disowned him, although she did manage to live in his house, on his charity, for almost ten years. And that meant Tris—Lord Burke has had to be responsible for himself from a young age. He had no father to control his spending, no mother to gentle his manners. I think he’s turned out at least as well as Douglas, who had every advantage you named.”

Mother’s lips tightened at the mention of Douglas. “I shall never forgive him if he’s blinded you to his true nature.”

Joan looked at her aunt. “I don’t believe he has.” Silently she begged her aunt to agree with her.

“I do believe the young man is honorable, Marion,” said Evangeline. “I never would have received him if I’d had the slightest uncertainty.”

Mother sighed. “If he shows signs of becoming more respectable, I shall give him the benefit of the doubt. Your father made a great many changes to his behavior
before
I received him,” she admonished Joan. “If Lord Burke can do the same, I will be very pleased to see it.”

A servant came in with a tray of letters. Evangeline got to her feet as Mother sorted through the post. “I must begin packing.”

“You’re leaving?” Joan followed her aunt toward the door.

“Yes!” Evangeline smiled and clasped her hand. “I miss my Louis, and now that your parents are home, you’ve no more need of me.”

Of course she’d known her aunt would leave when Mother and Papa returned home, but Joan was more dismayed than she’d expected to be. She had come to like Evangeline a great deal in the last month. “I’ll miss you,” she said, sounding a little forlorn even to her own ears.

“I’m not saying farewell forever! I regret not having made a greater effort to know you and your brother, and I want to remedy that.”

Joan pressed her hands. “Please do come to call. I will always be glad to see you.”

Evangeline smiled—gratefully, Joan thought—and embraced her. “Gladly! Thank you, my dear. You are welcome to visit me at any time. Louis would be wild with joy to see you again. He never forgets a kind person with bacon.”

“I must remember to bring bacon with me, to shamelessly win his heart.” She grinned.

“You have already won his eternal devotion,” replied her aunt dryly. “All it takes is a single rasher. Dogs’ affections are so easily won.”

“Unlike men’s.” She sighed. “What should I do?”

Evangeline glanced at Lady Bennet, who was reading a letter, before she, too, lowered her voice to a whisper. “What does your heart tell you to do?”