Читать книгу Scandal At The Christmas Ball: A Governess for Christmas / Dancing with the Duke’s Heir - Marguerite Kaye, Bronwyn Scott - Страница 12
ОглавлениеSunday, 27th December 1818
Boxing Day had offered no opportunities for Joanna to be alone with Drummond, giving her ample time to reflect upon their conversation from the previous night. What she struggled to understand was why a man who had served his country with distinction had to wait for three years before being offered an opportunity to do so again? A second chance offered by Wellington, he had said, implying that he had erred. Had he left the army under a cloud? From what little she knew of him, she found that hard to believe.
Though her head buzzed with questions, when the man in question finally did find her alone in the breakfast parlour the next morning, suggesting a walk through the succession houses, she knew they would remain unasked. Let the past be. Weren’t they both here to make a fresh start?
The Duchess’s famous orchid collection was housed in a wooden-framed glass structure, comprised of a central block three storeys high, flanked by a low wing on either side. As the door closed, a blast of hot humid air hit them, followed by the sweet, earthy smell of the carpet of moss which acted as groundcover for the rare and precious blooms, whose heady, perfumed scent hung in the air like incense in a cathedral.
Steam rose from the damped-down floor. Drummond unbuttoned his greatcoat and draped it over his arm. He wore a pair of tight-fitting buckskin breeches tucked into a pair of Hessian boots with brown tops which showed off his long muscular legs to perfection, Joanna thought. His navy-blue coat fitted tightly across the breadth of his shoulders and had, like all his coats, a military cut to it. His cravat was simply tied, his linen shirt dazzlingly white. Hatless, his hair began to curl in the steamy air. Her own would begin to frizz. Her fawn-striped woollen gown with long ruffled sleeves was one of her favourites, and least patched, but as she unfastened her cloak, when compared with Drummond’s immaculate attire, she felt decidedly dowdy.
‘I am thoroughly enjoying this break from routine,’ Joanna said, ‘but I must confess I am unused to being so idle.’
Drummond folded her cloak neatly and laid it on top of his greatcoat, on a gilt-painted wrought-iron bench. ‘Then salve your conscience by giving me a lesson in botany,’ he said with a teasing smile. ‘Let us take a tour of our hostess’s spectacular collection.’ She tucked her hand into his arm and he pulled her closer, so that their hips touched, their legs brushed as they moved.
In the central atrium, a selection of palm trees, exotic ferns and succulents soared towards the glass ceiling like a miniature patch of jungle, and some of what appeared to be the more common orchid specimens were planted in waist-high containers around this magnificent centrepiece. The two wings faced east and west, the latter, according to a helpful plaque, housing the rarer specimens, and so Joanna and Drummond headed through those doors. The orchids were artfully planted in beds built to resemble a mountainside, with streams burbling between the rocks, a shoal of tiny fish swimming in a pool. The colours of the blooms were breathtaking: delicate blushing-powder-pink; impossibly fragile pale lemon; tiny icing-sugar-white clusters like constellations in the night sky; huge single blooms on mossy mounds, ranging from pale blue to speckled green and poisonous purple.
‘Latin name, origins, habitat, donor. The Duchess has been most meticulous,’ Joanna said, peering down to read a label. ‘You can educate yourself without any help from me.’
‘Never mind that. Which ones do you like?’ Drummond asked. ‘Did your father grow orchids?’
‘Oh, no, even a small succession house was quite beyond our humble means. His hobbyhorse was roses. He loved to experiment with them, to graft different varieties and create new colours and scents.’
‘Did he name one after you?’
‘He did. An English rose. Apricot, with a blush of pink. He called it Joanna Athena—after the Roman goddess...’
‘Of learning—you see, they did manage to beat some Latin into me at school.’
Joanna led them over to a gilded bench set into a nook beside the waterfall. ‘What about your family, Drummond? Are your parents still alive? Have you brothers and sisters?’
He sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘My father is still hale and hearty, to the best of my knowledge. I lost my mother about ten years ago. I am the bairn of the family. My eldest sister, Fiona, moved in with her brood to look after my father when my mother passed away. Eilidh and Catriona, the other two, are both married, and have a thriving clutch of weans apiece. In fact the county of Argyll is awash with my nieces and nephews, for none of my sisters has strayed far from the ancestral home.’
‘Ancestral home? Good grief, do you mean a castle?’
Drummond laughed. ‘Aye, though I reckon if you saw it, you’d likely be disappointed. It has turrets right enough, and battlements and even a section of dried-up moat. If your taste runs to crumbling ruins, it’s romantic. I’ve often thought it would make a fine setting for a Gothic novel.’
Joanna chuckled. ‘Are you aware that your accent broadens whenever you talk about your homeland?’
‘Then it’s going to be nigh on impenetrable on New Year’s Eve—or Hogmanay, as we call it. His Grace asked me to brief him on all our Highland customs for the party. He has a piper coming, of all things, and has plans for us all to dance a few reels.’
‘Will you be wearing the kilt?’ Joanna asked, fascinated by the idea of him in such a garment, with those fine legs on display.
His smile faded. ‘I’ve not worn the plaid since I was last home, which was a long time ago. Too long. When my appointment with Wellington is confirmed, I’ve promised myself I’ll visit, for depending upon my posting, I may be abroad for the foreseeable future.’
And yet he had not returned in the last three years despite having ample opportunity to do so once he had left military service. His absence from the Highlands was deliberate then, but why? ‘So, instead of returning to the Highlands you chose to settle in Shropshire,’ Joana said, thinking to tackle the issue from another angle. ‘You have friends there? Fellow officers, perhaps?’
‘To my knowledge, there is not a single officer of the Scots Guards in that county or any neighbouring it. That was part of the attraction.’
Having no idea what to make of this, Joanna said nothing. It was an uncomfortable silence. Drummond had a habit, she’d noticed, of touching the scar which ran through his eyebrow, when he was discomfited. He was doing it now.
‘I have never thought of Shropshire as my home,’ he said finally. ‘It was simply a place to—to bide my time. And soon enough I’ll be posted abroad. Have you ever travelled to the Continent?’
‘I’ve never even been to Scotland, though I would love to stay in a romantic castle such as the one you described. I have a secret weakness for Gothic romances, I am embarrassed to admit.’
To her relief, Drummond’s harsh expression softened. ‘The reality is such places are full of cobwebs and mice, and the walls are crumbling with damp, and there’s always a gale howling down the fireplace. There’s nothing romantic about that.’
‘You’ve pretty much described my current abode,’ Joanna said.
He took her hands between his. ‘Is it really that bad?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ve suffered much, much worse living conditions while on campaign.’
‘Not always. I spent a winter in Seville, once. We officers were barracked in a palace, all tiled terraces and fountains, and marble courtyards. Oh, and orange trees, lots of orange and lemon trees. The scent in the morning, it was one of the most delightful aspects of staying there.’
‘And were there delightful Spanish ladies to keep you company?’
‘Oh, indeed,’ Drummond said with a wicked look. ‘One only had to pick one from the bunch, like plucking a ripe orange from a tree.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘You know I’m teasing you?’ He caught her hands between his. ‘I’m thirty-two years old, Joanna, I’m no virgin, but I’m not a rake. There have been women from time to time and I’ve had my share of amorous fun, but there has never been anyone serious.’
‘Why not?’
‘The army always came first with me, and the army is no place for a woman.’
‘But there are army wives...’
‘And a very rough time they have of it. No,’ he said decidedly. ‘I would never want a wife of mine to lead that life.’
‘But since you left the army?’
‘Since I left the army, my life has been—uncertain, as unsuited to marriage as life in the army. And so I have never allowed myself to become anywhere near fond enough of any woman to ask her to marry me.’
‘Never allowed?’ Joanna exclaimed. ‘You find it so easy to place a leash on your emotions?’
Drummond gazed down at their hands, twining his fingers between hers, a frown furrowing his brow. ‘Normally,’ he said, looking up to meet her squarely, ‘but you seem to be providing a sterner test.’
Her throat went dry. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I don’t know, exactly. What about you, Joanna? Have you ever been in love?’
‘Good heavens, no,’ she exclaimed, thrown by his abrupt turn of the subject. ‘That is, I have never swooned or palpitated or—or felt as if I would die for the want of some man. I am no Clarissa, nor indeed Madame de Tourvel. Les Liaisons Dangereuses,’ she added, at Drummond’s questioning look. ‘Madame de Tourvel is seduced by Valmont and—oh, it doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is...’
‘That you have never been in love. But you have been kissed.’
She blushed. ‘Yes, most expertly by you, several times now.’
‘It is not like you to be coy. You know perfectly well I meant before.’
‘Sorry.’ She loosed her hands from his to try to cool her cheeks. ‘It is really very hot in here.’
Drummond shook out a large kerchief and dipped it in a little waterfall, handing it to her, watching her silently while she dabbed it gratefully on her heated skin, aware all the time that he was biding his time, that he would not let the subject drop. So she sighed and nodded. ‘There was a man. His name was Evan. We had known each other all our lives, and it was always assumed that we would marry, I suppose. He proposed to me on my eighteenth birthday, though there was no question of our marrying for some years, for Papa needed me. Then Papa died, and it made a great deal of sense for us to marry for I had no home, but I realised that I had never really—well, the truth is, I’d never really thought too much about it, and when I did think about it...’
‘You didn’t love him?’
‘Well, no, but I never thought I did, and he never pretended—we were very fond of one another, it would have been a very amicable marriage, but—oh, dear, this sounds dreadful—but it would have been so frightfully tedious, Drummond. You probably think me a most unnatural female. Evan did, but I knew I would not have made him happy. I was twenty-one. I had never ventured more than ten miles from home, and though I loved Papa with all my heart, I cannot pretend that his passing—it felt like a release. I didn’t want to swap one life of duty and devotion for another. As I said, you probably think that unnatural...’
‘Actually, I think it perfectly natural, and admirable.’
She was feeling hot again, though it had nothing to do with the heated succession house. It was the look on Drummond’s face. Desire warring with caution. ‘You said I’m proving a stern test.’
‘What I meant is that I fear we are playing a very dangerous game.’
‘But that’s exactly why it is not dangerous. It is a game, Drummond, it is not real. We both know that whatever happens between us will come to an abrupt end when we leave here.’
‘Is that truly how you feel?’
‘I cannot afford to feel anything else, and nor can you. We both have too much to lose. Despite your ambivalence, you need this post with Wellington, don’t you? And for Wellington to appoint you, the Duke of Brockmore must first approve you and then continue to vouch for you,’ she continued when he nodded reluctantly. ‘He would not approve of your association with me, Drummond. Believe me, if he had an inkling...’
‘I reckon the Silver Fox’s reputation for being all-seeing and all-knowing is much overstated.’
‘And I reckon we are making far too much of this—this attraction which exists between us,’ Joanna said, as much for her own sake as his. ‘I think our feelings have been exaggerated by the situation.’
‘Because we know we’ve so little time, you mean?’
‘Exactly,’ Joanna said. That is exactly it, she told herself.
Drummond pulled them both to their feet. ‘So you don’t think this—this thing between us, has any real foundation?’
Though it shimmered between them, it was most likely the succession-house heat haze, Joanna thought. Did a heat haze have the power to draw one body to another, or was it the gentle pressure of Drummond’s hands on her waist?
‘I think it is—I don’t know what it is,’ she said, her own hand lifting of its own accord to curl her fingers into the silky, damp curls at the nape of his neck. The heat was affecting her breathing. And his. She stared mesmerised at his mouth. His lips were sinful. That was every bit as preposterous as saying that hers were like cherries, or rose petals, yet there was something inexplicably sultry in the contrast of his full bottom lip, the thinness of his upper that made sinful the perfect word to describe them.
‘If we are playing with fire,’ Drummond said, ‘the sensible thing would be to extinguish the flame.’
There was barely an inch separating them now. One of his hands rested lightly on the base of her spine. One of hers lay flat on his chest, just at the point where his coat met his waistcoat. She could feel the dull, steady thud of his heart. Her own was hammering. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps it will fizzle out of its own accord,’ Joanna said, aware she sounded unconvincing.
‘If we indulge it, you mean?’
‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation. ‘Do you want to indulge it?’
‘You have no idea how much.’
This kiss was different. No tasting, no sampling, no pretence, this was a raw kiss. A hungry kiss. A kiss which was every bit as sultry as their surroundings. A passionate kiss, and a very adult one. Joanna clung to Drummond, for if she did not, she was sure her legs would not support her. All her energy went into that kiss. Their tongues tangled, their hands stroked and roamed. Hers on his back, sliding inside his waistcoat, flattening over the hard wall of his chest. His skin was heated, his shirt damp. His chest rose and fell rhythmically.
Their kiss deepened. She arched against him, pressing herself into him, shuddering as the evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh, relishing the way her touch made him groan. Panting between kisses, she was drowsy with heat and with passion. His hand cupped her bottom. His other stroked up from her waist, brushing the side of her breast, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her, which he took for a protest. ‘No,’ Joanna said, ‘don’t stop.’
He kissed her again, and she kissed him back, matching him, kiss for kiss, touch for touch, eyes drifting shut, lost in the sensations he was rousing. His hand was on her breast now, carefully cupping, then his thumb, swirling circles round her nipple that made her ache for more, that made her want to tear off her clothing, for it was so tantalising, so delightful, and yet not nearly enough.
Who knew that passion could be as intense as this? she thought dimly as Drummond kissed her throat, the hollow of her neck, his tongue lingering on the fluttering pulse there. Positively aching for the feel of flesh on flesh, skin on skin, her clutching hands tugged at him, down his back, the sleek, taut muscles of his buttocks, pulling him closer. She was shockingly aware of his manhood, a hard ridge nudging against her belly, and felt her own throbbing response inside. Who knew that it could be like this? So urgent yet so sweet, kisses like cloying honey, her blood roaring in her veins. Dear God, who knew?
It was Drummond who brought them back down to earth. His kisses slowed, became less intense, his hands smoothing, easing her upright, creating space between them where there had been none. Joanna stood, eyes glazed. His hair was dishevelled. His eyes too were glazed. His cheeks slashed with colour. His cravat was askew. And his smile...
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Joanna said. ‘You have a very, very sinful smile.’
He laughed. ‘That is because I’m having very, very sinful thoughts.’
‘I think I may be about to swoon or palpitate for the first time in my life. Does that mean my thoughts are sinful too?’
Drummond swore under his breath. ‘I need a cold bath, not further encouragement. In fact, now I come to think of it...’
He pushed his damp hair back from his brow, picking up her cloak, draping it around her shoulders before shrugging into his greatcoat. His smile had become distinctly mischievous. ‘What are you thinking?’ Joanna asked. Drummond grinned. ‘What are you...?’ She squeaked as he caught her up in his arms, holding her high against his chest. ‘Drummond!’
‘We need to cool down,’ he said, striding back through the succession house, out of the heavy door, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a sparrow. His boots crunched on the hard-packed snow which had become crusty as the temperature dropped.
Joanna clung, still laughing, feeling his laughter reverberating in his chest, until he stopped, just inside a high-walled garden, letting her slide to her feet, though keeping his arms around her waist. ‘Are we cool enough now?’ she asked. ‘Has the danger passed?’
‘Perhaps, but we better make doubly sure,’ Drummond said, falling backwards into the deep snow, and taking her with him.
Monday, 28th December 1818
Drummond was reading the London papers in the library when Joanna found him. Fortunately he was alone, for one look at her face told him she was quite distraught. Casting The Times on to the floor, he hastened to her side. ‘Don’t say anything,’ he said, putting his finger to her lips, before ushering her into the little room off the main reception area where they had first encountered each other on Christmas Eve. As he hoped, it was empty. The fire had been set but not lit, but the tinder box was lying conveniently by the grate. He settled Joanna in a sofa by the hearth, locked the door, and saw to the fire. ‘Fear not, we won’t be disturbed. What on earth has happened to overset you so badly? Do you want me to get you a medicinal brandy?’
She shook her head. She was quite pale, though there were two high spots of colour on her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with tears. Drummond sat down beside her, chafing her hands between his.
She stared at him in mute anguish, her throat working. A tear tracked down her cheek, and then another followed. A sob escaped, and she began to tremble. ‘It is just so bloody unfair,’ she said, throwing herself against Drummond’s chest.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her as she sobbed. Such deep, shaking sobs that racked her, there could only be one explanation. The justice she had been anticipating was not forthcoming. Sickened, he tightened his hold around her, smoothing her hair with his palm.
Lying in the snow yesterday afternoon, her body pinned under his, the laughter in her eyes had turned to desire as he kissed her, abandoning restraint, his tongue sliding into her mouth, tangling with hers, his hands roaming over her curves. Rolling on to his back, pulling her on top of him, he had found the contrast of the freezing snow, the heat of her mouth, her body, intoxicating. And it had been the same for her. When their snowy kiss came to a lingering end, he had no doubt she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
It was one thing for them to agree that they were destined to follow separate paths, that this affaire or whatever the hell it was, had a very finite life, but it was quite another to act on this knowledge. He was not only playing with fire, he was playing with his very future, but he could find no appetite to halt the charade, no matter how many very sound reasons there were. Holding her now, soothing her violent sobs, he felt a fierce desire to protect her, to fight whatever battle it was she needed help fighting. It was not his battle though, and she would likely spurn his assistance for his own good. And hers. Whatever that may turn out to be.
Joanna had stopped crying. Her breathing had slowed. She sat up, and before he could offer his kerchief, had retrieved her own, a small, practical square of cotton, which she used ruthlessly on her red-rimmed eyes and nose. ‘I’ve made your shirt damp, I’m afraid,’ she said in a small voice.
‘I’ve plenty other shirts.’ He covered her hands with his. ‘I take it that Her Grace did not offer you satisfactory terms?’
‘Oh, she offered me extremely generous terms,’ Joanna said bitterly, ‘but the one thing she has not offered me is justice. She merely wishes to buy my silence and that is grossly unfair, no matter how generous the settlement. The problem is, I’ve no option but to accede, if I wish to prosper. There, we have that in common too, though I fervently wish we did not.’
Recovering her composure, she folded her kerchief away and pushed herself upright. ‘The two people who owe me a grovelling apology are quite notable by their absence,’ she said, her eyes sparkling, not with tears now, but with fire. ‘Her Grace is merely the intermediary. I was so excited when the invitation to Brockmore came, I didn’t think about the fact that it should have been preceded by a letter from another.’ She pushed a damp tendril of hair back from her cheek and sighed. ‘I didn’t want to tell you the about the whole sordid episode until it was satisfactorily resolved, but now it can have no happy ending—or at least, not the happy ending I’d hoped for.’
‘Then you better tell me now, for if you don’t, how am I supposed to help?’
He was rewarded with a tremulous smile. ‘That is very gallant of you, but I fear my situation is beyond rescuing, even by you.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that, once I know what we’re dealing with.’
‘It’s a long story, Drummond.’
‘The one thing I’m not currently short of is time. Fire away!’
‘Well, if you are sure.’ Joanna clasped her hands together, angling herself to face him. ‘About three years ago, I was employed by Lady Christina Robertson to act as governess to her eldest daughter. Lottie was then sixteen, and due to make her debut the following year. Lady Christina is...’
‘A doyenne of society,’ Drummond said drily. ‘I was introduced to her at the Richmond ball actually, on the eve of Waterloo. Her husband was at that time a bigwig in the Foreign Office. You were mixing in rarefied circles.’
Joanna snorted. ‘A governess does not exactly mix but—yes, I had by any standards secured a prestigious position and Lottie was, unlike some of my previous charges, an excellent pupil. I was—am—very fond of her.’ She bit her lip. ‘That is why it hurt so much when she betrayed me.’
Drummond frowned. ‘What did she do?’
‘I trusted her. It was naïve of me, to think that such an excellent pupil would have maturity of judgement to match her intelligence. She was very pretty, indulged, popular, and where there are young girls like Lottie, there are always young men. I knew the signs to look for, having prevented just such foolishness with another of my charges, but with Lottie I was complacent. It didn’t occur to me that she was capable of being deceitful, and she therefore found it easy enough to go behind my back.’
‘To meet with a beau?’
Joanna nodded. ‘I don’t know how many times—I still can’t quite believe she had the nerve. I was not in the habit of checking on her once she retired, she was sixteen years old after all, and eligible to be married within a year. But that particular night, for some reason I did. The Robertsons had intended to spend the night with friends, but his lordship took ill on the journey, and they came back about eleven. The noise woke me, I had this—this odd feeling, and went to Lottie’s room and she wasn’t there.’
She felt sick, remembering it. She’d slumped down on Lottie’s bed. The girl hadn’t even tried to make it look slept in. Her first thought had been to question the maid, but before she had reached for the bell, the signs she had been ignoring for weeks fell into place like the pieces of a puzzle.
‘I didn’t know what to do, save to wait up for her. It was an interminable night, Drummond. I have always thought that pacing the floor was something only characters in books do, but I paced and paced, until I began to worry about the floorboards squeaking. She eventually turned up at about three, and as you can imagine, just about leapt out of her skin to find me waiting. All I cared about at first was that she was safe. Such a little innocent, she could have been ruined before she was even out in society!’
‘Little hussy, more like,’ Drummond exclaimed. ‘At sixteen, she should damned well have known better.’
‘Precisely. As her governess, I should have made sure that she did, but I...’
‘Joanna, you cannot possibly blame yourself.’
‘But I was at fault, Drummond, and though I knew that I’d most likely be dismissed for my lack of vigilance, I also knew that I could not possibly keep Lottie’s behaviour a secret from Lady Christina. I told her that unless she confessed to her mama first thing in the morning, I would tell her myself.’ Joanna shuddered. ‘She begged and she pleaded and she threatened, and she cried—how she cried, I’m surprised she did not wake the household. In the end, I thought I had persuaded her to do the right thing. I should have known better. The next day...’
‘The next day?’ Drummond prompted. ‘Take a deep breath and tell me precisely what happened.’
She did as he bid, though her voice was shaky. ‘Lottie had “borrowed” her mother’s emerald necklace to impress her beau. I assumed she would hand it over when she confessed to her foolish behaviour, but in the event, she did neither. When the necklace was discovered to be missing the next day, it was found in my bedchamber when a search was made of the house.’
‘And your employers duly accused you of theft,’ Drummond said heavily. ‘Why the devil didn’t you tell them the truth?’
She flinched at the anger in his tone, though she couldn’t blame him. ‘I tried to, but Lottie flatly denied everything, and Lady Christina accused me of trying to ruin her daughter’s character in order to save my own skin.’
‘When in fact the opposite was the case?’
‘Yes. It was a nightmare. I kept thinking that Lottie would eventually speak up and take responsibility, but she wouldn’t even look at me. I should have—no, not expected it, but I shouldn’t have been so surprised. A young person of Lottie’s age, in Lottie’s position, was bound to think only of saving her own skin. She was young and spoilt and selfish, and she had her back to the wall. So she acted both rashly and wrongly.’
‘That, I do understand,’ Drummond said. His expression darkened. His hand, which was resting on his knee, clenched into such a tight fist that his knuckles turned white. ‘I understand that better than anyone.’
The bleakness in his eyes made her shiver, but before Joanna could ask what he was thinking, he gave himself a shake. ‘I think I can guess the outcome.’
‘It is sadly predictable. I was dismissed on the spot. They informed me that, thanks to my otherwise unsullied reputation, they had decided not to involve the authorities, though upon reflection, I suspect they had their own reputation to consider, not wishing to become embroiled in a court case,’ Joanna said bitterly. ‘I left, thinking that Lottie would be bound to confess sooner or later, and in the blithe assumption that I’d easily find another position, for despite a lack of a character reference from Lady Christina, I had many other letters of recommendation. But Lady Christina had other intentions, and is, as you said yourself, a doyenne of society with influence almost as far-reaching as her very good friend, the Duchess of Brockmore. She branded me a thief, and she made sure that everyone knew it. Door after door was slammed in my face, and no respectable school would employ me, which is how I come to be in my current position, employed for no more than my bed and board, and expected to act the drudge when I am not teaching.’
Drummond swore. He raked his fingers through his hair. He swore again. He jumped up from the seat, dug his hands into his pockets, took a rapid turn around the room, then sat down and cursed again.
‘My thoughts entirely,’ Joanna said, with a poor attempt at humour.
‘What changed?’ he demanded. ‘You said you came here expecting justice to be finally served.’
‘Lottie belatedly found her conscience a few months ago,’ Joanna said wearily. ‘She wanted to write to me but could not establish my whereabouts. She turned to her mama’s best friend, our hostess, whose reach is long, and when she discovered the depth of my plight, Lottie was horrified and told her mother the true story. Her mama also felt guilty, but not guilty enough to do something about it herself, and so asked Her Grace to intercede—what is it you said about the Brockmores? Where they lead, and all that.’
‘But where it won’t lead, I take it, is to the clearing of your name?’
‘Precisely. My name, so the Duchess implied, is not as important as Lady Christina’s. Having gone to immense efforts to brand me a thief, she must be spared the social embarrassment of retracting her accusations, and instead branding her daughter a coward, and herself a fool for believing her,’ Joanna said, her lip curling. ‘So you can be sure that even if I did choose to speak out, it would be pointless, for she would deny it all. But Lady Christina will pay me a financial recompense for the harm done to my reputation, if you please, or I may, if I please, be offered the position as governess to poor Mr Martindale’s wards—you see, Mr Martindale’s presence here is not only to give him a respite from his grief, but to give him the opportunity to size me up! But both so-called amends are dependant upon my continued silence.’
Drummond’s fists were clenched again. ‘Which means that, as far as respectable society is concerned, you will be branded a thief for ever. That is outrageous.’
‘I heartily agree, but there is nothing I can do about it. Lottie is apparently to be married shortly, and though she is most contrite, she is even more terrified that the story may come to the ears of her betrothed, and you see how it could unravel? Once the question is asked, why did she take the necklace, then her foolish indiscretion could come to light.’
‘And her utterly selfish act in framing you.’
‘Yes.’ Tears welled, but she forced them back. ‘So I am to have no clean slate, but I must not lose sight of the fact that I am being offered a second chance.’
‘Aye, on someone else’s terms.’
‘Worse than that. I am being offered payment for a silence I had already resolved to maintain, until Lottie—but now there is no chance of that. None at all. It is grossly unfair, but there we have it.’ Joanna slumped back on the sofa, completely drained. ‘I believe our conversation has come full circle.’
‘And you are exhausted,’ Drummond said. ‘Best not to make any rash decisions. Let it settle in your mind, and we can...’
‘This is my problem, Drummond.’
‘I want to help.’
She didn’t doubt his sincerity, but instead of reassuring her, it set alarm bells ringing in her head. She could not embroil him in this. He needed to keep his nose clean or he might jeopardise his own chances. Getting to her feet, she shook out her dress and picked up her cloak. ‘I don’t need help. Now I know the terms, I must make a simple decision, and that is the end of it. In the meantime, do you think we can turn our attention to enjoying the festivities?’
