Page 8 of The Society Catch
‘No.’ Joanna jumped to her feet, hands clenched. ‘I will never marry him.’
‘Then I wash my hands of you,’ her father declared, also on his feet. ‘You will go to your Great Aunt Clara in Bath. She needs a new companion and, as we cannot trust you to take part in Society, let alone in the more relaxed atmosphere of Brighton, that is the best place for you.’
‘To Great Aunt Clara?’ Joanna’s tired, sore mind wrestled with the shock. ‘But she never goes out.’
‘Indeed,’ her mother said repressively. ‘I am sure she will appreciate your company. You can read to her, assist with her needlework, help entertain her friends when they call. I shalltell the earl that her ill-health has meant that we felt we had no choice but to send you. We must just hope that in a few months, when you have come to your senses, that he is still interested in making you an offer.’
Banishment to Bath, to a household of old age and illness, to the care of a formidable relative and no diversion whatsoever to distract her mind from Giles. And at the end of months of incarceration the only hope held out to her was that Rufus Carstairs might still want to marry her. And she had a dreadful apprehension that he would. He was a man who would chase the length of Europe to beat a rival to a choice statue, she had heard, and he did not like being thwarted.
‘Please do not send me away. I will be so miserable.’
‘You should have thought of that before plunging into these wild scrapes,’ her father said severely. ‘Your mother will write to your great aunt tomorrow. I only hope she is prepared to countenance your presence, considering what she will learn of your recent behaviour.’
He stood up, gathering his dressing gown around himself and remarked with unconscious cruelty, ‘Perhaps the contemplation of the loneliness of a single old age will convince you that the rewards of truly happy domestic life with a devoted husband are worth more than the transitory pleasures you have been indulging in.’
Joanna walked slowly up to her bedchamber, well aware that she could not possibly sleep. What was she to do? She stood, her forehead pressed against the glass of the window, her eyes unfocused on the darkness outside. Where did she belong now? Probably, she thought bitterly, her role in life would be as the spinster aunt, or cousin or devoted niece.Dear Joanna, always so good with the children, always available to help with the old ladies...It wasn’t that she did not like old ladies, or children come to that, it was just that she had hoped to have her ownchildren. Giles’s children.
Suddenly she whirled away from the window, propelled by a determination not to be crushed, not to be dictated to. Her life was in ruins and no-one else was going to rebuild it but her. ‘Strategy and tactics,’ she said out loud. ‘Strategy and tactics.’ Then the burst of energy left her and she sank down on the bed. Strategy was no good without an objective.
Resolutely she straightened her spine. She had trained herself to be a soldier’s wife, now she had to use the courage she had prided herself she possessed. Her short-term objective must be to decide what to do with the rest of her life, and her strategy would be to go somewhere she could think about this in peace. And that was not Bath where she would be the disgraced niece to be watched and lectured.
So… Joanna bit her lip and thought. Who could she run away to? Not Hebe and Alex at Tasborough Hall, not when Hebe’s confinement was so close. There were Uncle and Aunt Pulborough in Exeter, but they would be scandalised by the arrival of an errant niece. Then there was a second cousin in Wales, but he had been recently widowed. One after another Joanna passed her relatives under review and came to the conclusion that the only one who might have helped her, if circumstances had been different, was Hebe. Or, her own sister.
Thoughtfully Joanna picked up a notebook from the night table and wrote,Grace, Lincoln.She had no idea how Lady Willington would react, let alone her brother-in-law, Sir Frederick, but perhaps they might serve as a diversion.
Her dearest friend from Miss Faversham’s Seminary for Young Ladies in Bath had been Georgia Schofield and Georgy was now Lady Brandon and living in Wisbech, from where she wrote frequently to say she was utterly bored and was dying for darling Joanna to visit her.
‘If I set out on the stage for Lincoln,’ Joanna reasoned outloud, ‘there is sure to be a point where I can change and go to Wisbech, and everyone will think I am with Grace. And when they realise I am not, I will have vanished into East Anglia without a trace.’ She added,Georgy, Wisbech,to her list.
Or would her mama suspect she was with Georgy? Surely not. Mama never asked to see her letters from her school friends and Joanna doubted she even knew Georgy’s married name. Something she had just thought touched a chord of memory. East Anglia… Aunt Caroline, of course. Her father’s youngest sister, the sister no-one was allowed to mention, the one who had made a scandalous marriage.
But Joanna had once overheard a conversation between her parents which she had not dared ask about, yet had never forgotten.
‘I am sorry, my dear,’ her mother had said firmly. ‘But she is your sister when all is said and done, and despite the scandal I will continue to write once a year at Christmas to enquire after her health and to tell her news of the family.’
‘The affair nearly killed Papa,’ her own father had replied harshly. ‘Is she the sort of woman you wish our Grace and Joanna to associate with?’
‘Nonsense,’ Mama had replied calmly. ‘Writing to offer Christmas wishes will not expose our girls to scandal or bad influences. You must do Caro justice, my dear. Has she ever attempted to return to London from East Anglia or to call here?’
Her father’s muttered response was inaudible and Joanna, guiltily aware that she had been eavesdropping, had left the study door and had walked on. But somewhere in East Anglia she had a disgraced and scandalous aunt. Would she understand?
But how to find her? Joanna thought hard, then realised that if her mother was writing to Aunt Caroline, then she probably had her direction in her remembrancer where she noted allher addresses, birthdays and other important lists. She got up, opened the door onto the dark and silent house, and went downstairs.
Chapter Five
Three days after the masquerade party where he had encountered Joanna Fulgrave Giles Gregory turned his match greys into Half Moon Street, sensing his spirits lift perceptibly as he saw the black front door of the Tasborough’s town house in front of him.
He felt heart-sore, anxious and hurt and the thought of Hebe’s warm common sense and Alex’s astringent comradeship had seemed like a beacon on the journey from his family home in the Vale of Aylesbury. He had crossed with them journeying up to Town from their Hertfordshire estate when he had made his painfully short visit to his parents and, instead of finding refuge at Tasborough, had to drive back to London to seek out his friends.
He handed the reins to his groom and jumped down. ‘Take them round to the mews, Mellors, and tell his lordship’s man that I am expecting to stay for a day or two. If that is not convenient, let me know, and you can take them to the livery stables, but I do not expect the earl has brought more than his carriage horses and one hack up for a short stay.’
The man drove away down the street and Giles took the front steps in two long strides. The door was opened by Starling, the family butler, who permitted himself a small smile on seeing who was there.
‘Colonel Gregory. It is a pleasure to see you again, sir, if I may be so bold. His lordship is out, but her ladyship is in the Blue Room. She is not generally receiving, but I will venture to say she will be at home to you, if you would care to go up. Will you be staying? Your usual room is free.’
’Thank you, Starling.’ Giles handed him his hat and gloves. ‘I hope Lady Tasborough will not object to a house guest for anight or two.’
He made his way up to the elegant room on the first floor which was Hebe’s favourite retiring room and opened the door. ‘May I come in?’
