Page 23 of As the Earl Likes
Rising from her chair, Jo’s mother snapped her fan closed. “You are smart not to tell your father the truth,” she whispered. “The secret would be all over London by tomorrow.”
She preceded Jo from the study into the sitting room. Jo’s father stood near one of the front windows. Turning to face them, he bowed.
“Julia, you are stunning as always,” he said to Jo’s mother, using her given name, which Jo thought only Marcel used to address her. Hearing her father say it was strange, but then so was this entire meeting.
“You never change, Rowland,” Jo’s mother said. She looked to Mrs. Rand and quietly said, “No tea, thank you.” The housekeeper departed into the entrance hall.
Jo went to buss her father’s cheek. “It’s good to see you, Papa.”
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” he noted with a wry expression.
“Sheff wrote to me that you were coming,” Jo replied. “I informed Mama.”
Her father lifted his hands. He used them often when he spoke. It was part of his enthusiastic animation. “Perhaps I should have sent word ahead. My apologies.” He shifted his attention to Jo and smiled. “Now, tell me about you and the Earl of Shefford. I had no idea he was courting you.” He ushered her to join him on the settee.
Jo glanced toward her mother, who was watching them with mild amusement. She did not move to sit.
“I am surprised you would marry Shefford, of all people,” her father said.
Knowing she would hear this sentiment a great deal, Jo had prepared for it. “We’ve been friends for a while now—from the Siren’s Call. Sometimes friendships bloom into something more.”
“That is so true,” her father replied with a nod. “And sometimes the opposite happens. Love cools to friendship.” He sent a wistful smile toward Jo’s mother, who’d crossed her arms. She didn’t look impatient, exactly, but she did not look as though she wanted to linger.
Jo wanted to ask if her parents were actually friends. She hadn’t thought so. If they were, why did they avoid one another? Couldn’t they have spent holidays together if they were friendly? Or at least Jo’s birthday?
Sadness wasn’t something Jo felt with regard to her parents, but at the moment, a shocking melancholy swept over her.
“You’re in love with one another, then?” Jo’s father asked, thankfully yanking her from maudlin thoughts.
“Yes,” Jo said with a bright smile. She hoped that would convince him as opposed to her gushing effusively about her fake betrothed.
“When is the wedding?” he asked.
“We haven’t discussed specific dates, but not until the autumn or winter.”
Her father frowned. “Why not sooner? A June wedding would be lovely, even if this spring has been positively miserable. The sun must come out eventually!” He laughed.
The weather had been cool and rainy, but that was, of course, not the reason for their delayed nuptials. “I’m not sure I want to marry in the midst of the Season, Papa.” That seemed as good a reason as any. Certainly better than Sheff’s—that she wanted a fur-trimmed cloak or whatever he’d said.
“I also asked if they could perchance wait,” Jo’s mother interjected, drawing Jo’s attention. She gave Jo a slight nod, as if to communicate that she was there to help with the ruse.
“I’ll be traveling to Weston for a good portion of the summer.”
Except she wouldn’t be leaving until July. Still, it was a lovely excuse, and Jo appreciated her mother offering it.
Jo’s father angled his body toward his wife. “Weston? With Marcel?”
Her mother nodded. “He’s taken a cottage there.”
He goggled at her. “You’re leaving London for more than a few days? I am flabbergasted.”
“Sometimes change is good,” Jo’s mother said evenly. “Or even necessary.” Her eyes narrowed just slightly as she looked at Jo’s father, and Jo thought there must be some unspoken communication going on.
Jo’s father turned his focus back to Jo. “For the remainder of the Season, we will do our best to support you. I know it won’t be easy for you to be scrutinized as you absolutely will be.” He gave her a sympathetic smile and patted her hand.
“There will be a betrothal ball,” Jo said, looking from her father to her mother and back again. “It would be good if we could all arrive together—just that one time. You can leave whenever you like.” She darted a glance toward her mother and caught the slight curl of her lip. Jo wasn’t sure if her mother’s distaste was due to having to spend time with her husband or that she’d have to attend a high society event. Not just attend, but be at the center of it.
Her father sucked in a breath. “Oh, this is going to require an entirely new wardrobe, my dear. Why did I not come to that conclusion much sooner?” He looked to his wife. “You must set an appointment with a modiste. Not any modiste—a French one. I can find out who is the most popular this Season.”
