Chapters (46)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Back Cover
Even if she was never given credit for it.
The clock chimed two, and she jumped at the sound of it. If her mother were alive, she’d be bustling about, reminding Joan to be ready for her potential callers.
But her mother wasn’t alive. Nor was her other brother. Or her beloved father. It was only Morgan and her now, the last of them. Her heart pinched at so much loss. The fresh loss of Percy, Morgan’s twin, was the most potent as it was only a year and a half old. Closing her eyes, she took a moment to mourn their memories, and then breathed deeply through her nose. No, they wouldn’t wish for her to pine away for them. They would encourage her to move on, to live a joyful and full life. So, with that truth in her heart, she started up the stairs to her second-floor rooms.
Her suite was in the same wing as that of her brother. Her lady’s maid was waiting with a brush, a determined gleam in her eyes. Joan took a seat in front of the vanity and closed her eyes, wishing she had remembered to grab a book from the library.
Too bad, she’d have to endure an hour of hair brushing, tugging, and pinning without anything to read. As the maid began, Joan’s mind wandered.
Tonight was her debut and so much could happen, or nothing at all. Which was the beauty of it… One never knew. And for someone who usually knew, it was a delightful adventure.
The unknown.
Three
The carriage moved at a snail’s pace in the long line of attendees for the Penderdale rout. Rowles had already been waiting for fifteen minutes, and likely it would be another ten before he made it to the front of the drive. It was the event of the week: the debut of Miss Morgan, an heiress in her own right. But Rowles knew her as his best friend’s little sister. It had been an age since he’d seen her, his teaching at Cambridge taking up most of his time and energy. And when he did visit London, a ballroom was the last place he wished to be in attendance.
Even now, he was attending as a favor to Morgan, and out of responsibility to his title. He welcomed the wait, however. With his mother’s condition widely known, he was certain to draw a few whispers and side looks. No one would dare say anything to him about it, for he was a duke after all, but that didn’t make the situation any more comfortable. It wasn’t as if their whispers weren’t based on fact.