Joanna sat back down. It was either that, or slowly fall into a crumpled heap upon the floor. Her mind was still spinning a hundred miles an hour, but her body felt as if she’d just swam ten laps around Boston Harbor.
Her limbs were heavy.
Her mouth was dry.
And her heart…her heart ached.
“What am I supposed to do with all of this?” She drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees, just as she’d done when she was a child and it was storming outside. Curling into a ball had soothed her fears and uneasiness. But there was no comfort to be found now. “What am I—what am I supposed to think?”
“I’ve told you everything I know, Joanna. I probably should have told you sooner, and for that…for that, I am sorry.” Ruth glanced down at the floor. She was not a woman who apologized easily, or often. “But it is up to you to decide what you’d like to do going forward. You’re the eldest. The leader. The one your sisters look to in times of trouble. This does not change that.”
Joanna bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. “But without the ring, we’ve nothing.”
Ruth lifted her head. “Then go get it.”
Joanna hardly slept at all that night. How could she, with all that she’d learned? Secrets piled upon secrets, with still more questions than answers.
When dawn crept across the sky in a spill of pink and orange, she was the first to wake. Or so she thought, before Evie tiptoed across the bedroom they shared and climbed into bed with her.
“I heard everything,” Evie said without preamble, her voice hushed so as not to awake Claire who still slept, blissfully unaware of all that had been unveiled.
“But of course you did.” Joanna jabbed her elbow into her sister’s side. “You’re a renowned eavesdropper, and a gossip besides.”
Evie winced, then gave Joanna a jab right back. “I am neither, thank you very much. And it’s not my fault you and Grandmother were speaking loud enough to wake the dead.”
Joanna wished she could wake dead. For then, she’d be able to ask her mother why she’d had an illicit affair with an Englishman whose initials were JW. And she could ask her father why he’d agreed to cover it all up and raise another man’s daughter as his own.
Had he thought of her differently than Evie and Claire? That was what she really wanted to know. Had he looked at her and seen the man his wife had betrayed him with? Or had she always been his, right from the very beginning?
She liked to think it was the latter.
She hoped it was.
But how could she ever be certain?
How could she ever be certain about anything, ever again?
Sitting up, she pulled a pillow against her stomach and hugged it tight. “Did you know?”
Looking offended that Joanna would even ask, Evie gave an adamant shake of her head that sent her long hair, black as a raven’s wing, spilling across her shoulders. “No. I had absolutely no idea. I…I am sorry, Jo.”
“As am I.” Joanna clasped the pillow even harder, fingers digging into the soft feathers in a desperate need to cling to something tangible. “Grandmother believes I should go after the ring.”
“She wants you to go all the way to England?” Evie’s eyes widened. “I must have missed that part.”
“Eavesdropping isn’t perfect, I suppose.”
“I told you I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
“Then what would you call sitting at the top of the stairs and listening in on a private conversation?”
Evie pursed her lips. “Being observant.”
“What are you two discussing?” Her voice groggy with sleep, Claire sat up in bed and peered drowsily at them. “And why are you up so early?”
For an instant, Joanna considered hiding the truth from her little sister. But now that she knew what it felt like to have secrets withheld from her, she couldn’t do the same thing to Claire. Claire may have been the youngest, but she was also compassionate, and intelligent, and wise beyond her years. If they were going to get through this, they’d need to do it together or not at all.
Taking a breath, she began from the beginning, repeating everything Ruth had told her and Evie had overheard. Their mother’s affair in England, the quick wedding upon her return, the decision to raise Joanna as if she were Jacob’s daughter, and, finally, the significance of the ring.
Claire listened intently and did not interrupt with the exception of a soft gasp here and there, which Joanna could hardly blame her for. Even to Joanna’s own ears, the story sounded…well, it sounded made up. Like the plot of some gothic romance whereupon the heroine discovers she is the hidden by-blow of a mysterious English lord who then goes to great extremes to steal the only item that could link him to his illegitimate child.
But it wasn’t made up.
It was real.
And she was the hidden by-blow.
“That’s…that’s incredible,” Claire said once Joanna had finished. Sliding off her mattress, she hurried barefoot across the small bedroom and squeezed into bed between her two sisters. “I cannot believe Grandmother didn’t tell us—didn’t tell you—sooner. Or Father, for that matter.”
Out of habit, Joanna began to comb the tangles from Claire’s golden locks with her fingers. “I can only assume they were trying to protect me.”
She’d come to that realization in the middle of the night, while sleep danced elusively in a cloud of black and the stars flashed like diamonds in the sky. It made it better, just a little bit better, to acknowledge that her parents and her grandmother had acted out of love. But they’d still deceived her. They’d still lied to her.
And it still hurt.
“I cannot dwell on it, though.” She began to twist Claire’s hair together to form a long braid down the center of her back. “Not when I have a ring to find.”
Claire blinked in astonishment. “But…you can’t mean to really go to England.”
“Why not?”
“Because…because it’s England. It’s an entire ocean away!”
“Exactly.” Right now, an entire ocean away sounded perfect to Joanna. “We need that ring. It belonged to our mother, and now it belongs to us, and someone stole it. They stole it, and if I don’t get it back, who will?”
“We couldn’t afford to hire a hackney to take us to Boston,” Evie pointed out. “How are we to come up with passage across the pond, let alone room and board once we’re there?”
“We?” Joanna repeated, lifting a brow. “I never said anyone would accompany me.”
“As if I’d let you go alone,” Evie scoffed. “Do you know what they have in England that they haven’t here?”
“Crumpets?” Claire ventured.
“Dukes.” Evie’s blue eyes gleamed. “They’ve dukes. Dozens of them, so I hear. Practically dangling out of trees just waiting for a beautiful woman of impeccable manners and fashion to cross their paths.”
Claire frowned. “I don’t know if that’s how it works.”
“Have you ever met a duke?” asked Evie.
“Have you?” Joanna countered.
“No, which is exactly why I’m coming with you.” Climbing off the bed, Evie opened the closet and began to yank out dresses. “What do you think the weather is like there this time of year? I’ve been told it rains a lot.”
“Haven’t you heard? The tree dukes hold out parasols.” Despite the seriousness of the situation and the heaviness in her heart, Joanna couldn’t help but snicker. “You needn’t worry about the rain at all.”
Holding up her prettiest gown, an elaborate concoction of bows and bustle and green silk, Evie whirled around. “That isn’t funny.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve just had an idea on how we can afford to travel to London,” said Joanna as her gaze lingered on Evie’s ball gown.
Following the direction of her sister’s stare, Evie immediately bristled. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t sell it. I refuse.”
“Dukes,” Joanna reminded her.
“And crumpets,” Claire put in brightly.
Evie wrapped her arms protectively around her gown. “But if I sell my best dress, what duke will bother to look at me?”
“I guess you’ll have to win him over with your charm and wit. I wish there was another way,” said Joanna, and she genuinely meant it. “But that dress is the only thing of value we’ve left in the entire house. Once we get the ring back, you’ll have enough money to buy ten green frilly dresses.”
“It’s not green,” Evie sniffed. “It’s chartreuse. And how, exactly, are you planning to find Mother’s ring in the first place? The thief isn’t going to be waiting for us with a sign saying, here I am.”
“We’ll hire a private investigator. The ring is very unique. With the inscription, it’s one of a kind.” Joanna finished plaiting Claire’s hair and looked around for a piece of ribbon to hold it in place. “Whoever JW is, he went to great pains to steal the ring. I’m sure a trail was left. All we need to is go to England, pick up the trail, find the ring, and steal it back.”
“Oh, is that all?” Evie said dryly.
“It does seem rather daunting,” Claire admitted.
“And when do I meet a duke?”
Joanna closed her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers.” Her eyes snapped open. “I don’t even know what questions to ask to get the answers. But I do know that without Mother’s ring, and the money we’ll make by selling it, we will be huddling together for warmth come winter. It is our best—and only—option.”
Evie sobered. “If Grandmother’s theory about who had the ring stolen is correct, then finding the ring will mean finding your…that is to say, your…er…”
“Birth father?” Joanna had come up with the term last night as she’d restlessly tossed beneath her sheets. She needed to call him something, and it seemed as good as anything else. “I understand that. I think…” She plucked at a loose thread on the corner of the pillowcase. “I think that is why Grandmother wants me to go to England more than anything else. To search out that side of me. To find out who, and where, half of me comes from.”
“You come from here,” Claire said with shocking fierceness. “You come from us.” Her newly fashioned braid whipped through the air as she leapt off the bed and spun in a half-circle. “Going to another country and finding out who your—who your birth father is isn’t going to change that. You’re our sister. You’re Mother and Father’s eldest daughter. You were born right here, in Somerville. That’s who you are. That’s where you came from.”
Evie whistled under her breath. “Look at you, little duck,” she said, referring to a nickname they’d given Claire when she was a toddler and waddled when she walked. “I’ve not seen you this riled up since Georgie Pin pinched your arm at the village fair when you were six. Do you remember how red her face turned, Jo?”
“I remember.”
Claire flushed. “I don’t understand what came over me. Joanna, you’re the one who should be upset, not me. I just…I just know I haven’t the courage to travel across an ocean. I could hardly make it to Boston! And I know I’ll worry about you every second that you’re gone.” She gazed beseechingly at Joanna. “Please promise that you…that you won’t forget me.”
“Forget you?” Aghast at the very idea, Joanna jumped to her feet and flung her arms around Claire in a hug that left them both breathless. Clasping her sister by the shoulders, she rocked back on her heels and said sternly, “Don’t be ridiculous. If Evie and I go to England, it will be because of you. And even though you won’t be there in person, you’ll still be with us every step of the way.”
Evie gave a long, loud sigh. “You mean when. When we go to England. I’m so sorry,” she murmured, and it took Joanna a moment to realize she was talking to her gown. “I will never forget you.”
Had she not known how very much Evie’s dresses meant to her, Joanna might have been tempted to laugh. As it stood, she needed all of her facial muscles not to smile. “Are you certain?” she asked. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
“I’m certain,” Evie said firmly. “It’s only fabric, after all. And this…this is family.”
A burst of unexpected excitement flared within Joanna’s chest. Four days ago, she’d been turning down yet another lackluster engagement proposal. Now, she was on the brink of setting sail on a grand adventure that had the potential to change her past, her present…and her future.
“I’m going to England.” She whispered the words, then shouted them. “I’m going to England!”
“We’re going to England,” Evie corrected. “Where I will marry a duke, become a duchess, and live happily-ever-after in a grand palace with swans.”
“What color swans?” Claire wondered.
“Two of each color.” Evie tapped her chin. “And a herd of peacocks for good measure. Or is it a peck? A peck of peacocks.”
“A pride, I believe,” said Claire.
“A pride of peacocks?” Evie shook her head. “That doesn’t sound right.”
Joanna held up her hand. “Mother’s ring first, dukes and birds second.”
“But what if I meet a duke before we—oh, all right,” Evie grumbled when Joanna stared at her. “But I cannot be expected to wait forever. A woman has to have her priorities straight.”
“As soon as we find the ring, you can hunt tree dukes and pick out your peck of peacocks to your heart’s desire.”
“I really think it’s a pride,” Claire said hesitantly.
Joanna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Peck or pride, it doesn’t matter. We are going to England. And we are going to get our ring back.”
Chapter Five
London, England
August 19, 1870
Mrs. Privet’s Boarding House for Young, Unaccompanied Women
“He agreed to help!” Joanna shouted triumphantly as she let herself into the small, dimly lit bedroom she and Evie were renting for $3 a week. The cost of rent included a single candle, and the proprietor of the boarding house, a stern, heavyset woman by the name of Mrs. Privet, had made it clear that no more candles would be forthcoming if they squandered the one they’d been given.
“Who did?” Evie asked from the bed, her voice muffled from the blanket over her head. It was better, she claimed, to look at nothing than to see the hideous green and yellow wall hangings that covered every inch of their room.
Including the ceiling.
Joanna had to admit their accommodations weren’t exactly what she had imagined when they’d embarked on their grand adventure across the pond. She’d pictured an old English manor with ivy crawling up the side and servants in lace caps and tea being served every hour on the hour. Unfortunately, while she’d seen such houses from afar (usually tucked behind tall, iron gates), it appeared the majority of London was a crowded sprawl of townhouses and narrow alleys and busy streets.
Or at least, the part of London they could afford.
Evie’s dress hadn’t fetched nearly as much as Joanna had hoped it would, leaving them with limited options. But while Mrs. Privet’s taste in décor may have been questionable, at least they had a roof over their heads.
Sort of.
“How long has this puddle been here?” Grabbing a pitcher from the wash stand, Joanna shoved it in the corner of the room where a pool of water, courtesy of the steady drizzle falling on the roof, had started to collect. Exasperated, she turned to the bed and the sister-sized lump huddled in the middle of it. “Evie, I know you do not feel well, but you must get up at some point.”
“Easy for you to say,” Evie mumbled from underneath the blanket. “You didn’t spend eight weeks throwing up into a tin pail.”
“Maybe not,” Joanna retorted, “but I did spend eight weeks holding your hair and chucking the contents of said tin pail out a porthole the size of a dinner plate. I’m sorry the trip wasn’t pleasant,”—to put it mildly—“but we’re here now, and I just had a splendid visit with Kincai
d, who has agreed to help us!”
Considering the bad luck that had followed them ever since the ring was stolen in Boston, Joanna was still surprised that she’d been able to coax Kincaid into taking their case. Particularly since she’d had no money to pay him. He hadn’t exactly seemed pleased, but an agreement was an agreement, and she intended to hold him to his end of the bargain.
By force, if necessary.
Evie peeked out from beneath the blanket. “Who is Kincaid?”
“The private investigator Mrs. Benedict told us about, remember?” On their first night at the boarding house, Joanna had made quick work of asking their fellow tenants if they could recommend someone to help find the ring. Mrs. Benedict, a quiet widow, had suggested Mr. Thomas Kincaid.
Apparently, she had hired him two years ago to track down her sister after she’d eloped with a footman, and she’d employed his services again just this past winter to find a missing necklace.
“There’s no one better,” she’d told Joanna. “He’s also a gentleman through and through, so you needn’t worry about him trying to…well, you know.”
Truth be told, now having met Kincaid, Joanna didn’t think she’d mind a little “you know”.
From the moment she had walked into his house, she had felt an instant connection. A recognition of sorts, even though they’d never met and he was nothing like what she had been expecting.
For some reason (she blamed her risqué dime novels), she thought a private investigator would have an eyepatch and a mouth curled in a menacing sneer and a pistol sitting on the edge of his desk. But Kincaid, with his angular face and tousled, brown hair and somber, amber gaze, had none of those things.
Instead of an eyepatch, he had thin, wire frame spectacles. Instead of a menacing sneer, he wore a politely detached smile. And instead of a pistol, he had a very friendly cat named James.
She’d liked James.
She’d also liked Kincaid.
Her feelings for the cat she understood.
Her feelings for the private investigator she…did not.
Bewitched by the Bluestocking Page 7