Bewitched by the Bluestocking

by Eaton, Jillian

  “What do you think will happen when everyone finds out?” Lavinia asked, echoing Kincaid’s exact thoughts. “A scandal of this magnitude will shake the ton to its core. And just in time for the Countess of Beresford’s birthday celebration. How delightful!”

  His gaze slid to Lavinia’s mouth and the sly smile that resided there. Lady Ellinwood might not have recognized the potential harm she was causing by recklessly sharing information that was not hers to share.

  But Lady Townsend certainly did.

  “What do you want?” he asked bluntly.

  Lavinia splayed her fingers across the top of her breasts. “Why, only to help you, as I said. And your American. Joanna Thorncroft, isn’t it? Lady Ellinwood implied you were quite protective of her when you two met. Then there was that little scuffle at the pleasure gardens with the Duke of Telford. If I didn’t know any better, I’d start to believe you were sweet on your client, darling.” Her smile grew razor sharp. “You’ve certainly a type, haven’t you?”

  His hands curled into fists. “You and Joanna are nothing alike.”

  Lavinia’s nose wrinkled. “Goodness, I should hope not. She’s an American, for heaven’s sake. They’re practically heathens. Still, I wish her no ill-will. Which is why I am going to tell you that the ring you are looking for is in the possession of her brother, Lord Weston, the Earl of Hawkridge.” Lavinia’s head tipped. “Or rather, should I say half-brother. Words has it he intends to use the ring to propose to the lady he has been courting. Some mouse of a girl, I cannot even remember her name. But they will both be attending the ball.”

  It was valuable information.

  But Kincaid was not so naïve to believe that it came without a cost.

  “What is in it for you, Lavinia?” he growled.

  Her green eyes widened, all innocence and feigned compassion. “Can I not offer my assistance without expecting anything in return?

  “No,” he said without hesitation.

  “Fine.” For an instant, her façade slipped, revealing the ugliness lurking beneath the glossy veneer of polish and perfection. “If I can’t have you, then neither can some ill-bred American upstart.”

  He stared incredulously at her. “You cannot be jealous. Our affair ended over four years ago.”

  “But I still think about you, darling. Don’t you think about me and all the fun we used to have?” Her gaze took on a sensual gleam. “Do you remember that inn at Haymarket Square where we—”

  “Enough,” he said loudly. “I remember everything, Lavinia. Including all of the lies you told.”

  “A little exaggeration here and there,” she scoffed. “Hardly anything worthy of note.”

  “You told me your husband beat you.”

  “He did threaten to cut off my allowance.”

  “You told me you were going to leave him.”

  “Oh, darling.” Her voice dripping with sympathy, she leaned forward and patted his cheek. “We all say things under duress. But I could never leave Lord Townsend for a commoner. What sort of life could you possibly provide? Please, darling. We must be realistic about these things. That’s not to say we cannot enjoy ourselves.” Her hand slid lower, her thumb skimming along his jawbone. “In any manner of ways.”

  “I don’t want anything to do with you,” he said tersely as he jerked out of her reach. Four years ago, her touch would have ignited a twisted feeling of desire inside of him. Twisted because he’d known it was wrong, but he had still wanted her. Or rather, he’d wanted the woman she’d been pretending to be. But now that he saw her for what she really was, he felt nothing but revulsion.

  Lavinia’s mouth thinned. “Because of your red-haired American tart?”

  “Do not speak of Joanna again,” he warned in a soft, silky voice that was far more dangerous than any yell or bluster.

  Unfortunately, Lavinia did not heed his warning.

  Scooping up her yapping rat, she held the fur ball pinned against her waist as she said, “When everyone learns who Joanna Thorncroft is, it won’t matter that she is illegitimate. It won’t even matter if the Duke of Caldwell acknowledges her or gives her the cut direct. She’ll still be beyond you, darling. You’re an unwanted orphan who left Scotland Yard in disgrace while she is the daughter of a marquess. The ton is going to adore her.” Lavinia ran her tongue across her fangs. “Before they chew her up and spit her back out, that is. She doesn’t belong here. And she certainly doesn’t belong with you. Find the girl’s ring, and let her return home. It is the least she deserves after what the poor thing has been through.”

  Something inside of Kincaid tightened, like a clock spring drawn a tick too hard to the left. Sweat, cold and clammy, broke out along his temple. He swept it away with the back of his hand, but he couldn’t wipe away the knowledge that Lavinia was right.

  He had spent all of this time trying to convince himself that he couldn’t love Joanna that he never stopped to consider if he should.

  What future could they possibly have together? If she remained here, with him, she’d be leaving her family and the only home she’d ever known behind. Not to mention the fact that she was practically royalty and he…he was exactly what Lavinia had said he was. An unwanted orphan who had left Scotland Yard in disgrace.

  He could go with Joanna to America. But his work, his livelihood, was here, in London. Dare he give it up and begin anew? What if he failed? What if he promised her the moon and was unable to give her even a star?

  He couldn’t do that to her.

  He wouldn’t.

  Because happy people didn’t hurt those they loved.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning, Joanna was positively elated when Kincaid took her to Hyde Park, a 350-acre marvel of bridle paths, wooded trails, and memorial fountains. With Kensington Palace on one end and the Serpentine Lake in the middle, it was the largest green space in all of London. On the narrow footpath upon which she and Kincaid walked step in step, there wasn’t room for curricles or carriages. But on the main thoroughfare, they breezed past at a brisk pace, along with riders and pedestrians, all enjoying the crisp, cool morning air that only late August could bring.

  The sky was a clear, flawless blue with nary a cloud in sight. From the branches of towering oaks, birds chirped a cheerful tune, their sweet melody echoing the joy that sang in Joanna’s heart.

  As elated as she felt, it was a wonder she wasn’t skipping.

  Or spontaneously bursting into song, even though she was completely and utterly tone-deaf. But that didn’t matter, because she was in love.

  Not maybe in love.

  Not falling in love.

  In love.

  With the man walking beside her.

  Thomas Kincaid, detective and wicked kisser extraordinaire.

  The best part was she knew he loved her, too.

  Oh, he hadn’t said it yet. At least not in so many words. But how could he have shared his deepest secret if he didn’t love her? How could he have kissed her with such passion, if he didn’t love her? It was only a matter of time before he told her. And she was fairly confident he was going to do it soon, for else why would he have brought her to this beautiful place? Surely not just to share news of the case. Although she was looking forward to that as well.

  How dark and dismal things had seemed yesterday afternoon! Yet if there was a single lesson she’d learned over the past three months, it was that everything could change in the blink of an eye.

  Three months ago, she had been in the process of turning down yet another mundane proposal from a well-meaning suitor. Now, she was holding the arm of a British detective she was madly in love with who was trying to recover a stolen ring that had been given to her mother by a father she’d never known existed.

  In all her wildest dreams, she could not have imagined that this was where she would end up. All of those twists and turns, all the heartache and the tears, had led her here. To Hyde Park. With Kincaid. And surely that was worth all the doubt and uncertain
ty.

  For if not, what was the point?

  Kincaid led her to the middle of a bridge with wide, wooden planks and a railing that had once been painted white but was now beginning to peel. He’d spoken little since he’d met her at his front door and turned her towards the park before she could even step foot in the foyer. All of the glances she’d stolen at him out of the corners of her eyes had revealed a pensive expression, his thoughts concealed behind a wall of calm stoicism.

  He seemed…resolute.

  As if he’d come to a decision.

  And she all but beamed, because she knew what that decision was.

  Practically, they’d have a few things to work out. Where they were going to live, for instance. She missed Claire and Grandmother. She missed them so much that sometimes her yearning to see their faces and hear their voices felt like a physical illness. But she did not miss Somerville, or her small place inside of it.

  The village had stifled her spirit. For some, like Claire, who had no ambitions to leave, knowing every person who walked down the street was a comfort. For others, like Evie, it was an opportunity to be the biggest fish in a tiny pond. But for Joanna, it was, and always had been, a reminder of all the places she’d yet to see and all the life she’d yet to live.

  She had done more in the past ten weeks than she had in the past ten years. All of it because she had finally left Somerville. Aside from her family, did she really have any reason to go back? She liked London. The chaotic business of it. The pleasure gardens. Mayfair. The theater district. This park. The seemingly endless sprawl of businesses, and homes, and museums. If she lived to be a hundred, she wouldn’t be able to see them all. But she’d very much like to accept the challenge.

  If—when—they found Mother’s ring and sold it, the money could buy an endless amount of trips across the pond. She and Kincaid could see her grandmother and sisters as often as they liked, or even invite them to visit. It certainly wouldn’t be convenient. An eight-week voyage was hardly the definition of expediency. But it would be possible. And sometimes, possibility was all a person could ask for.

  “Look!” she gasped suddenly, her attention captured by a flash of silver in the clear water beneath the bridge. “There’s fish. At least a dozen of them.”

  Kincaid joined her at the rail, his thigh pressing intimately against her hip as he followed the direction of her gaze. “Trout, if I had to guess. When Queen Caroline ordered the Serpentine built by damming up the River Westbourne, she had all manner of trout brought in from surrounding streams. Most perished. Trout are notoriously fickle creatures, and do not adapt to change easily.” Sunlight reflected off the fish’s scales as they swam lazily upstream. “But some managed to survive. These are most likely their great-great-great-descendants. Speaking of which…I’ve found your family, Miss Thorncroft.”

  “You did?” she asked, too overwhelmed with excitement to notice he’d reverted to using her surname. “When? Where? Who? Tell me all about them!”

  Amber eyes tender behind his spectacles, Kincaid gently brushed a curl off her cheek. “Perhaps we should sit, and I’ll tell you all that I have learned.”

  They went to a bench underneath a weeping willow. There, cocooned in a sweeping cloak of green, he told her about finding Lady Ellinwood and the conversation they’d had over tea and cucumber sandwiches.

  “I have a great-aunt,” Joanna whispered, not knowing whether she was thrilled or apprehensive by the news. A bit of both, she decided. Along with a slew of countless other emotions she couldn’t possibly begin to name.

  “And a cousin,” said Kincaid, resting his hand on top of hers. “Rosemary. From the way Lady Ellinwood spoke about her, I should think she is similar in age to you and your sisters.”

  “I want to meet them.” Joanna’s fingers curled inward, nails digging into her palms through the thin fabric of her kid gloves. “My aunt and my cousin. I want to meet them, Kincaid. As soon as possible.”

  He hesitated. “It seems there was some…strain that developed between Lady Ellinwood and her late sister, Mabel. Your grandmother. They did not reconcile their differences before Mabel passed and Lady Ellinwood still harbors resentment which she has transferred to you and your sisters.”

  “To us? But we’ve never met her!”

  He squeezed her hand. “I am certain, in time, she will come around.”

  “I should hope so.” Joanna gave an irritated shake of her head. “It’s quite presumptuous of her, isn’t it, to form an opinion before we have even been introduced? Granted, I am not everyone’s cup of tea, but she should at least meet me before she decides I’m too loud and opinionated.”

  The corners of Kincaid’s mouth twitched. “Apparently, your mother, whom Lady Ellinwood described as ‘rebellious’ and ‘disobedient’, left an indelible impression.”

  “Good.” Squaring her shoulders, Joanna sat up a little straighter. “I am glad that she did. Does…does my great-aunt know who my father—my birth father—is?”

  Kincaid stiffened and withdrew his hand. Crossing his arms, he stared out through the long boughs of the willow tree as Joanna held her breath. “I am not sure how to tell you this, Miss Thorncroft. Only to warn you that it may come as a bit of a…surprise.”

  A hundred different thoughts raced through Joanna’s mind. Was her father dead? Was he a criminal? Did he not want to be found?

  “Go—go ahead,” she managed. “Out with it.”

  Surely the anticipation was worse than whatever Kincaid was about to say.

  “Your birth father is Lord Jason Weston, Marquess of Dorchester. His father is the Duke of Caldwell.” Kincaid turned his head and met her stunned gaze without blinking. “Miss Thorncroft…you’re the illegitimate daughter of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in all of England.”

  *

  When Joanna’s face drained of all color, Kincaid could have kicked himself.

  Bloody hell, but he should have handled that better.

  Could have handled it better, if not for the lump inside of his throat. A lump that had grown so large at the sight of Joanna, pretty as a picture standing on his doorstep in a blue dress that matched her eyes, it had all but suffocated him.

  Maybe he deserved to be suffocated, for what he was about to do.

  What he had to do.

  He knew she wasn’t going to understand. He knew she was going to be furious with him. But he’d rather have her anger than her disappointment. Rather give her a temporary bruise than a lifetime of hurt. Because every word that Lavinia had said to him last evening still rang true in the light of day.

  You’re an unwanted orphan who left Scotland Yard in disgrace while she is the daughter of a marquess.

  She doesn’t belong here.

  And she certainly doesn’t belong with you.

  He wasn’t good enough for Joanna. He never had been. He never would be. And the only solace to be found in letting her go was knowing that he was doing what was best for both of them.

  Or at least, what was best for her. Surely this wrenching in his chest wasn’t good for him. A person wasn’t designed to be torn apart from the inside out. Yet, that was precisely what he was doing. For Joanna, and the life she deserved to live far away from him, and the ton, and all the danger she’d inadvertently placed herself in since she got here.

  Because ultimately, that was what he wanted. That was all he wanted. For her to be safe. For her to be loved. For her to be treasured.

  He’d do it himself if he could.

  After he’d left the boarding house yesterday, he believed that he would.

  Until Lavinia had reminded him of what he’d forgotten. That love wasn’t only comprised of happiness and merriment and golden sunsets. There was pain as well. Pain, and suffering, and betrayal. He didn’t want to feel that again. More than that, he didn’t want Joanna to feel it. Which was why he was determined to shield her tender heart from such misery.

  Even if it killed him.

  “Miss Thornc
roft?” Resisting the urge to gather her in his arms and tuck her head beneath his chin, he awkwardly stretched his arm along the bench, his hand hovering over her right shoulder. Her slender body was radiating with tension, her fingers latched together so tightly in her lap that her knuckles gleamed white in the dappled sunlight shimmering down through the willow tree. “Do you understand what I said?”

  He did not like her silence.

  Quiet did not become Joanna.

  She was loud, and bright, and fiery.

  A burning comet hurtling across the sky.

  But sitting beside him now, with her cheeks as white as snow and her eyes bright with shock, she looked as defenseless as a newborn fawn.

  “I…I think I do.” She blinked slowly. “I’m not sure. Is…is my great-aunt positive? About the Marquess of…Dom…Din…”

  “Dorchester,” he provided.

  “That’s it.” Her breasts lifted as she drew a deep breath. “The Marquess of Dorchester. Is Lady Ellinwood certain that he is really my birth father?”

  “Yes, she seems to be.”

  “But that does not make any sense.” A line furrowed Joanna’s brow as she met his gaze. “My mother wasn’t even a lady. She was an American. Not to say she wasn’t beautiful. There is a painting of her above our mantel, she was…well, she was breathtaking. I wish you could have seen her.”

  I am looking right at her, he thought silently.

  Kincaid may never have met Anne Thorncroft but, from what had been described of her, she’d been just as vivacious, and independent, and strong-willed as her eldest daughter. Were Anne still alive, he could only imagine the amount of pride she would have had for Joanna.

  “Americans carry their own sort of unique appeal,” he said gruffly. Unable to stop himself, he skimmed his fingertips along the delicate vertebrae running up the back of Joanna’s neck. An auburn curl wound around his finger as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Does he know about me?” she asked. “The marquess.”