“I don’t suppose you are alone in that.”
“I cannot complain. I’ve had everything I ever needed. Besides, my father was not the nicest of men, so I never blamed her for wishing to stay away from him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, what—”
Joanna’s mother darted back into the room, cutting off Joanna’s question with a tartan blanket offered out. She draped it over her daughter’s shoulders.
“Mother!”
“You might catch a chill. We cannot have you sickening again.”
“Again?” asked Ambrose.
“Joanna was deathly ill not long ago,” her mother explained as she tucked the blanket around Joanna’s shoulders. “She gave us all quite the fright.”
“It was one of the reasons I decided to help with the charity,” she commented. “It seems unfair that I had all the help I could ask for, but others did not.”
“Ah.”
“Where on earth is that tea?” Her mother swept out of the room again.
He grinned. “No wonder she dotes on you.”
Joanna sighed. “She really is the loveliest, but it can be a bit much at times.”
“She loves you deeply.”
“Do you think it’s possible to be loved too much? Sometimes I think she does. She thinks of me as so perfect, as so...” She pursed her lips. “I do not even know what I am saying.”
“I think I understand. She thinks so much of you that it is too hard to admit when things are not going perfectly.”
Her brow creased. “I suppose it is something like that.” She tilted her head. “You surprise me too much sometimes, Ambrose.”
“Good.”
“You do not care to ask why you surprise me?”
He lifted both shoulders. “It is enough to know I can keep you on your toes.”
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Is there no end to your arrogance?”
“Perhaps. I have yet to see.”
Her mother popped her head around the door and curled her fingers over the doorframe. “I forgot to ask if you wanted a blanket, Lord Newhaven. How careless of me.”
“I am quite well, thank you, Mrs. Stanton.”
“Some food then.”
He shook his head.
“Goodness, where is that tea?” She retreated from the door and Ambrose heard fast footsteps clack against the wooden floor as she hastened away, presumably to nag the housekeeper for the elusive tea.
“As soon as the carriage is ready, we should go.”
“But we’re having so much fun,” he said with a grin.
And he was finding out more about Joanna by the minute, even if it was not helping him with this being attracted to her thing one jot.
Chapter Nine
Joanna paused to gulp down a breath of sweetly fragranced fresh air. She loved fresh spring afternoons, almost more than she loved waltzing across a ballroom. Butterflies flitted from tree to tree in the park, accompanied by the occasional buzz of a bee or wasp. The latter, she did not like so much, having been stung twice two summers ago for the mere act of walking down a country lane. She avoided anything that made a buzz sound, just in case, as she strolled along the path that sliced through the green at the end of the town.
It was not just the blue, clear sky that had lifted her spirits. If she let herself, she was certain she would have a slight bounce to her steps. It could hardly be helped. Her shoulders felt light, despite the heavy gray fabric of her gown weighing upon them.
All because she’d cried in Ambrose’s arms. Well, at least she suspected that was what it was. Perhaps she ought to cry more often.
She shook her head. No, that would be silly. After all, she had returned home looking blotchy-faced and feeling exhausted. But she’d slept beautifully last night, with the oddest sense of peace.
No, she certainly did not want to make a habit of that, especially in the Earl of Newhaven’s arms of all people. He’d been surprisingly intuitive about the whole thing, but she imagined he’d practiced comforting many a crying woman, especially after they had their heart broken by the rake. His insights into grief and people in general were interesting, though. It was no wonder he made such a successful rake—his understanding of emotions was unlike anyone else’s.
Catching sight of Augusta and Chloe, their skirts already splayed out upon the grass, she waved a hand to snare their attention, shoving aside thoughts of Ambrose and being pressed against his chest. Her friends made such a perfect picture of ladies picnicking—with their skirts sprawled around them and a wicker basket to one side—that she almost wanted to paint them. Augusta spotted her and motioned her over and Joanna hastened forward, dropping down onto the tartan blanket beside Chloe.
“It has been an age since I have seen you!” she enthused.
“Not an age,” Chloe said, “but some time.”
“You look so well,” Augusta commented.
“I feel...well.” Joanna hesitated, almost unwilling to commit to the idea. Not that she had felt ill at all in the past two weeks but there was no doubting she had not been herself since she was widowed. Today, everything felt clearer, just like the shining sky above her.
Though modest by London park standards, the communal area boasted a lake surrounded by trees and some pretty flower patches, as well as a few columned shelters all navigable by a winding path. From where they were, they could catch a glimpse of the lake where a child was currently pushing a boat along the edge while a woman watched from a bench.
“We brought food.”
Joanna turned her attention to Chloe as she gestured to the basket, overflowing with wrapped parcels of what looked to be varying delights.
“Too much food,” Augusta admitted.
Chloe grinned. “Augusta was a little enthusiastic.”
“I did not want anyone to be hungry,” she protested, “nor did I know what everyone would be in the mood for.”
Joanna smiled. How pleasant it was to be around her friends, where the biggest worry was whether or not they would have enough food. The charity work was interesting, and it certainly kept her occupied—and would probably keep her that way for some time—but there was nothing like being with her friends. She only wished she’d come to know them sooner, before Noah had passed. “I am certain whatever you have brought will be wonderful.”
Augusta began unloading the basket, unwrapping and setting the food out. Pies, sandwiches, cakes, and biscuits soon dotted the blanket, along with two generous bottles of cloudy lemonade, dribbles of condensation sliding temptingly down the glass.
Joanna glanced over the spread. “Are you feeding the five hundred?”
Augusta blushed and clasped her hands in her lap. Now Joanna really did wish she could paint her friends. Augusta, with her wide, innocent eyes and raven hair, would make the perfect study, especially when placed next to Chloe, who made a wonderful contrast with her wild, red hair.
“I may have overprepared a little,” Augusta admitted.
“It all looks delicious and we can always leave the leftovers at the church to distribute,” suggested Joanna.
“A fine idea,” agreed Chloe. “You really do have charity on your mind at present, do you not, Joanna?”
“I am finding it...challenging, but it is interesting too. I had little idea of the need the county had for a children’s hospital. Ambrose predicts there will be at least four hundred children in the first year.”
Augusta nodded. “I hear in London the hospitals are having to turn people away.”
“Ambrose?” Chloe asked. “You mean Lord Newhaven, do you not?”
Joanna felt a blush creep into her cheeks, the warmth slowly seeping up her face. Why she should blush at the mere use of his first name, she did not know. She rarely blushed, if ever. Few things in life embarrassed her and the use of a first name certainly should not. “We are working closely together,” she said, unable to keep the defensive tone from her voice.
“Closely,” mimicked Chloe.
<
br /> “Chloe!” scolded Augusta.
Chloe gave a shrug. “Joanna intimated enough times that I had an interest in Brook and need we forget, she was excellent at accidentally ensuring we spent time alone with our husbands. As far as I am concerned, this is fair game.”
A tiny smile curved Augusta’s lips. Though she might not express her opinions as fully as Chloe, Joanna knew she was thinking the same.
And it was true. She had tried her best to have a hand in their relationships when she’d become aware of their interest in their husbands. She could not help but feel, as a widow, she had a certain power to assist with romantic engagements. There had been many a time she had played escort to them both and why not use her stupid widowhood for something good?
“Well, you are braver than I,” said Chloe, putting a placating hand over Joanna’s. “I should loathe to be spending all day arranging things and talking to people and whatnot.”
“I think you might have done a fine job at the trustee meeting, Chloe.” Joanna gave a shudder. “The men were awful—they talked over me and hardly wanted to listen to a thing I had to say.”
“Goodness.” Augusta nibbled on the corner of a sandwich, eyes wide.
“Did you get them to listen?” demanded Chloe. “I certainly hope you did.”
“I did indeed.” Joanna grinned. “I had to have some stern words.”
“And Lord Newhaven? Was he rude too?” Augusta paused mid-bite. “He always struck me as quite gentlemanly, even for a rake.”
A gentlemanly rake, what a fine way that was to describe him. The truth of the matter was, Ambrose was immensely likable. It was no wonder he’d had so much success in society. She supposed the same could be said for her once upon a time. Before her marriage, her coming out had been one of the most anticipated events, and she’d received three proposals on that very night. She, however, did not put her ability to get along with people to any uses other than good, whereas Ambrose...well, he had definitely made the most of how much women adored him.
Joanna picked up a bottle of lemonade, the glass still cool, and pulled on the cork. Wrinkling her nose, she tugged harder until it finally came free with a pop. “He was not rude,” she confirmed. “In fact, he was rather supportive.”
“All I know of the man is that he has likely bedded all the widows in London.” Chloe shot Joanna a look. “You might want to be careful there.”
Joanna shook her head with a laugh. “I have the measure of the man, believe me.” She plucked up three glasses and poured them each a drink then took a long sip, relishing the bitter tang as it slid down her throat. “I do think he is genuinely interested in the charity, but how long that interest will last, who can say?”
“If he treats it like the women in his life...” Chloe lifted both hands.
“I know. I will not rely on his aid,” Joanna assured them.
“So, what are your plans for the charity?” Augusta asked.
“Our main aim is to raise funds to staff the hospital. I had a few ideas but the first we shall be pursuing is a fair.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful.” Augusta clapped her hands together. “Especially with the weather we are having.”
“I am glad you think so. I may need your help.” Joanna glanced at Chloe. “Both of you.”
Chloe frowned. “You know how awful I am with people...and crowds. But I shall help however I can.”
“I will not ask too much of you, I promise, but I am certain Lord Waverly could use his connections to assist.”
“And my family will likely wish to help,” Chloe agreed. “They would not wish to be outdone by the Waverlys.”
Augusta lifted a brow. “Even though you are now one?”
Chloe chuckled. “Our family disagreement is over but there is certainly still a hint of friendly competition between our fathers. Both of them were determined to outdo each other with speeches at our wedding.”
“Oh yes.” Joanna smiled. “They had to have been the longest speeches I have ever witnessed.”
“Still, I shall put the rivalry to good use for your hospital.”
“And, of course, Miles shall want to help.” Augusta’s cheeks reddened slightly at the mention of her husband’s name.
Joanna smiled to herself. It had taken Augusta long enough to admit she had feelings for him, and they were still in the very early days of marriage. She could still recall that feeling—that sensation as though one was walking on the air and everything about one was soft and lovely. How awful it had been to come down with such a crash only a short while after their wedding.
“Any aid I can get shall be gratefully received.”
“Though,” Chloe started, “Brook will be wanting me to be cautious.”
Joanna peered at her friend. “How so?”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “I am...well...I’m with child.”
Augusta released a scream that made everyone around them snap their heads around. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I am so sorry.” Throwing her arms around Chloe, she hugged her tight.
Chloe tried to wrangle their friend off her then gave up, sinking into the embrace. When Augusta finally released her, Joanna gave her a gentler one.
“How long have you known?”
“A month or so.” Chloe blew out a breath. “It has been the hardest thing not to tell you, but I had to be certain.”
“How exciting,” Augusta breathed.
“It is,” agreed Chloe. “Though I will admit, it is terrifying too. How does one even be a mother?”
“I am certain you shall be a natural,” Joanna assured her. “And you shall have our help, and not to mention, I know Brook will make a wonderful father.”
Chloe beamed. “He will.”
“Let us make a toast to Chloe’s baby,” suggested Augusta.
Joanna snatched up her glass and lifted it. “To Chloe and the baby.” The last word caught in her throat and she forced a bright smile. No one deserved happiness more than Chloe but, Lord, she could not avoid the pang of jealousy slowly sharding its way into her heart. She had everything Joanna had pictured for herself.
Still, at least a baby would give her plenty with which to occupy her once she was out of mourning. “Be warned,” she told Chloe. “I intend to spoil your child rotten.”
Chapter Ten
“You are risen remarkably early, my lord.”
Ambrose ignored Bram’s snide remark and drained his cup of coffee. He flicked closed the newspaper and did a quick study of the dining room. All was neat and in place. Vases were dust-free, pictures were straight, curtains were tied tightly back to let in the best of the morning sunlight. The red and gold room gleamed, just as his mother had intended when she decorated the place.
He rolled his eyes to himself. Joanna Lockhart was not going to be here to comment on how well his housekeeper looked after the place and he doubted she’d even entertain staying for dinner. As she had reminded him after they’d finished in town—they were doing this for the charity.
He could not help but let his lips curve when he recalled her firm tones, as though she was trying to convince herself. There was a little something between them, but he was not going to do anything about it. After all, she had just been crying in his arms mere days ago and he was not an entirely insensitive bastard. It was clear Joanna had not used her mourning period to actually damn well mourn and he had a suspicion this charity work was another good excuse to avoid going through such emotions.
“You do recall we are having a visitor today, do you not, Bram?” Ambrose asked, knowing full well there was no chance the man had forgotten, and he was trying to make Ambrose comment on the fact he was making an effort for Joanna.
It was only because he liked her. Heck, he admired her too. Not to mention she was frightfully attractive. Why wouldn’t a man wish to ensure he appeared well-rested, clean, and without a jot of breakfast on his chin for a woman like that?
“I recall, my lord,” Bram replied.
Ambrose glanced at the tall grandfather clock that ticked away time with a heavy beat. Ten minutes. Time to ensure he was perfectly pressed for her arrival. She’d balked at coming to his house to continue their plans for the fair, but it made sense and, after all, he had seen her house. It was about time she had a tour of his.
And, damn, for some reason, he liked the thought of having her all to himself on his territory.
Not that he was going to do anything that warranted being alone.
By the time he’d washed his face and hands, he heard the pull of the bell. Bram went to open the door, but Ambrose stepped in front of him and drew it open while the butler muttered something about not being able to do his job from behind him.
Highlighted by the morning sun behind her, her golden hair gleamed. He’d look forward to seeing her out of black and grey, but she wore it well, with the square-necked dress following her curves beautifully and accented by a simple necklace holding one blue gemstone. He eyed the gemstone for a moment, briefly envious of its position nestled just above the ridge of her breasts. Dragging his gaze upward, he found her eyeing him with an arched brow.
“Good morning, Ambrose.”
He’d been caught. He grinned and dipped his head. “Good morning, Joanna.” Stepping aside, he ushered her in.
She paused to peer up at the grand hall ceiling. He’d grown used to the interior of the house but as a child, he’d spent many an hour lain on his back on cold, tiled floor, peering up at the painted ceilings and seeing how many cherubs he could count or whether he could spot any mistakes. He’d never found one.
“I have never set foot in this house for some reason until the trustee meeting, despite it being fairly local.”
“I do not open it much,” he admitted.
“I think I should struggle to leave here if it was mine.”
“You know how much I enjoy London living.”
Her lips curved when she looked at him. “And all the entertainments London brings.”
He returned her smile. “Indeed.” He looked to the stack of papers she carried that were bundled in string. “I presume these are to do with the fair.”
Married to the Earl (The Wallflower Brides Book 3) Page 6