Her Grace broke out into a musical fit of giggles. “It was meant to be a surprise! If only you could have seen your own face!”
“I was definitely surprised,” Sir Reginald allowed.
“That’s what’s so much fun,” Aunt Knowe said, grinning widely.
Otis clamped on Joan’s arm. “That was very nearly a disaster,” he breathed, as Sir Reginald began chatting with Her Grace and Lady Knowe.
“Your father was quite courteous,” Joan said. “Some men would have become inarticulate with rage.”
“Father’s not like that. My guess is that he’s mostly hurt that I didn’t invite him to the performance,” Otis said glumly. “I was hoping he’d never find out. Now he’ll tell my sister, and she’ll plague me to death. I’m a rotten Ophelia, Joan.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“And I hate wearing this godforsaken garment,” he added.
“I’m sorry,” Joan said again.
“But, on the other hand, I can introduce Father to Madeline.” Otis brightened and turned toward Sir Reginald and the Duchess of Eversley. “Tomorrow I shall introduce you to Mr. Wooty, the manager of the Theatre Royal.”
“We shall invite Mr. Wooty to dinner tomorrow,” Aunt Knowe said, smoothly picking up her cue. “Including his wife and lovely niece Madeline, of course.”
“Mr. Wooty has been extremely accommodating,” Otis told his father. “His theater company is one of the best in England, and I’m sure my portrayal of Ophelia gives him dyspepsia. Joan and I and the duchess plan to visit Wilmslow the following evening for the performance, if only to see what true Ophelia looks like on the stage—one who can remember her lines, for example.”
“I recall your first celebration of Mass as a vicar,” his father replied, wincing. “Memorization is not your forte.”
“Loyalty is one of my favorite qualities,” the Duchess of Eversley said diplomatically. “No one can doubt the deep friendship between Lady Joan and your son.”
“When in Wilmslow, will you stay overnight at the Gherkin & Cheese?” Sir Reginald asked Joan. “They have an excellent cook.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Perhaps you would accompany us,” the duchess suggested. “I’m afraid that I cannot countenance two performances of Hamlet in a row, so I should be very glad of company during the evening.”
“Of course!” Sir Reginald cried.
Joan was fascinated to see how friendly the two of them were. Sir Reginald’s wife had passed away years ago, and the duchess’s husband had left her when Thaddeus was only a small boy, as she understood it.
But of course nothing could happen between them. The Duke of Eversley might flaunt his mistress, but Joan had no doubt but that the duchess would remain faithful to her marriage vows.
Just then her father and mother strolled into the room, followed by Viola and Devin . . . but still no sign of Thaddeus. Not that she was watching for him in particular, of course.
“How did your lesson in fencing go this afternoon?” Otis asked.
Joan very nearly opened her mouth to say something absurd: It was the best afternoon of my life. But she caught herself. “I feel much more confident about Act Five. How is your grasp of Ophelia’s lines?”
“Madeline tested me over and over,” Otis said.
He didn’t sound disgruntled. In fact, he was turning a little pink.
“You like her?” Joan whispered.
“She’s a lovely young woman. But I was in a dress all day,” Otis hissed.
“Madeline is not a lady,” Joan pointed out, somewhat hesitantly.
Otis shrugged. “I have my own estate. Why should I care about that? Society will accept my wife, or I will go my own way.”
At that moment Thaddeus appeared in the door of the drawing room. She jerked up her head, and he strode toward them, his eyes on Joan’s face. She didn’t know how she felt about the instant bolt of happiness she experienced when he entered the room.
But it happened. She felt it.
“I should practice walking,” Otis said, mischief deep in his voice. “Father dear, won’t you walk me the length of the drawing room?”
His father snorted. “I most certainly will not!”
“But I need practice walking,” Otis complained, getting to his feet, wobbling slightly, and then swishing his skirts. “I have to trot all around the throne room throwing flowers at people.”
Aunt Knowe jumped to her feet. “I’ll walk with you, dear.”
They set off, and Thaddeus took Otis’s seat beside Joan. “How are you, Lord Greywick?” she asked, ignoring the fact that they had parted a mere two hours before.
“Very well, thank you.”
But he wasn’t. His eyes were shadowed.
She waited until the rest were engaged in lively conversation and then she dug an elbow into his side. “What happened?”
He glanced down at her arm and then at her face, eyebrow raised. “Can I do something for you, Lady Joan?”
“What’s the matter?” She watched his face closely, because it was the most fascinating puzzle she’d ever encountered.
His thick eyelashes fluttered, and his jaw was tight.
“It’s your father,” she breathed. She stood up. “I believe that I too should like to stroll before the meal,” she announced. “Lord Greywick, won’t you please escort me?”
He muttered something, rose to his feet, and held out his elbow. “What did you just say?” Joan asked.
“Bossy,” he said.
She rolled her eyes at him. “What happened?” she repeated. She saw the moment he gave in, when the proudest, most solitary man she’d ever known decided to answer.
“The duke’s solicitor wrote—”
“He cannot win this ridiculous suit!” Joan interrupted. “My father will make certain of that, if no one else.”
“Why would His Grace do that?” Thaddeus asked, his face at its most impervious.
“Because you’re—you’re a friend of the family,” Joan said, feeling a prickling embarrassment at the back of her neck. She loathed the idea that he might think she was making some claim on him due to all that kissing.
He was silent as they crossed paths with Otis and Aunt Knowe, heading back down the long drawing room. Thank goodness, he was looking down, because those two were bent on mortifying her; their faces were wreathed in suggestive smiles, and Otis was waggling his eyebrows like a satyr in a dress.
Joan narrowed her eyes and warned them silently to keep their silly ideas to themselves. Just because she and Thaddeus were . . . whatever they were . . . friends, perhaps, didn’t mean her family should jump to conclusions.
“It appears my father is dying,” Thaddeus said abruptly. “Not today, but soon.”
Joan let out a soundless gasp. Thaddeus’s jaw was so tight that she was surprised the words made it to the open air. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she offered.
He looked at her.
“Or not,” she corrected herself.
“First, he isn’t a ‘loss’ yet. But second, he will never be ‘my’ loss. He’s absented himself from my mother’s and my life long ago. On the few occasions I met him before his second son was born, he was uninterested and uncaring.”