Victoria moved to sit beside her, reading over her shoulder as Joan’s eyes scanned the lines.
My dearest sisters,
I write to you in haste, as my duties keep me constantly occupied. I trust this letter finds you both well and settled at Fairfax Manor. I know the house has fallen into some disrepair—please use the enclosed funds to make whatever improvements are necessary for your comfort.
I worry about you constantly. Joan, I know you will insist you are managing perfectly well, but please, allow yourself to accept help when it is offered. Victoria, my dear girl, I hope thedistance from London is providing you some peace and respite from recent troubles.
I wish I could visit immediately, but my position requires my presence here for at least another fortnight. Lord Castleton has been asking pointed questions about the family, and I must navigate these conversations with considerable care.
There is news regarding the Earl of Aldridge that I feel I must share, though it brings me no pleasure to do so. It seems the scandal surrounding his… situation has only deepened. He has moved his mistress—Miss Hartley—into his London residence and insists upon keeping her there as his permanent companion. His mother is beside herself with embarrassment. His friends have begun to distance themselves from his company.
Worse still, this development has only intensified the rumors surrounding Victoria. A few people are saying that she was wise to run from such a marriage, while others claim she drove him to seek comfort elsewhere with her cold indifference. I am doing everything in my power to counter these lies, but I fear the gossip will not die down as quickly as we had hoped.
Joan felt Victoria stiffen beside her. She reached out and grasped her sister’s hand as she continued reading.
I tell you this not to cause distress, but because you deserve to know the truth of the situation. Julian Hawthorne has shown his true colors to all of London society. In time, his reputation will suffer far more damage than Victoria’s ever could. Wemust simply be patient and allow his own actions to condemn him.
Please be strong, both of you. We will weather this storm as we have weathered all others—together.
I have enclosed what funds I can spare. Use them wisely, and write to me if you need anything more.
Your brother,
Damian
Joan folded the letter carefully and set it on the table. Several banknotes had been tucked inside—a generous amount, more than Damian could really afford to send.
She looked at Victoria, whose face had gone pale as parchment.
“Victoria—” Joan began.
“I am fine,” Victoria whispered.
“It was a blessing you didn’t marry that fool,” Joan said firmly.
Victoria nodded slowly, but her eyes remained distant. “I suppose you’re right. I suppose I should be grateful.” She laughed—a hollow, bitter sound. “I guess I am not cut out forlove. I shall just live with you and my brother until I die an old maid.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Joan said sharply. “You are beautiful and accomplished. Any man would be fortunate to have you. The right man will come along—someone who will appreciate your kindness and love you as you deserve to be loved.”
“I hope so,” Victoria said, though her tone suggested she believed no such thing. She was quiet for a moment, then asked softly, “Sister, have you ever thought about love?”
The question caught Joan off guard. She laughed—an awkward, forced sound that fooled neither of them.
“Love? At my age? Victoria, I am four-and-twenty. Far too old to be entertaining romantic notions. No respectable young man would be interested in a spinster like me.”
“You’re not old!” Victoria protested. “You’re beautiful and intelligent and kind. Any man would be lucky?—”
“I don’t have designs on love,” Joan interrupted firmly. “I don’t need romance or marriage or any of that nonsense. I have you and Damian. That’s more than enough for me.”
Besides, she thought, love is dangerous.
The image of the Duke’s scarred face flashed unbidden through her mind—the intensity in his unfocused eyes, the warmth of his hand on hers.
She pushed the memory away firmly.
“Come,” Joan said, rising from her chair with false brightness. “Let’s finish this excellent soup you’ve made. And then perhaps you can help me begin planning lessons for the children. We’ll need to determine what subjects to teach first, what materials we’ll require…”
She kept talking, filling the silence with practical concerns and logistics, anything to avoid dwelling on Victoria’s question.
