Victoria looked up at the sound of Joan’s footsteps, and her face immediately brightened. She set down the slate she’d been examining and rushed to embrace her sister.
Victoria squeezed her tightly, then pulled back to study Joan’s face with concern. “You look exhausted. Come, sit. I’ve had Sarah prepare you something to eat.”
Before Joan could protest, Victoria had guided her to a chair and was calling for the maid. Within moments, a simple but hearty meal appeared—bread, cheese, cold meat, and ale. Joan realized she was famished and ate gratefully while Victoria returned to her careful review of the children’s work.
“Percival has really improved,” Victoria observed, holding up one slate with evident pride. “Look at his lettering, so much neater than last week. And his arithmetic is coming along beautifully.”
Joan smiled around a mouthful of bread. “He’s a bright boy. They all are.”
She watched her sister work, noting the way Victoria’s brow furrowed in concentration, the gentle smile that curved her lips as she marked encouraging comments on the children’s slates. This was good for Victoria, having something purposeful to occupy her time, a way to contribute to something meaningful.
She’s healing, Joan thought with relief.Slowly, but she’s healing.
Victoria set down the last slate and turned to face Joan fully, her expression shifting to something more serious. “Joan, I need to ask you something.”
“Of course, dearest. What is it?”
Victoria hesitated, then leaned forward, her voice dropping low despite them being alone. “What exactly are you doing at the Duke’s estate? Peters mentioned you’ve been going there several times a week, spending hours at a time.”
Joan felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I’m helping him with his account books and estate ledgers. It’s the arrangement we made in exchange for use of the hall.”
“But surely he has stewards and men of business who could handle such matters?” Victoria’s eyes were sharp with concern. “Why would he ask you specifically?”
“He… has his reasons.”
Victoria’s gaze intensified. She reached across the table and took Joan’s hands, her grip tight. “Joan, you must tell me the truth. Is he forcing you to do anything? Anything… improper?”
“What? No!” Joan’s voice came out louder than intended, and she felt her face flame even hotter. “Victoria, I would never—he hasn’t?—”
“But you’re blushing terribly,” Victoria pressed. “And Peters says you always return looking flustered and distracted. Everyone in the village says the Duke is not a good man, that he never has contact with people, that he’s cruel and unpredictable. I’m worried about you!”
“There is nothing to worry about,” Joan insisted, pulling her hands free. “The Duke has been perfectly proper. Well, mostly proper. He can be infuriating and arrogant, certainly, but he hasn’t forced me to do anything inappropriate.”
Victoria studied her sister’s face with the knowing gaze of a sibling who had spent a lifetime learning to read every expression, every tell. Slowly, her concern shifted to amusement.
“Are you sure,” Victoria said, “that you don’t fancy him?”
“I—what? Don’t be absurd!” Joan stood abruptly. “I am simply fulfilling my end of our bargain. I help him with his ledgers, and in return, he allows us to use the hall for the school. It’s a business arrangement, nothing more.”
“Mm-hmm.” Victoria’s expression was entirely too knowing. “And that’s all?”
“Victoria Sinclair!” Joan’s voice pitched higher with scandalized emphasis. “You will be proper this instant!”
Victoria dissolved into giggles—the first genuine, carefree laughter Joan had heard from her sister in months. The sound was so wonderful, so healing, that Joan couldn’t even maintain her indignation.
She was about to respond when their elderly butler appeared in the doorway, holding a sealed letter.
“Pardon the interruption, Miss Sinclair, but a letter has arrived from London. From your brother.”
Joan’s amusement vanished instantly, replaced by sharp concern. Damian rarely sent letters so close together. The last one had only arrived a few days ago.
“Thank you, Wilson.” Joan took the letter with trembling fingers, noting the hastily scrawled address and the multiple wax seals—as though Damian had wanted to ensure privacy.
Victoria moved to Joan’s side as she broke the seals and unfolded the paper. They read together, Victoria’s hand coming to rest on Joan’s shoulder as their eyes scanned the familiar handwriting.
My dearest sisters,
I hope this letter finds you well and settled. First, I must thank you, Joan, for the delicious cakes you sent. They arrived three days ago and have been a welcome comfort during some rather trying circumstances. Your thoughtfulness never fails to warm my heart.
