“No.” Damian shook his head firmly. “Some feelings don’t change. You have loved Victoria and me since we were children. That love has never wavered, not even when we gave you every reason to resent us for the burdens we placed upon you.”
Joan tried to pull her hands free, but Damian held firm.
“This wedding is for my own benefit,” she said, forcing steel into her voice. “I wish to be a countess. I desire the status and security that comes with such a position. You think me selfless, but perhaps I am merely practical. Perhaps I am even cruel.”
Please believe me, she thought desperately.Please think me selfish and ambitious so you stop trying to save me.
Damian looked at her for a long moment. Then he released her hands and stood, his expression unutterably sad.
“You have given so much to us,” he said quietly, “that you no longer recognize when it is time to keep something for yourself.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with unshed tears. “Mama and Papa would be heartbroken to see you do this.”
“You will keep our parents out of this discussion.”
But Damian reached forward and pulled her into a fierce embrace, crushing her elaborate gown and disturbing her carefully arranged hair. Joan felt his chest heave with suppressed sobs.
“This time,” he whispered against her hair, “I beg you, choose yourself. Please, Joan. Choose yourself.”
Joan closed her eyes and inhaled the familiar scent of her brother, leather and ink and the tobacco he’d taken to smoking when anxious. She wanted to return the embrace. Wanted to cling to him and agree that yes, they should run. They should flee this house and this city and never look back.
But she couldn’t. If she showed any weakness now, Damian would act on it. Would try to save her. And Julian would make them all pay.
So she simply stood there, passive and unresponsive in her brother’s arms, until he finally released her.
He stepped back and wiped his eyes quickly, trying to compose himself.
“How is Victoria?” Joan asked, careful to keep her voice casual despite the worry gnawing at her insides.
“She is well. Physically, at least. Though drowning in guilt.”
As I knew she would be,Joan thought.My gentle, tender-hearted Victoria.
The maid returned, bobbing a quick curtsy. She touched up Joan’s rouge where Damian’s embrace had disturbed it, then stepped back once more.
Joan looked at her brother in the mirror. “This marriage is my choice. It is for my own advancement and benefit. Do you understand?”
Damian held her gaze for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“The guests are assembled,” he said, his voice carefully neutral now. “The carriage awaits outside.”
“I will only enter the carriage that Julian has sent for me,” Joan said. “Not our own.”
“Very well.” Damian paused at the door. “May I… may I walk you down the aisle?”
Despite everything, despite the lies and the cold indifference she’d forced herself to show, Joan felt tears prick her eyes at the question.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I would like that very much.”
Damian nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Joan turned back to the mirror. The woman staring back at her looked like a stranger, pale and perfect and utterly lifeless. A beautiful doll dressed for a wedding she didn’t want to a man she despised.
The maid appeared at her shoulder. “The carriage is ready, Miss. Are you prepared?”
Joan looked at her reflection one final time, at the elaborate gown, the carefully arranged hair, the rouge that gave false color to her bloodless cheeks.
This is the last moment, she thought. The last moment I belong to myself. The last moment I am simply Joan Sinclair.
In an hour, she would be the Countess of Aldridge. Julian’s wife. Bound to him for the rest of her life.
