Page 18

H aving been summoned to the drawing room the next morning, Joy was instilled with dread.

The sunbeams poured through the windows and illuminated the dust motes that swirled in the air.

The chamber itself, with its warm rose damask and tall windows, exuded cosiness despite its elegance.

Sunlight fell upon the plush carpet in glowing rectangles, where the mischievous kittens rolled and pounced on a feather Joy dangled from a string.

It was then that her sisters descended in unison—a formidable threesome of determined, loving, and anxious presence, determined to salvage her good name.

Joy had expected them to dispatch Lord Westwood to lecture her, but instead they had arrived themselves.

Faith, Hope, and Patience each scooped up a kitten at once—thereby offsetting the gravity of their business.

At least the Dowager had not joined in the scold.

“Joy, you cannot simply hide,” Faith declared, seating herself on the settee with Lord Orville, the grey tabby, purring in her arms. Her voice carried a blend of anxious affection and motherly authority. “We cannot let another day pass without setting all to rights.”

Hiding had never occurred to Joy, but she instantly thought it a marvellous idea. “I expected a proper scolding from Westwood.”

Hope settled next to Faith. “Westwood went to scold Mr. Cunningham. I think you have the better bargain.”

Joy’s eyes widened. “He went to scold Freddy?” she repeated, picturing Westwood’s stern brow as he delivered a dressing-down to her dearest friend. She failed to see how it solved her current predicament. Freddy’s reputation would not be tarnished by their race.

“Indeed,” Faith replied, “Along with Rotham, Montford, and Stuart, but they can remedy only so much. They cannot confront every last whisper on your behalf.”

Joy sighed. “They ought not confront any of them. It was my misadventure that started all this.” She felt a pang of regret over her impulsive race through the park.

At that moment, Hope’s kitten wriggled free of her arms and bounded across the carpet to chase a stray thread.

“Are you truly keeping all these kittens, Joy?” Patience asked, glancing from the purring bundle in her lap to the others on the floor.

“They are darling now, but soon they shall grow and make more kittens.”

Reluctantly, Joy admitted, “I suppose I ought to find them new families, but it is difficult when they are so dear.” She reached down to ruffle Camilla’s tiny ears, eliciting an extra-loud purr.

Faith seized upon this gesture to shift back to the matter at hand.

“Your exuberance for life has been misinterpreted with regard to certain social niceties, misleading the ton to think you a hoyden. We cannot rely on the gentlemen alone to smooth over any misunderstandings. We are here now to decide how to repair your reputation.”

“But I am a hoyden,” Joy protested.

Hope ignored her remark. “You must attend teas and at-homes for the nonce. If you show them that you can be perfectly demure and contrite, then talk will fade.”

Joy frowned, stroking her chosen kitten. “No one will believe me meek,” she pointed out quietly. “Why can we not simply retire to the country and remain there? I have no need of marriage. I will devote myself to being the doting auntie to all your children.”

Her sisters exchanged glances at her plea, then Faith gently shook her head. “That is an option we would prefer to avoid. You know well enough that eventually you will wish for your own family. Beyond that, you deserve better than to hide away.”

“Besides,” Hope added, “we cannot have the ton thinking we are burying you in the country because of some irreparable scandal. If we do that, your reputation will only grow. You must face Society with confidence.”

Patience regarded Joy with a measure of sympathy. “We shall attend every gathering by your side. Whenever you are introduced or greet some formidable dowager, we shall be there to steer the conversation and nudge you if you stray from the path of sweet composure.”

Joy gave a snort, laced with exasperation. Sweet composure, indeed. “You speak as though I am a wayward child. But truly, if I stand there nodding and uttering polite words, will that not seem most unnatural?”

Joy studied her sisters, feeling resigned.

They meant well, of course, and she was keen to restore peace to the Whitford name, but she wondered if it was really worth all the fuss.

“Very well,” she relented, “but promise me that if we do all this—attend every tea and soiree—only to find the situation hopeless, we might withdraw to the country.”

Faith and Hope exchanged another of their knowing smiles. “We promise,” Hope said, and Faith nodded in concurrence. Joy suspected it was but an easy vow to soothe her, though perhaps that would suffice to steady her nerves.

“We already have a list,” Hope said briskly.

“Lady Bellingham’s tea on Tuesday, the Rutherford at-home on Wednesday, Lady Minerva’s soiree on Thursday, and the Tarlton garden party next Saturday.

Each one has its own measure of importance.

You must attend all with a composed countenance and unaffected demeanour. ”

Joy listened to this parade of engagements with mounting trepidation. “This is impossible!”

Faith waved her protest aside. “All you need to do is smile, curtsy prettily, and exchange a few gracious remarks. Meanwhile, we must do something about your madcap dancing.”

Joy murmured an apology, feeling heat climb her cheeks at the remembrance of how badly she had danced.

It had not always been so, but she was reluctant to confess about her sight.

Yet if not now, then when? Recalling Freddy’s response encouraged her.

She cleared her throat. “There is something else I must confess,” she said.

“Part of the trouble is that since my accident, my eyes fail me at times, particularly when I exert myself. The world can become hazy, faces and details slip away. I think—I fear—I need spectacles.”

Her sisters’ surprise was immediate. Faith looked most taken aback. “Spectacles? You never mentioned such difficulties before.”

“I thought it would pass,” Joy answered, twisting her fingers together.

“At times, in bright daylight, I see tolerably well. Then at assemblies, beneath candlelight, everything becomes a blur. I tried harder, hoping to hide it, but that only led to more blunders. I did not realize how badly I might misjudge distances until…” She paused, remembering how she had trod on Lady Abernathy’s gown in mid-dance.

Hope’s expression was filled with compassion. “Poor dear Joy, you must remedy this at once. There is no shame in spectacles if your vision requires them.”

Faith, on the other hand, wore a thoughtful frown. “Of course, if you need them, you must have them. Without clear sight, you risk further mishaps.”

Patience, firmly practical, agreed. “It will be far worse for gossip if you continue stumbling around the dance floor. If spectacles will steady your steps, you should have them. We can engage a dancing master for private instruction so that you can grow accustomed to wearing them, if necessary.”

Joy felt a surge of mingled relief and dismay. She had always dreaded appearing in such unfashionable contraptions, fearing that the ton would find more fodder for mockery of her. But the thought of further humiliations at dances was worse still. “You do not think it will cause more talk?”

“Mayhap, if it makes you appear more studious, it will soften the hoydenish image.” Hope was ever optimistic.

Joy did not mention that the doctor had said her sight might fail further. This was enough for now. For Joy and her sisters.

Patience sat back, still cradling her purring kitten.

“No one will expect you to transform entirely, Joy. They simply need to see that you can present yourself in a more measured manner. Especially since we fear your last scrape left the impression that you delight in making a spectacle of yourself. Let them see your warmth, not your recklessness.”

Their conversation might have continued indefinitely, but it was at that moment that their butler entered. Hartley bore a look of studied neutrality. “Miss Joy,” he said, “there is a delivery for you?—”

Before another word could pass his lips, two footmen entered. carrying a most enormous bouquet. The arrangement nearly eclipsed the silver vase beneath it, a riot of colour—roses, lilies, violets—so lush and fragrant that the kittens paused in their play to inspect the intrusion.

The footmen placed the vase on the table and withdrew, leaving Hartley to present Joy with a small folded note.

A hush descended upon the sisters, as though the universe itself paused to witness this unfolding. Joy opened the note, her pulse quickening with curiosity.

Miss Whitford,

You are a breath of fresh air! The most capital time I have had in years!

—St. John

The boldness of the script struck her first, followed by the vivid memory of that gentleman’s rakish grin. Her sisters pressed close to catch sight of the note as well, gasping at his boldness.

“She will never reform if he encourages her so,” Faith muttered.

“He takes no accountability, I see.” Hope frowned.

“Perhaps he desires a hoyden for a wife,” Patience said hopefully.

Joy glanced at the vivid bouquet, inhaling the sweet perfume of the roses, lilies, and violets.

The sense of possibility stirred her heart.

Perhaps it was not so dreadful: the notion that she might salvage her reputation, learn to manage her unwieldy vision, and receive the occasional flattering gesture from a gentleman.

She brushed her fingers over the note once more. Then she tucked the missive away safely, away from curious eyes.