Page 14 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
In truth, she did not speak to her housekeeper, Mrs. Sawyer, very much. They exchanged pleasantries in passing, but they understood their positions. Johanna was the lady of the house, and Mrs. Sawyer was the servant. Johanna had tried to make it a friendlier relationship over the years, but she had never been adept at making acquaintances. Even now, she was not quite sure how she had managed to gain Nora as a treasured friend.
“I think I will take my leave now.” Johanna held tight to the letter.
Nora pushed her gently toward the doors. “Go. Sleep. Restore yourself. And if there’s so much as a single nasty word in that letter, you let me know so I can go to Carlton and box his ears, as I should’ve done this morning.”
Johanna chuckled. “I will.”
“Shall I expect you tomorrow for luncheon? I thought we could dine together, and then come here, if you are willing?”
Johanna nodded. “That would be most pleasant. I shall see you then, and I shall tell you everything that he has said.”
“Excellent.” Nora walked Johanna out of the orphanage, and down the steps into the courtyard where the children were playing. Some of the girls lifted their dolls, crafted from a clothes peg, some strands of wool, and some scraps of old clothes, and pretended to wave their fabric arms in farewell. Meanwhile, the boys got into a line, as they did every day, bracing to run after the carriage until they could not see it anymore.
“Goodbye, darlings!” Johanna waved in return, feeling that contented warmth return to her chest.
Being around such wonderful children, who were sweet-natured and generous and loving, despite their difficult start in life, never failed to bring her peace. Though, on occasion, she found unbidden tears running down her cheeks, brought on by the empty ache of her womb and her painfully childless arms.
You would have been seven now…
Pushing away the memory, for it was one she rarely allowed into her mind, she clambered into the waiting carriage and called for the driver to take her home.
As soon as she was at a safe distance from the orphanage, and the racing boys had ceased their pursuit, she turned her attention to the letter in her hands. Could it truly be an apology? If it was, would she have to offer forgiveness in return? She did not mind doing so, if it meant there could be some semblance of peace between her and Mark.
Fumbling, she opened up the letter and began to read… but it was no apology. Indeed, it sounded rather more like an accusation.
Dear Mrs. Carlton,
I hope this letter reaches you, for there is something we must discuss. I have accidentally come into the possession of a letter that was intended for you. It was addressed in poor penmanship, so I naturally assumed it was mine. Please visit me at my address at your earliest convenience so we may discuss the matter further. I will be at my townhouse all day.
Sincerely,
Lord Sinclair
She noted the lack of “Yours Sincerely,” and felt her irritation come back with a vengeance. Even in writing, he could not be courteous toward her. And though she knew it was difficult to decipher tone and emotion in a letter, at times, there was no mistaking the curtness of this.
But what matter was he referring to? She realized it must be something serious, if he would deign to invite her to his abode. More to the point, how had one of her letters ended up in his hands? She knew she would have to see him to find out why, but one worrying thought lingered in her mind—this smelled incredibly fishy.
Chapter Eight
After returning from his impulsive visit to see Nora, Mark had not been able to settle. He had paced, he had sat, he had tried to read, he had tried to write, he had sipped half a glass of brandy in the hopes it might help him sleep, he had walked in his garden, and he had repeated the cycle until he thought he might be going mad.
Did she not get my message? Is she refusing to come? I suppose I would not want to speak with me, either, after the way we parted at the ball.
He groaned and reached for his snifter of brandy, trying to sift through the memories of that evening. Some were hazy, thanks to the quantity of champagne he had consumed, but the worst parts were branded into his mind.
I… think I almost kissed her. Did I? No… I would not have done such a thing. Would I?
He contemplated calling out for Chalke, to have him send for Kenneth and Liam. If ever he had needed his dear friends, it was now. They would know how to calm him. If nothing else, they could find a nice sanitorium for him, perhaps in Switzerland, where he could try once again to forget about Johanna.
The brandy slipped easily down his throat, warming his belly. It was not a precise medicine, but it had yet to fail him. Although, it could also be held responsible for many of the transgressions he had made over the years.
A knock came at the drawing room door, jolting him out of his anxious stupor. “Come in.”
Chalke poked his head into the drawing room. “Mrs. Carlton is here to see you, My Lord. Should I bring her in here?” He eyed the brandy glass on the table. “Would you like me to bring some tea for you both?”
“Uh… yes, thank you.” Mark grabbed the brandy glass, finished off the dregs, and hid the evidence down the side of the armchair. In truth, he was quite certain he could not have endured this imminent encounter if he were sober.
A few moments later, Johanna walked in. She wore a surprisingly simple cotton gown of pale yellow, with curly strands of her flaxen hair framing her beautiful face. Mark cursed inwardly. Why did she have to look so pretty whenever he saw her? It would have been far easier for him, and his pride, if she had grown ugly or haggard over the last seven years.
