Page 25 of Unending Joy
Joy dropped onto the edge of the bed. “What do you think will happen, besides Westwood returning with a thundercloud stitched between his brows?”
Maeve hesitated, folding her hands in her lap. “They say you are becoming unmanageable.”
That caught Joy’s attention. “Theysay that?”
“One dowager in particular,” Maeve admitted, her tone dropping. “She said,’If she were mine, I would marry her off as quickly as possible—let her husband take her in hand before she kicks over the traces completely.’”
Joy gave a snort of laughter that startled the kittens. “And here I thought marriage was meant to be a romantic union of souls. Not the acquisition of a scolded filly.”
Maeve did not laugh.
Joy’s smile slipped. “You agree with her?”
“No. But I do worry for you. You make it so easy for people to misunderstand you. I daresay there are men who would find your high spirits refreshing—but they are few, and none of them are dukes.”
“I do notwanta duke,” Joy retorted. “I want a fast horse and a well-sharpened wit and perhaps a man who does not find either alarming.”
“Then you must wait a long while,” Maeve murmured, “or else resign yourself to being talked about forever.”
Joy turned her face away, blinking at the bookshelf. The Keats lay open, abandoned. “Do you know,” she said softly, “when I was younger, I used to wish I were Hope.”
Maeve looked surprised. “Hope?”
“She’s gentle. Lovely. Everyone always esteemed her. She never frightened the vicar’s wife with questions about sea battles or asked to shoot the pistol at the fête. I was forever gettingsmudges on my gloves and knots in my hair, and Lady Halbury would say, ‘Oh, Joy, why can you not be more like your sisters?’”
Maeve gave a small smile. “I never had a sister.”
Joy sighed, sinking deeper into the mattress. “But I do not wish it now. I should be sobored. And besides, someone has to keep Freddy Cunningham on his toes.”
Maeve arched a brow. “Is that what this is?”
Joy did not answer immediately. The room was quiet but for the kittens’ steady purring.
“Not in the marrying sort of way. Just…he has never tried to change me. He grumbles, certainly, but he never says I ought to be more demure or less daring. He is maddening at times, but he lets me bemyself.”
“And supposing he does not always?” Maeve asked. “Just suppose, one day, he begins to think like the dowagers?”
“Then I shall race him again,” Joy said, “and put him back in his place.”
Maeve chuckled. “Good heavens, I do not doubt it. What of the dashing Colonel St. John?”
“He did not seem concerned by my antics.” Could she have finally found someone to accept her as she was?
“Perhaps he is worth more consideration,” Maeve agreed.
“If he ever comes near again after today.”
They sat together a while longer, not speaking, just listening to the rustle of the garden through the window and the occasional bump of a paw on the floorboards.
“I shall go and change before dinner,” Maeve said at last, rising with a sigh.
“I suppose I must attempt something with my hair,” Joy said. “Though I doubt it shall obey me.”
“Try a ribbon,” Maeve offered, pausing at the door. “It makes you look less like a governess and more like a wild heroine in a Gothic novel.”
Joy laughed. “That is the strangest advice I have ever received.”
When Maeve had gone, she drew the spectacles from her pocket and placed them gently on her nose once more. “If Maeve only knew. Governess indeed.”
