He had bounced her on his knee when she was five years old and read to her until she fell asleep. He had taught her to ride. He had, every Christmas Eve since their mother had died, sat beside her bed and read out loud whatever she had asked for because she had always been afraid of the long dark of midwinter, and he had not been able to bear it.
He could lie to her, but he could not liewellto her.
“Joanna…” he sighed.
“Yes?”
“I am asking your friend to marry me this morning because I gave her no other choice last night.”
“Cassian.”
“It is the right thing to do.”
“Cassian, are?—”
“That is what I have to say on the matter. The first part is the duty. The second part is, as I understand it, the disgrace. We shall be at her house in five minutes. So, please try to behave.”
His sister stared at him.
She did the thing she had done since she was four years old where her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. Then she gathered herself, leaned across the carriage, took his hand in her gloved ones, and squeezed it.
“You are an idiot,” she said fondly.
“I am aware.”
“She is going to be terribly difficult about this.”
“I am aware.”
“She is going to make it as bad as possible.”
“I am aware.”
“Cassian.” She squeezed his hand again. “I am very, very pleased.”
He did not know what to do with that.
The carriage drew up at Westbury House, and the footman opened the door. Cassian descended into Bruton Street with his sister behind him, straightened his coat, and went up the front steps to ask for the hand of a woman he had been determined to keep at a distance for two years.
Joanna poked him in the back as the door opened. He realized he had not heard the last thing she had said. She rolled her eyes at him with the long-practiced forbearance of a younger sister.
“I was saying, we just arrived, and we shall make a great deal of trouble, Cassian. I want you to know.”
“Yes, Joanna.”
He stepped inside.
Alice heard the door.
She was in the morning room. Her sister sat on the chaise across from her, embroidering or trying to.
Alice had a book on her lap. She had been stuck on the same page for forty minutes. The page had a water stain on the upper right corner. She had counted the stain three times and the lines of text twice, and she still did not know what was on the page.
Daphne looked up. “Was that the bell?”
“I did not hear.”
“Alice, was that the bell?”