Lord Tarrant, the reason I mind so very much is that you will become her brother.”
Joanna’s tea had gone cold. It had developed an unpleasant oily scum on the top.
“Stop it,” she said. “I do not intend to marry Quentin Mountfitchet, and I cannot be forced into it.”
Richard slammed his fist onto the arm of his chair.
“Damnation, Joanna! In law you are Father’s chattel. He may dispose of you as he wills. How the devil do you think you can stand up to him?”
She knew her color was high and she was furious that her voice trembled at all.
“Not easily, but I shall. How you men love to order the lives of females! What do you think this is about? You sit there, both of you, like avenging angels, disputing my fate as if it were yours to dispose of. You make the assumption that I am with Quentin because I am dazzled by his address, and charmed into silliness by the winks and kisses of a libertine. Am I not allowed a mind of my own, and plans, and ideas for the future that I want?”
Richard stood and took her by the shoulders. “Dear God, Joanna, and you thought that this was the way to get it? You have given Father no option, dear girl.”
Lord Tarrant leaned back in his chair and gazed up at Richard through narrowed lashes.
“You have not asked her, Lenwood, what future she wants so very badly.” He glanced over at Joanna. “Why don’t you tell us, Lady Joanna? If you are not eloping and not in love with my sodden brother, then why have you run away with him?”
Joanna gazed steadily up at Richard. “I needed an escort, that’s all. I knew there was no chance to escape by myself. When I met Quentin at the house party at Fenton Stacey, he offered to help me. So I took him up on it. He’s a fast driver and in possession of a carriage, which I am not.”
“And so he took my father’s curricle,” Tarrant said dryly. “And thus alerted the household.”
Richard dropped his hands and turned away. He seemed austere, the control back in place, his features set in lines of stone.
“If it was so urgent, you might have asked me,” he said.
“And you would have taken me?”
“That might have depended on where you were going,” her brother replied.
Joanna laid her fingers on his sleeve. “Richard, you and Helena have your own lives. You aren’t responsible for me. I’ve made up my own mind. I shan’t marry Quentin Mountfitchet, and I don’t care if all this has put me beyond the pale.” She waved one hand around the room, casually including the unconscious figure of Quentin, breathing softly on the chaise longue. “I could not stay at Miss Able’s Academy another minute. If you must know, I’m going to Harefell Hall.”
“For God’s sake!” Richard said on a sudden exhalation. “Joanna!”
“Would you mind very much,” Tarrant interrupted calmly, “telling us what the devil you expect to find at Harefell, Lady Joanna?”
She turned to face him. “A group of artists, of course. A lady, Mrs. Barton-Smith, told me about it at Fenton Stacey. I intend to paint—not silly watercolors suitable for ladies, but real paintings. The owner of Harefell Hall allows any artist to live and work there, ladies as well as gentlemen, with complete artistic freedom.”
“Dear God!” Shock clear on his face, Richard spun away.
“You didn’t know, Lenwood?” Tarrant asked. “You have so much concern for your sister, yet you had no idea that she harbors a longing to be a painter?” He turned to Joanna. She gazed at him in fury. “Rather a bold ambition for a lady—not the painting, but the desire to join the infamous community at Harefell.”
“Why?” she said. “What do you know about it?”
He stood up and stretched, then continued with a deadly edge of humor to his subtle voice.
“I have had occasion to visit there myself. I enjoyed it. Yet I don’t believe much painting or sculpture gets accomplished. In fact, I’m fairly sure that it doesn’t. But they do hold splendid,
Joanna’s tea had gone cold. It had developed an unpleasant oily scum on the top.
“Stop it,” she said. “I do not intend to marry Quentin Mountfitchet, and I cannot be forced into it.”
Richard slammed his fist onto the arm of his chair.
“Damnation, Joanna! In law you are Father’s chattel. He may dispose of you as he wills. How the devil do you think you can stand up to him?”
She knew her color was high and she was furious that her voice trembled at all.
“Not easily, but I shall. How you men love to order the lives of females! What do you think this is about? You sit there, both of you, like avenging angels, disputing my fate as if it were yours to dispose of. You make the assumption that I am with Quentin because I am dazzled by his address, and charmed into silliness by the winks and kisses of a libertine. Am I not allowed a mind of my own, and plans, and ideas for the future that I want?”
Richard stood and took her by the shoulders. “Dear God, Joanna, and you thought that this was the way to get it? You have given Father no option, dear girl.”
Lord Tarrant leaned back in his chair and gazed up at Richard through narrowed lashes.
“You have not asked her, Lenwood, what future she wants so very badly.” He glanced over at Joanna. “Why don’t you tell us, Lady Joanna? If you are not eloping and not in love with my sodden brother, then why have you run away with him?”
Joanna gazed steadily up at Richard. “I needed an escort, that’s all. I knew there was no chance to escape by myself. When I met Quentin at the house party at Fenton Stacey, he offered to help me. So I took him up on it. He’s a fast driver and in possession of a carriage, which I am not.”
“And so he took my father’s curricle,” Tarrant said dryly. “And thus alerted the household.”
Richard dropped his hands and turned away. He seemed austere, the control back in place, his features set in lines of stone.
“If it was so urgent, you might have asked me,” he said.
“And you would have taken me?”
“That might have depended on where you were going,” her brother replied.
Joanna laid her fingers on his sleeve. “Richard, you and Helena have your own lives. You aren’t responsible for me. I’ve made up my own mind. I shan’t marry Quentin Mountfitchet, and I don’t care if all this has put me beyond the pale.” She waved one hand around the room, casually including the unconscious figure of Quentin, breathing softly on the chaise longue. “I could not stay at Miss Able’s Academy another minute. If you must know, I’m going to Harefell Hall.”
“For God’s sake!” Richard said on a sudden exhalation. “Joanna!”
“Would you mind very much,” Tarrant interrupted calmly, “telling us what the devil you expect to find at Harefell, Lady Joanna?”
She turned to face him. “A group of artists, of course. A lady, Mrs. Barton-Smith, told me about it at Fenton Stacey. I intend to paint—not silly watercolors suitable for ladies, but real paintings. The owner of Harefell Hall allows any artist to live and work there, ladies as well as gentlemen, with complete artistic freedom.”
“Dear God!” Shock clear on his face, Richard spun away.
“You didn’t know, Lenwood?” Tarrant asked. “You have so much concern for your sister, yet you had no idea that she harbors a longing to be a painter?” He turned to Joanna. She gazed at him in fury. “Rather a bold ambition for a lady—not the painting, but the desire to join the infamous community at Harefell.”
“Why?” she said. “What do you know about it?”
He stood up and stretched, then continued with a deadly edge of humor to his subtle voice.
“I have had occasion to visit there myself. I enjoyed it. Yet I don’t believe much painting or sculpture gets accomplished. In fact, I’m fairly sure that it doesn’t. But they do hold splendid,
Similar Books
