“What happened?” Tom asked as he trotted up and climbed down too. Tim did the same.
“You boys stay here,” he said. “I should check the rubble.”
“Should you? It might be dangerous.”
“I’ll be careful,” Jacob replied.
He didn’t explain that he would be hunting for charred remains, although it wasn’t likely he could learn much from a visual survey. He’d have to send some men with axes and shovels to pull down the structure and dig through it.
There were no buckets lying around, so there was no indication that anyone had fought the fire. Then again, she lived so far from any neighbors. Who would have noticed the situation and pitched in to help?
He never should have left her in the isolated house! He should have insisted she move to a safer location.
The ruins were cold, so the fire had raged days earlier. He snooped as much as he dared, but there was no evidence they’d perished. He’d have to investigate more thoroughly to be certain though.
He walked over to where Tim and Tom were observing his every step.
“Was there any sign of Miss James or her niece?” Tom asked. “They weren’t . . . well . . . they weren’t trapped in it, were they?”
“No. It appears they escaped.”
“That’s a blessing, isn’t it?” Tim said. “We should think so.”
Tom added, “Perhaps they’re in the village, staying with friends.”
Did Joanna have friends in the village? Jacob had no idea, but he nodded. “Perhaps so.”
He studied the mess, feeling bereft and disoriented. He’d pinned so many hopes on her. He’d been anxious to implement shocking, marvelous changes, and they all included her. She had to be all right. She and Clara both. He refused to consider any other conclusion.
“Let’s head off,” he said. “I have to get home.”
“What about Miss James and her niece?”
“There might be news at the manor, and we’ll find them. I have no doubt.”
Libby kept meandering over to glance out the front window. Then Caro would join her. Mr. Periwinkle was almost to Barrett, and he’d sent a quick rider with the thrilling report that Joanna was with him. They would arrive any minute.
Apparently, Joanna had suffered some difficulties, and she had an orphaned niece and an injured dog with her. She would need some advice, some strong defenders, and some tender, loving care, which Libby would provide in spades.
“Would you sit down?” her fiancé, Luke, asked. “You’re nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.”
“You always say that to me,” she responded.
“Well, it’s always true. You won’t make their carriage wheels turn any faster by staring down the road.”
Caro’s fiancé, Caleb, added, “In fact—if you constantly peek outside—it will make the wheels turn slower. It’s that old adage about how a watched cake never bakes.”
“You two are too obnoxious to abide,” Libby told them. “Why don’t you slither away and engage in some manly pursuits—like drinking or cards? Leave the women to focus on what’s important.”
Caro came up to stand next to her, and she slipped her hand into Libby’s. They held tight, gazing down the lane. Then . . . ?
The coach lumbered out of the trees.
“It’s them,” Caro murmured, and Libby practically shouted, “They’re here!”
The news raced through the manor with lightning speed. The entire house had been waiting for Joanna, and the sense of excitement was too potent to describe.
Libby and Caro ran off together, hands still linked, and they dashed to the driveway. Behind them, a crowd filtered out: Luke and Caleb, her half-sister, Penny, who was planning the wedding, her cousin and Penny’s handsome husband, Simon Falcon, the butler, Mr. Hobbs, and the other servants.
The vehicle approached in a dreamy sort of snail’s pace, and as it rattled to a halt, there was a moment of breathless anticipation, where Time itself seemed to cease its ticking.
In a normal world, they’d have politely tarried while a footman set the step and greeted the occupants, but Libby had never been a patient person.
She hurried over, dragging Caro with her, and before an outrider could jump down, she opened the door herself and peered inside. “Joanna James! Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. For twenty years, I’ve been looking!”
Joanna—small of stature and pretty as ever—leaned out and tumbled into Libby’s arms. Libby caught her, Caro too, and the three Lost Girls of the Caribbean began to cry.
“I’ve had a great life.”
At hearing Joanna declare it, Caro and Libby smiled and teared up again. They’d been crying off and on for hours and couldn’t stop.
They were in Libby’s bedroom. Joanna was stretched out on the bed, having been bathed, coddled, and dressed in clean clothes. Lord Barrett had locked them in, so they could talk without pause or interruption.
Libby’s story was known by everyone in the kingdom. When she’d been returned to England, Harry Carstairs had blustered forward and claimed to be her uncle. The navy had handed her over without investigating. She’d been a talented, flamboyant child, and he’d trained her for the stage.
She was England’s darling, and people adored her. In recent months, due to Mr. Periwinkle’s newspaper articles, it had been revealed that she was Henrietta Pendleton too, so she was Lord Roland’s daughter. In a few days, she would wed Luke and become his countess.
Her life had played out as if she were a cursed princess trapped in a tower, and the romantic ending—with her marrying Lord Barrett—had pushed her fame to stunning heights.
Caro had been given to her cruel grandfather who’d tormented her. Once he’d passed away, her uncle had assumed control of the family, and though he’d acted kindly on the surface, he’d been just as cruel—and very corrupt too.
Before Caro’s father had perished in the shipwreck, he’d explored in Africa with Sir Sidney Sinclair and had wound up owner of a diamond mine. The money had been dumped into a trust fund that Caro’s male relatives had hidden from her so they could spend her fortune
