Chapter 2

The New Girl

It took four men two hours to finally pry the carriage door open and retrieve the victim. Mitchell Leery, the patriarch of the Leery home, had led the rescue mission himself. Well, this was at least the account Joey received some hours later from the housekeeper, Emma Jones, as they took their dinner in the kitchen.

After her return to ring the alarm, Joey hadn't been allowed to return to the scene. Instead, she paced for hours in the drawing-room, until Mrs. Leery had finally had enough and sent her upstairs to sort through the guest-list for the masquerade.

Joey and Emma usually took their dinner in the kitchen with the butler, Charlie Todd. Tonight, Charlie had been dispatched to town to find a group of men to remove the mangled wreck of the carriage from the side of the road. As a result, it was just the two women in the gloomy kitchen, eating by candlelight at a small wooden table.

"The lass is about Master Dawson's age." Emma had been fully briefed on the day's events and was delighted to share the information with Joey over steaming bowls of fish stew. "She was talkin' at first but she fainted after we brought 'er to the Manor."

Emma was from Scotland originally and spoke with a thick accent. The way she told the story, it almost sounded like a fantasy novel rather than real life.

"The doctor says she's in shock but strong, 'e believes she'll wake up soon. He didn't even bleed 'er. Said there wasn't no need." Emma stood up and dusted off her skirts. Joey knew she was preparing for her nightly cup of tea.

"What about the coachman?" Joey asked. She still was shaken by the image of the pale figure unmoving in the bushes.

"Aye!" Emma darkened, "he's in much worse shape. Master Pacey took him into town, 'e's lost so much blood the doctor said. I believe they sent for a surgeon from Lewes to come tend to 'im."

Joey shook her head, "that's awful. Still, at least he's alive. Do they know what happened?"

"Seems like they just ran off the road," Emma shrugged. "Whatever 'appened, ye and Master Pacey were very brave today, everyone's been saying so."

"No, I didn't do anything," Joey muttered. "Pacey did everything," she noted with begrudging admiration. "It's funny, I never thought he could take anything seriously until today."

"Master Pacey is a good lad," Emma smiled fondly. "He's got a good heart."

Joey almost choked on her stew. "What?"

"Ye two are always pecking at each other like two chickens." Emma returned with a steaming teapot and poured herself a tall mug of herbal tea. "That's why ye haven't noticed."

"He's always picked at me. Since we were in leading-strings."

"Aye, I remember." But she didn't seem to share Joey's annoyance at the memory. "'ave you given any thought to applying for the governess position in Worthing?"

Joey used her spoon to prod at a particularly tough piece of potato. Suddenly her appetite was lost. Even before she'd turned eighteen last week, Emma had been like the devil in her ear, planting thinly veiled hints that the Leery hospitality, on which she'd relied since early childhood, wouldn't last forever.

Despite what Capeside thought, Joey wasn't an adopted daughter - not formally. The Leerys had paid for her education, her clothing and gave her room and board since she was almost a babe, but that was as far as their charity went. When she turned fifteen, Joey became little more than a ladies' maid to Abigail Leery. She slept in the servants' quarters, took her meals with the butler and housekeeper, and ran errands for the family at their request. Still, a part of her knew, that had it not been for her closeness to Dawson, she would have been turned out on her ears the day after she'd turned eighteen. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful, of course, she was, eternally so. The world had little patience for orphans, as she had learned through her sister's fate.

Elizabeth Marie Potter was nine years old when their parents died. While Joey had been too young to recall their gruesome fates, Elizabeth remembered it all, far too clearly. Her mind had collapsed under the pressure of it all, or so Mrs. Leery had explained some years later when Joey asked. She was eventually sent to a children's home in a nearby town. Bessie Michelle, as she was called, wrote to Joey for years, even before her younger sister could read. It was she who sent Joey their mother's necklace on her thirteenth birthday. The letters were often horror stories of bullies and beatings ironically drafted in charcoal and childish hand. Then one day, the letters stopped coming. Joey learned sometime afterward, through an eagle eared school mate called Abigail Morgan, that Bessie had run away to France to marry the illegitimate mixed-race son of a plantation owner and a black woman. No-one had any proof, but that never stopped anyone from believing it. Since that day, the townsfolk held a sort of bated anticipation around Joey as they waited to see exactly what scandal she would doubtlessly become intertwined.

"Not yet," she sighed. She didn't know why she was putting it off. Emma was right, she couldn't stay with the Leerys forever. Still, there was a part of her that hoped.

"Do it," Emma said for the hundredth time. "If you don't do it, then I will, lass. It's a good position with good wages with a good family."

Joey nodded, she knew that. But, Worthing was nearly a day away by coach and once she was gone, she was certain everyone would forget about her. One person, in particular.

Emma studied her face in the dim light. "I ken that ye've harbored some ideas about yourself and Master Dawson."

Joey's heart thumped in her chest at the accusation. Was she so obvious that everyone knew?

"But this isn't one of those fairy stories that 'e writes." Emma held her wrist in her callused hand. "'e's going to marry a fine lady from a fine family. She won't be as kind or sweet or beautiful as you, but it won't matter. She will be 'is kind of people."

"I am his kind of people," Joey said without thinking. These were her darkest thoughts, the ideas she kept buried in her throat. "My mother was an heiress and my father was a successful businessman. We had a lovely home and servants and…"

"And what does it matter?" Emma snapped, suddenly annoyed. "All of that died the day yer ma and pa did."

Tears pricked the backs of Joey's eyes. Emma was right, of course. Of course.

Seeing the tears, Emma stood up. "You go on to bed, lass. Ye've had a long day," she said kindly. "I'll clean up down here."

It took all of Joey's effort to obey.


Since the accident, the focus of the Leery house had shifted completely from preparing for the annual masquerade ball to tending to the mysterious accident victim. Servants were now directed to avoid that level of the house completely, all except for Emma, who was personally tasked with ensuring the lady's care. It was Emma who told Joey that the lady's name was Jennifer and that she was from London.

To Joey's surprise and eventual dismay, no-one seemed more attentive than Dawson, who seemed more than content to take on the role of a nurse.

She cornered him one morning after dressing Mrs. Leery for the day. He'd been on his way to the guest apartment, of course.

"How is she doing, Dawson?" Joey asked, hoping that her voice didn't sound as jealous as she felt.

"Much better," Dawson replied distractedly. He refused to meet Joey's gaze but did his best to slip past her.

"Do you … mind if I come to see her as well?"

Dawson froze in his tracks, she could see in his face that he did, in fact, mind very much. "Of course, I am sure that Miss Liddell would like that very much."

Joey gave him a warm smile. Before he could change his mind, she raced to his side and hustled along the corridor to the guest room.

Dawson tapped his knuckles softly on the door, only a second passed before he hurriedly pushed inside.

Joey followed in silence.

The Miss Liddell in question was seated comfortably in bed, propped up by at least a dozen pillows. The bedclothes were white, as was her dressing down, and with the morning light streaming into the room, it gave the sickroom a very Delacroix-like effect.

Joey's stomach dropped. Miss Liddell, with her halo of golden blonde hair and cherubic face, looked like an angel, even a few days after a life-threatening experience.

Dawson bowed stiffly, first to the figure on the bed and then to Emma, who was folding strips of cloth in the corner. Emma raised her eyebrows at Joey, who just shrugged in reply.

"I hope you're doing much better today," Dawson said, grinning like a maniac.

"I am, Mr. Leery. Please tell your parents how deeply grateful I am and will always be for their hospitality."

Dawson waved aside Miss Liddell's platitudes. From his pocket, he procured a small, red leather-bound book. Joey recognized it as a small book of poems that he counted among his least favorite possessions. He edged closer to her bedside. "Yesterday, when you spoke of your love for poetry, it made me recall my love for the written verse."

Joey couldn't stop herself. She snorted.

Three pairs of eyes turned to her. Joey smiled timidly and dropped into a short curtsy.

Dawson recovered quickly, "Miss Liddell, let me introduce Miss Josephine Potter. She is one of my oldest friends."

Miss Liddell sat up a bit straighter. "Of course!" She smiled with genuine warmth, "Emma has told me all about your heroism. You and Mr. Witter were the ones who found us."

Emma never looked up from her chores.

Joey felt her face redden, "it was mostly Pacey … er … Mr. Witter."

"Still, I am endlessly in your debt."

Joey nodded stiffly. She wasn't used to such praise and somehow wished it would stop.

"May I ask…what of my coachman, Henry?"

"Oh," Dawson perked up, happy that the attention could return to him once more. "He's with the Witters. I am sure he will be fine." He clasped her hands in his, for comfort, of course.

Miss Liddell smiled weakly. "We were headed to Weymouth to see my family before the accident," she said. "We must have gotten lost. Please, tell Mr. Witter to keep me updated on his health."

Joey was reluctantly impressed. She was surprised that a society girl like Jennifer Liddell would care so deeply for the health of her coachman.

"Have you also sent word to my family to the address I gave you?"

"Yes, we sent a letter with the doctor," Dawson assured her. "We should hear back very soon."

Miss Liddell smiled weakly. The smile didn't seem to reach her eyes.

"We should let you rest," Joey said after a moment's silence.

"Yes," Miss Liddell looked gratefully at Joey, "I do feel a bit light-headed this morning."

Dawson looked extremely concerned, "should I call for the doctor?"

"No, no," the blonde replied sweetly, "I just need to rest my eyes for a few moments. Perhaps you two can visit me later this afternoon?"

Dawson seemed reassured and agreed instantly. "I'll leave the book here, in case you need some further entertainment."

"Thank you, Dawson. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Potter."

Joey smiled tightly before leaving the room. She couldn't help feel disappointed. She'd wanted so desperately to dislike Miss Liddell, but somehow, it seemed impossible.


Pacey came by the Leery's three days after the accident. This might have been a new record for him, who had never kept away from the Leery house for anything longer than twenty-four hours. Pacey normally spent his days hunting, riding, and fishing, but this week, he'd been running errands and fetching doctors and medicines from the market in town. He almost felt useful, for once.

Even more unusual was the fact that he'd been invited around by his friend Dawson. From what he had gleaned from the missive, they were all going to the seashore for a picnic with the newest member of the Leery household. The young accident victim by the name of Jennifer Liddell.

He'd ridden over on his horse, Douglas, named for his brother. It was a running joke in his family, even if he was the only person laughing. His carriage privileges had been temporarily suspended by his father, who hadn't been pleased by the bloodied state of his conveyance after Pacey brought home the injured coachman earlier this week. He'd been surprised that his family had allowed the coachman to take up space in one of their spare rooms, where the poor man was currently being allowed to recuperate. The Witters weren't known for their kindness. They were known for the exact opposite.

He sauntered into the entryway as he'd done a million times before, handing over his coat and hat to the butler, Charlie. Already in the foyer was Joey, who was naturally, frowning at the staircase. She was wearing a plain grey dress today and looked all of fifteen years old.

"You know, if you keep your face like that, it will stay that way, and then no-one will want you," he said by way of greeting.

Her head jerked up suddenly, almost as if she'd been in a trance. Strange, he thought, she was day-dreaming a lot lately.

"Great. Then we can be a matching set."

Pacey smiled despite himself. "Did you miss me?"

"Like I'd miss having consumption."

Joey was tall for a girl. He sometimes teased her about it because he knew she hated how tall she was, and it was always a pleasure to spar with Josephine Potter. Today, however, it didn't seem so terrible that the top of her head reached his chin - he was well over six feet and often felt like he was shouting down at the ladies in his presence.

"I wanted to tell you something," Joey said after a few moments of silence. She seemed to be struggling internally with whatever it was. "I wanted to say that you did a good job after the accident. You probably saved their lives."

To say Pacey was shocked was an understatement. His face must have conveyed his surprise because he noticed that his mouth was hanging open like a codfish.

"You don't have to look so shocked."

"I want that in writing," he grinned. "I want that in writing so the next time you attack me after reading the thesaurus, I can rest in absolute comfort knowing that Potter paid me a compliment of the highest order."

She was frowning again. He'd always had that impact on her. Truthfully, Joey only smiled around him if Dawson was present.

"Forget it, I take it back."

"It's too late. It is engraved upon my heart," he clasped his hands to his chest theatrically.

"Oh, save it for the play, Leopold," she slapped his arm lightly.

"Yes, Marguerite," he joked, but didn't stop smiling. "So, what is this picnic business all about?"

Joey sighed and started chewing on her lower lip. She was distressed. "Well, the girl from the carriage. She's almost fully recovered. Or so the doctor says."

"Uh-huh," Pacey prompted.

"Dawson is…" she was wringing her hands now. Understanding dawned on him.

"Wait, you aren't trying to tell me that our boy, Dawson, has finally started taking an interest in the opposite sex?" Pacey laughed.

Joey stared hopelessly at him. Oh, now he knew it was true. Joey was miserable.

"This is going to be a great day!" He declared. His voice was so loud that it echoed through the marble foyer.

"Can you be more idiotic?"

"I always can."

"Don't you see what's happening? How much longer is she going to be here? She'll leave and break his heart!"

Pacey considered this. "You're probably right, and then he'll funnel his feelings into another God-awful play and force us to act out the parts," he shuddered.

Joey narrowed her eyes at him, "you're supposed to be his friend."

"I am his friend, Potter," he shot back. "In case you've forgotten, you're also supposed to be his friend."

"I am!" Joey's voice rose in indignation. He watched as blotches of pink appeared on her cheeks and her chest (a common symptom when he was around). This time, his gaze lingered a bit too long on her décolletage. "You know that Dawson is sensitive and I am just trying to keep him from getting hurt."

"And if you run off his suitors in the process, well so much the better."

Now, it was Joey's turn to stand with her mouth open like a fish. "No! You have completely missed the point."

"Definitely," Pacey nodded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I missed the point."

"I loathe you."

"What are you two fighting about now?" Both Pacey and Joey looked up to see Dawson standing at the top of the staircase. He was dressed in what Pacey strongly suspected were new breeches, a plaid waistcoat, and a new black frock coat. Pacey squinted at his friend. Was that a walking stick, as well? He looked like a dandy!

Anxiety was coming off of Joey in waves.

"You're looking dapper, brother!" Pacey greeted his friend, to which Dawson responded with a wide smile.

"You don't think it is too much?" Dawson asked with an embarrassed smile. For years, Dawson's idea of fashion had been strictly bohemian and based heavily on a romantic idea of a disheveled Byron.

"No, never," Pacey said. "Doesn't he look sharp, Potter?"

Joey looked mutinous. Finally, she replied, "you look very nice, Dawson."

Dawson released a long exhale, grinning like a man who had just won a fortune at the gambling tables. "I need you two to be on your best behavior today." He was whispering, but threateningly. "Miss Liddell has been through a very difficult last few days and I want today to be a perfect distraction for her."

"Absolutely," Pacey agreed, while Joey nodded once solemnly.

Dawson disappeared then, clearly on his way to collect his paramour.

"If he gets his heartbroken, Pacey," Joey hissed, "I hope you take full responsibility."

Pacey nearly groaned, "he's a grown man, Potter. He's nearly nineteen. What? Did you think you and him would play house forever?"

He could see from the pained look in her eyes that was exactly what she thought. The knowledge annoyed him more than he cared to admit.

Dawson arrived then, clearing his throat loudly. "May I present, Miss Jennifer Liddell." He gestured wildly to a petite woman at his shoulder.

Pacey took immediate notice. So this is why Joey was so anxious. Jennifer Liddell was beautiful. Furthermore, she was everything Joey was not. She was petite and soft, with plump lips, rosy cheeks, and thick blonde curls. Pacey had to admit, she and Dawson made quite the handsome couple. He'd seen her a few days ago after the accident, but today, clad in a high-waisted flowing white gown and topped off with a neat flowery hat — it was a completely different person. The only symptom of the crash was a white bandage tenderly wrapped around her right wrist.

"Hello," she smiled at them.

"We've already met her, Dawson," Joey snapped.

Pacey grinned like a maniac. "Enchantée, mademoiselle," he gave a flamboyant bow for good measure, to which Jennifer giggled, Joey groaned and Dawson growled. "May I have the unparalleled privilege of escorting you to the carriage?" Pacey continued, already making his way up the staircase.

Dawson was by Jennifer's elbow in a heartbeat, "no!"

Pacey didn't seem particularly put out by the reprimand, "pardon?" He continued in his bastard French.

"I will take her to the carriage, Pacey," Dawson said tightly.

"Of course, of course," Pacey did another silly bow.

"He doesn't want her to get infested with your fleas, Pacey," Joey said loudly.

"And yet, he'll let her get infested by your foul attitude. Now, which is worse?" Pacey tapped a finger to his chin.

"You know what, Pacey?" Joey said. Out of the corner of his eye, Pacey saw Charlie, the butler raise his eyes heavenward. "You are the most pig-headed, arrogant, obnoxious human being that God ever had the misfortune to create!"

"Well!" Pacey roared back, "I take that as a compliment from the tallest, most condescending, miserable and tedious woman in all of Christendom!"

Their trade would have continued for hours had it not been interrupted by a soft giggle, almost like the tinkling of bells. "Dawson," Jennifer smiled, "your friends are certainly amusing."

Dawson, who had been near tears just seconds before, grasped onto this like a drowning man would a raft. "They're a riot." He laughed stiffly. "They're rehearsing for my next play, remember, as I told you."

Pacey and Joey exchanged confused glances.

"They're supposed to be lovers but we are working out some of the … kinks."

"Well, I think they are very convincing," Jennifer smiled serenely as she descended the stairs by Dawson's side. "Mr. Witter," she said once standing before them, "I want to sincerely thank you for your part in my rescue."

She had a lovely voice made more charming by a perfect London accent, Pacey thought, and he enjoyed talking to her, if only because it so obviously bothered Dawson. "For you, I would do it again," he reached for her hands and kissed her fingertips lightly, "and again."

Dawson's face was beet red by the time the carriage was brought around to the front of the house. While the ladies settled inside, Dawson pulled Pacey away and snapped, "what is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Stop … flirting with her!"

"Dawson, I am merely showing her a distracting time, as you asked."

"That is not what I asked!"

"Dawson, I am …"

"You know what, Pacey?" Dawson snapped suddenly. "Don't come to the picnic! Go home!" And with that, he bolted inside the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

It took Pacey a full five minutes after seeing the carriage speed off towards the gardens obscured by a plume of dust, to realize that his friend truly wasn't coming back.


Pacey hadn't been to the house in over a week. Not that Joey could blame him, as based on Dawson's level of infatuation, she suspected Pacey would be challenged to a duel if he came within fifty paces of the Leery mansion or Jennifer Liddell.

"Are we still doing the play, then?" Joey asked one afternoon. She'd found Dawson outside of the drawing-room where he recently spent his days faithfully entertaining Miss Liddell and not much else.

"Why wouldn't we be doing the play?" He asked distractedly.

Sometimes Dawson was as dense as bricks. "Because you and Pacey are fighting and he's the lead actor."

"Oh, right."

"So, how are we going to do your two-person play with one person?" Joey asked.

"We will scrap the play," Dawson stated. "It isn't a massive loss. You and Pacey were terrible. No offense."

Joey brightened for a moment but quickly realized the implications of his decision. "But, how will you get your sponsor?"

Dawson brushed away her concerns with a shake of his head. "There will be other masquerades." He paused before licking his lips, "you know, Joey," Dawson spoke slowly, so much so that she could see the wheels in his mind turning, "I'm beginning to see why you dislike him so much."

Joey scoffed, "Who? Pacey? I'm surprised. I've been extolling his terrible character to you since we were eight and you've never listened."

"Did you see how he behaved yesterday at the picnic?"

"He didn't come to the picnic, Dawson, remember? You banished him."

"I did not banish him!" Dawson became defensive, "but you saw how inappropriate he was being with Miss Liddell. She nearly died, for Heaven's sake and he was flirting with her as though she were a common tart."

Joey shrugged, "you know that he didn't mean anything by it, Dawson. Pacey is just thick-skulled, he never takes anything seriously. Didn't he get suspended from Eton for dressing as Queen Victoria in the school's pantomime?" But she couldn't ignore the feeling of dread that had seemingly settled between them.

There was more to this and she knew it. To be blunt, Dawson had transformed over the last few days into a lovesick pup. He spent all his waking hours trailing after Miss Liddell like a third leg and the nights writing truly awful poems to read to her when the sun came up. Seeing him like this was like a punch to her stomach. She was constantly reeling from the shock of it. The worst part was that he didn't even seem to notice.

"You're defending him?"

"Oh, come off it, Dawson. It isn't like Miss Liddell is your fiancée."

He sighed dreamily, "Joey, do you remember when we were children and we dreamed of falling in love and getting married?"

Her spirits plummeted. The memories of her and Dawson pretending to be Lord and Lady of the manor were practically sacred to her. They meant nothing to him.

"Yes. Why?"

He said wistfully, "I have found her, Jo. I have found my soulmate."

"Who?"

Dawson's thick eyebrows inched together. She could tell he was annoyed with her. "Jennifer," he mumbled as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Dawson, you have known her for a week. Not even a full week because she was out of it for the first few days."

"It doesn't matter." He was in his full romantic mood now. "The heart always knows."

Joey swallowed thickly. "What are you planning?"

Dawson smiled, "I'm going to speak to my parents tonight. I plan to ask for her hand."

His smile faded when he saw her expression. She knew what he saw, the mask she held in place had fallen away. "Dawson," she whispered, "you don't know her."

"I know enough," he still seemed perturbed by her stricken expression but it wasn't enough to deter him. "She's beautiful and kind and spirited and smart."

Joey bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying out.

"She's a lot like you, Jo," he pressed on, "if you only gave her a chance you'd see that and like her too."

Joey nodded. Her heart was racing, "a lot like me?" She shivered despite the August heat. Her world was falling apart.

A few seconds passed before Joey could blurt out, "I'm leaving."

Dawson looked perplexed, "what do you mean?"

"There's a position," she lied, "a governess position in Worthing that I am going to take."

Dawson seemed surprised at first, and she discovered that she was praying that he'd do something - one grand declaration of his love and beg for her to stay. Just like they'd always said, just like they had always pretended it would be in their nursery games. Instead, he did the opposite.

"That's wonderful, Jo. I'm happy for you. I know you've wanted your freedom and now you'll have it."

Tears were clogging her throat now, they made her voice heavy and her words tumbled over each other, "y-you don't think that it is too far away?"

"What? No!" He said. "It is just a few hours away, and you can always write. I'll admit, I don't know what I'll do without you in my plays." Dawson paused for only half a second, "actually, Jennifer could take your place. I'm sure Pacey would … never mind."

Joey was speechless. In all her imaginings of how this conversation would go, she'd never dreamed of this. Somewhere behind her, there were footsteps from one of the dozens of hired servants brought in to help prepare for tomorrow's musicale. The steady thump shook her out of her reverie. This was it.

"I have to get ready for dinner, Jo. We can talk tomorrow." Before rushing off, he leaned forward and brushed a light kiss on her cheek. The spot burned like it had been branded. Inside, her heart screamed from the pain.


Author: Thanks for the patience on this chapter. I have literally been trying to upload it for weeks but had some real technical issues with the platform. thanks for the support so far! Hope you enjoy.