Page 119 of The English Duke
It was her turn to smile. “Because I told him.”
She looked down at Josephine.
Martha had always tolerated Josephine’s occasionally rude behavior. She’d made excuses for her sister and had endured her complete disregard of the wishes of others. She’d gone behind Josephine to try to repair hurt feelings and broken relationships. She’d reached her limit. Josephine’s actions were like a poisonous liquid spilling out over the top of her cup.
“I’ve known you since you were born. I protected you. I looked out for you. I read to you. When you were little, I endured your following me everywhere. I loved you. Now it doesn’t matter if we have the same blood or not. I’ll never think of you as my sister again.”
Turning, she walked out of the room.
“I do not have a good feeling about this, Amy,” Susan said, sighing. “I’m afraid a mistake is about to happen yet there is nothing I can do to stop it.”
Amy didn’t answer her, merely continued to help with her new hat. It was a pretty piece of confection and one flattering her aging face, but not even a new hat could cheer her up at this moment.
“Are you feeling well, ma’am?”
Susan glanced at her. “I don’t suppose the word isill, exactly. Disheartened, probably. Aghast, most certainly. Both my granddaughters have proven to be harlots. Last night, alone, the traffic through the halls was enough to rival a bordello.”
“No one knows, ma’am. Other than the few of us. No one else knows why the duke offered for Josephine. What’s to prevent you from calling off the wedding?”
“I’m afraid it’s not my purview,” Susan said. “That’s for the duke to do. From what I understand about the man, he has a surfeit of honor.”
Amy stepped back, surveying her results.
“Would he sacrifice himself, ma’am, for his honor?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it, Amy? What matters more to him? His honor or his happiness?”
“Does he feel the same about Miss Martha, do you think, as she feels about him?”
“Another excellent question and one for which I don’t have an answer. I think only His Grace knows for sure.”
Unfortunately, the next few hours would tell the tale. Would Jordan Hamilton choose his position as the Duke of Roth over anything else? Did he love Martha? Was the emotion strong enough to overcome what he would have to face if he called a halt to the wedding at this late hour?
She didn’t want to cause a scandal. She certainly didn’t want to endure one. However, a few months of whispers and outright conjecture were much better than a lifetime of regrets.
If she’d been brave enough and strong enough, she would’ve defied her own parents. She would’ve run off with Matthew and the rest of her life wouldn’t have been plagued with what-ifs and if-onlys.
She’d been happy enough, so she had no complaints, but should a person be given only so much joy and no more? She had her family and they had, for the most part, been an unending source of happiness. Her son had been the best child any mother could ask for. His first wife had been an absolute treasure. Martha was a constant joy. If Marie and Josephine brought discord into her life, it was a small price to pay for the rest.
But this, this union between Josephine and Jordan was wrong. Based on a lie, a falsehood and a deliberate deception, it cried out to be corrected.
Chapter 34
Griffin House was built of a red brick that probably looked almost black in the rain. The stables were, to his surprise, built of stone that looked almost white in the morning sun. The style was Palladian, however, to match the house.
Jordan hesitated at the entrance, then pushed himself forward to the carriage staging area. He had to pass a line of stalls, some of which had interested occupants peering out to see who passed. Or, more likely, checking to see if he’d come armed with some sort of treat.
Instead of searching out Reese’s carriage, Jordan stopped at the stablemaster’s office, a small square space filled with papers and all matter of equipage either ready to be mended or newly purchased.
Unlike the stablemaster at Sedgebrook, Mr. Haversham probably had no budget. Nor a need to mend tack until the leather fell apart in the stableboy’s hands. The man wasn’t in his office, but he wasn’t surprised. He located him in the yard to the right of the main stable building.
Haversham was inspecting a coach, no doubt the one to deliver the bride to the church. Two stableboys stood at the ready, each armed with a white cloth to buff out any spots on the shiny black lacquer.
As he approached, the stablemaster turned and addressed him.
“Your Grace,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to retrieve Miss York’s torpedo ship,” he said.
