Page 123 of The English Duke
Both Gran and Amy glanced at her from time to time, their looks strangely compassionate. Did they know what she was thinking? Could they sense the level of her misery?
She was going to horrify the villagers, not to mention their friends from London.
When the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the church, both Gran and Amy looked wide-eyed at the crowd of spectators waiting to greet them. Martha only sighed inwardly. This debacle was evidently going to be amply witnessed. The stories would continue for years.
She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and waited until Gran exited the carriage first. Amy startled her by reaching across and placing her hand on Martha’s arm.
“I just wanted to say how lovely you look today, Miss Martha.”
“Thank you, Amy,” she said, grateful for the maid’s kindness.
Her hair had been unmanageable this morning and she knew it had already escaped its careful styling. The dress she wore was new and horribly uncomfortable, requiring the corset to be tighter. The bustle was heavy, pulling at her waist and back.
She was much more comfortable in the hated lavender dress she’d worn at Sedgebrook.
Gran greeted numerous people as they made their way up the steps of the church. Amy was there at her side, in case she needed some assistance, with Martha following behind.
When she entered the church she found it, too, filled with people. Congregants were even along the outside aisles.
Most of the staff at Griffin House had been released to attend the ceremony. Since the reception was not going to be held until two hours after the wedding, they had more than enough time to return home and make the final preparations.
Would Gran want to continue with the reception? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps her grandmother would want to retreat to Griffin House and barricade the gates, remaining in isolation until the gossip died down.
She was about to shame the entire family. That day at Sedgebrook she should have stood, denounced Josephine’s lie, and admitted to her own behavior, taking responsibility for it.
She should have, but she hadn’t. Now she had to make this right.
They took their place in the York pew, the first one on the right side, facing the altar. Behind them, the congregation continued to talk until the choir began. The little boys in their starched round collars looked and sang like angels.
She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.
Five minutes passed, then five more. The choir was replaced by organ music, the selections no doubt chosen by Josephine and designed to give an imposing feeling to the ceremony. She found them more suited to a funeral and wished the choir would begin singing again.
She hoped Gran would forgive her. If not, the lecture she was sure to receive would be something along the lines of:“Perhaps it’s a good thing your father wasn’t alive to witness your behavior, Martha.”Or:“Matthew would be rolling in his grave, child. Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”
Love? Was it reason enough? Honor? Her own sense of decency and propriety? Respect? For Jordan and herself. Revenge? The thought stopped her.
No, she didn’t feel vengeful, but she was angry. Not only about Josephine’s manipulation but her callous disregard for anyone else’s feelings. No one was more important to Josephine than Josephine.
Martha had never been miserable in her life, not until going to Sedgebrook. Then, it was as if someone peeled away part of her she’d never known existed. A shield, a blanket, a way of keeping her from looking at the world as it truly was. Or maybe her father’s death had changed her. She’d been left bereft and grieving, unable to connect with anyone and finding friendship in a man’s letters and perhaps a bit of imagination as well. No, not imagination. She’d created a picture of Jordan from his own words and he’d turned out to be exactly as she hoped.
What had Gran said? That she was always someone’s something: her father’s daughter, Marie’s stepdaughter, Gran’s granddaughter. Josephine’s sister.
Jordan’s lover.
When was she simply going to be herself because of herself? When was she going to be whole and separate, asking more of the world than she had in the past? At what point did she refuse what she’d been given and demand a greater share of happiness?
When? Right now, this exact moment.
The choir began singing again, only to fade off when the double doors opened and Jordan entered the church.
Every single person turned his head and watched Jordan’s approach. He must hate being the center of attention, especially since he was still dependent on his walking stick.
A few days ago Josephine had informed her of the details of the ceremony. She wouldn’t walk down the aisle. She would have no attendants. She and Jordan would emerge from the door beside the altar and present themselves to the congregation before turning to face the minister who would begin to officiate.
She hadn’t known at the time why Josephine had cut out everyone from the ceremony, but now she did. Josephine didn’t consider herself a member of the York family. Instead, she saw herself as a stray dog that had somehow wandered into their kennel. That stray dog had become an heiress thanks to the generosity of her father, a man she rebuffed on her mother’s word.
Perhaps Josephine had made another change to the ceremony and would follow Jordan down the aisle, the better to make an entrance.
