Page 29 of The English Duke
Once they were in sight of the boathouse, the footman pulled off the path and let them precede him. Martha grabbed the valise and led the way, ignoring Josephine’s complaints about the weeds, the smell of the lake, and the blinding sun.
The door to the boathouse was open, but she knocked on the frame. When she heard the duke speak, she stepped inside, momentarily blinded until her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
“Your Grace?” Josephine called, her voice taking on the velvet tone she used when talking to men.
“Yes?”
Martha could finally see him, seated at the bench on the far side of the boathouse. He’d taken off his jacket again, revealing his white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
She’d never before admired a man’s arms. What was wrong with her?
“I’ve brought my father’s things,” Martha said.
“Our father,” Josephine interjected.
She sent Josephine a quick look, but her sister wasn’t paying any attention. Instead, Josephine had a smile on her face as she looked at the duke.
If he was still simply a naval officer, as he’d once been, would Josephine be so charming?
Pushing that disloyal thought away, she placed the valise she carried onto the workbench, opened it, and withdrew a sheaf of papers.
“These are the last of my father’s notes,” she said.
He nodded, but didn’t reach for the notes.
“What a lovely place you’ve made this,” Josephine said.
Martha glanced at her sister in disbelief.
The whole of the interior of the boathouse was shadowed. There were no flowers or other embellishments about the structure. The only thing “lovely” about the boathouse was its spaciousness and the lure of the bright afternoon in the glint of the sun off the lake.
Josephine, however, wasn’t finished.
“Not only are you the Duke of Roth, but you’re so clever, Your Grace.”
The duke turned on his stool and regarded Josephine with some interest. Next, he would say something about her appearance, how she made the boathouse brighter with her beauty. Then he’d smile at her and the two of them would be encased in a special bubble of mutual attraction.
Meanwhile, she’d feel unwanted and invisible.
“Not as clever as your father, Miss York,” he said. Surprisingly, he looked over at Martha. “I have your father’s latest letters,” he said, pulling a box forward. “Would it be any inconvenience for you to look through them?”
“You want to see if there’s anything he told you that I didn’t list in his notes?”
He nodded.
Actually, it was a wise idea. Her father meant to include ideas in his daily notes but sometimes forgot. She often had to ask him to fill in the gaps between days or even processes.
She took the box from him and looked around for a place to sit. He gestured to a stool not far away. She grabbed it with one hand, dragging it below a clear spot on the workbench.
“Well, I can certainly see you didn’t plan on visitors,” Josephine said on a trilling laugh. “Wherever shall I sit?”
Any of Josephine’s admirers would have immediately stood and offered his stool to her. The fact that the duke blatantly ignored her sister was not only startling, but it evidently infuriated Josephine.
“Shall I just stand here, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice losing its seductive timbre and carrying a note of irritation.
“I’m afraid you’re right, Miss York,” he said, not looking in Josephine’s direction. “I’ve not planned on visitors. Perhaps dinner would be a better place to converse.”
Martha didn’t turn when Josephine flounced out of the boathouse a few minutes later. She’d seen her sister’s tantrums often enough to be able to picture Josephine’s expression, the clenched fists on her skirts, and her stomping progress back to the house.
