Page 3 of The English Duke
Each time she had to tell him the news that there hadn’t been any response. All she could do was hold his trembling hand in hers and will him to be stronger.
Wishing for something doesn’t make it come about; she’d learned that lesson in those terrible days. She’d been powerless to prevent his gradual fading away until the last breath had almost been a relief.
“Very well.”
“Does that mean we’re going?” Josephine asked.
“Yes,” she said, the word uttered reluctantly.
“Did you lose it?” Unspoken was the wordagain.
“Yes, I lost it, Reese,” Jordan said.
There, a fair attempt at an equitable tone. No one needed to know he was furious.
Another failure. Just one more to add to the stack.
The damn thing had sunk like a rock to the bottom of the lake. Just like the other two.
“Shall we call it a day and have a whiskey?”
He glanced over at his friend.
Reese Burthren had unexpectedly descended on him two weeks ago and didn’t look to be in a hurry to leave. Normally, Jordan wouldn’t object to his friend’s presence. In fact, it had been enjoyable having another person to talk to at Sedgebrook. The footmen always looked a bit uncomfortable when he talked about gyroscopes and fin angles. Lately, however, Reese had begun to watch his experiments and offer criticisms about histoy—Reese’s word.
“Be my guest,” he said now. “I’ll join you when I’m finished here.”
Reese didn’t budge from his stance at the end of the dock, which meant he was going to stay there as long as Jordan did.
Turning, he forced a smile to his face and addressed Reese. “But not necessarily today,” he added. “We’ll have that whiskey.”
Jordan made his way to where his majordomo, Frederick, stood.
The man was blessed with a stubborn nature the equal of his own coupled with an English bulldog’s tenacity. Because of Frederick, no one bothered him. No visitors interrupted his study. No solicitation of any sort ever reached him. No staff problems hounded him. Nor did any shop owners, desirous of their payments. For that alone Frederick was worth his not inconsiderable annual salary.
Frederick had been with the family for most of his life, beginning his apprenticeship as an eager footman. What Frederick had lost in height over the years he’d gained in girth. The man was a living example of John Bull, stout, middle-aged, affable, and a pragmatist. His face was almost always florid, his hair graying but kept rigorously in place by a concoction the housekeeper had devised for him.
Frederick was one of the few people among the staff who knew how dire his financial situation was, yet Jordan knew he would never divulge the information to anyone.
“Ask for volunteers among the footmen,” he told Frederick. “Tell them there will be a reward to the one who locates the ship.”
Frederick nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
He knew he’d get enough volunteers, footmen eager to get out of polishing the silver. Not that there was much left of it. His father had managed to keep Sedgebrook solvent by selling a great many portable items.
He, himself, was getting rid of the horses his brother had worked to acquire. One sale a month was enough to keep the staff.
He stared out at the lake, intent on the ripples the wind was creating, anything but think about money at the moment.
“What do you think went wrong?” Reese asked.
“Something in the guidance system. I need to review my calculations.”
One of Reese’s eyebrows winged upward. “Will it help?”
“In other words, do I know what the hell I’m doing?”
“Not quite,” Reese said, smiling.
