Page 30 of The English Duke
Neither of them spoke. The duke didn’t offer any explanations for his rudeness. Nor did she attempt to excuse Josephine’s behavior. Sometimes, silence was better than words.
Perhaps she should leave, too, demonstrating a loyalty to Josephine her sister honestly didn’t deserve in this instance. She knew, when she next saw her sister, that Josephine was going to criticize her for all the things she should have said, but didn’t. If she was going to bear the brunt of Josephine’s anger, she might as well do what she wanted first, spend some time with the surprising Duke of Roth.
She was startled to find that her father had written Hamilton more often than she realized. Although she’d read each of the duke’s letters, she’d rarely seen the letters her father had sent him.
Five years of letters were carefully arranged by date. Some letters were dated the same day. Each looked well-read. In addition, the duke had made notes in the margins. A great many times his comments had echoed her own thoughts. Sometimes he questioned things she’d never considered.
She found herself embarrassed about her father’s praise. He wrote about her in almost every letter, but his words weren’t limited to her assistance with his work. No, he even talked about her sense of humor, her penchant for laughing at the most awful jests, her frustration with being unable to make something work the way she wanted. To her horror, she discovered her father had even commented on her disastrous season.
I cannot think that Martha will find these entertainments to her liking. She does not suffer fools gladly, my daughter. She has, instead, a wish to engage people on intellectual pursuits and, in doing so, is often considered strange or odd.
She could only stare at the letter, the paper trembling in her hands just a little. Surely her father hadn’t meant those words to sound so cruel.
Without speaking, the duke pulled the letter from her hands and read it.
“Your feelings are hurt, I take it?” he said. “Foolish of you, if so.”
She glanced to the left and saw that he was studying her intently.
“Why foolish?”
“Your father obviously had the greatest admiration for you, Miss York. He merely meant you were too intelligent for most people. That’s not an insult.”
She blinked at him.
“Surely you’ve thought the same thing yourself,” he said. “Or will you deny it? Have you never found yourself in a group and felt alone?”
“Yes,” she said. “Not because of my great and magnificent intelligence, but because I was different.”
“Ah, but don’t you see? You’re different because of your great and magnificent intelligence. It’s been my experience that most people don’t want to think. They simply wish tobe. But being isn’t enough, don’t you see? We were given our brains—even women—to use them. They’re not simply there to put a hat on and look pretty.”
“You needn’t say it like that. ‘Even women.’”
He only smiled at her, the expression so unexpectedly charming she was silenced.
“He loved you,” he softly said. “And he was proud of you.”
“Thank you,” she said, reaching out and taking the letter back.
She truly did appreciate his kindness, especially since she hadn’t expected it.
“He had the greatest admiration for you, too,” she added. “He always said how logical you were, how you made these leaps of thought that saved him days and weeks of worrying about a problem.”
“I liked him,” he said. “I respected him, but I found myself liking him, too. He had a sense of humor that showed in his writings. He was capable of poking fun at himself, which I found endearing.”
She would not look at him, especially since she was trying, desperately, to blink her tears away. His words brought back her father so strongly he might have been there in the boathouse with them.
After clearing her throat she said, “I’m sorry I said what I did earlier. I shouldn’t have. I know you would have been there if you could. I’m glad he had you for a friend. My father didn’t have many friends. He, too, didn’t suffer fools gladly.”
She glanced at him to find him looking at her. She smiled and he responded in kind.
She really shouldn’t be here alone with the duke. Not when her thoughts weren’t entirely on her father’s work.
Josephine avoided the worst of the brambles on the side of the path. This was a new dress, a garment her mother had sent her from France and she wouldn’t have it ruined. At least she cared about her appearance and her wardrobe.
Gran wouldn’t be pleased to hear how rude Martha had been. Nor had her sister done one thing to make the duke offer her somewhere to sit, or even ask her to remain. No, Martha had been insufferable and Gran would have something to say about her behavior.
What a pity Martha was too old to be sent to her room with only tea and crackers for supper. But if Gran was angry enough, perhaps she could keep Martha from attending the dinner with the duke and his friend. That would mean she’d be alone with two handsome men.
