Page 44 of The English Duke
Martha, your grandmother is lying.
I also appreciate that you’re not wearing scent, other than what I suspect is your soap. A faint rose scent, if I’m not mistaken, but nothing else. Unlike your sister, who seems to drench herself in a perfume better worn by a mature woman of the world.
He wished he danced. He wished he could dance. He had the strangest wish to stand, take her hand, hum some waltz he’d heard, and whirl her around the boathouse. He wanted to see her smile, watch her cheeks blossom with color.
A sign of his incipient insanity. He should banish her from his presence.
He did no such thing.
“They’ve been together for almost the whole day?” Susan York asked her maid.
Amy nodded. “They seem to be quite companionable, Mrs. York. Of course, I heard raised voices, too.”
“Oh, dear. You mean Martha was shouting?”
“Not just her, Mrs. York. It was the duke, too.”
“Oh.”
Susan wondered what to make of this development.
In the great reckoning to come—which wasn’t, unfortunately, all that far off—she would be called upon to explain her actions. Namely, her numerous prevarications (her nature flinched at the wordlies), her sloth in remaining in bed playing cards with her maid, and eating all sorts of delicious biscuits (she really must get the recipes from Sedgebrook’s cook).
There was a reason for her actions, but she doubted the Almighty would excuse her easily. Wasn’t there some parable about doing the right thing for the wrong reason? She wasn’t certain, but surely she would be forgiven.
Being at Sedgebrook was fortuitous; she couldn’t overlook the opportunity she’d been given. How many times had she heard her darling son talk about the Duke of Roth?
Yes, she’d been guilty of planning. Yes, she’d taken the future into her hands. Yes, she’d no doubt abused the Duke of Roth’s hospitality.
She’d arranged their meeting, just as Matthew had wanted. He’d often told her how alike Martha and the duke were.
“I am not the type to matchmake, Mother, but they have the same nature, the same kind of mind.”
She’d promised him, on his deathbed, to somehow arrange a meeting. When the moment had come, she’d acted on it. And, from what Amy had learned—bless the woman, she could ferret out anyone’s secrets—the duke and Martha were faring well.
Would it do any good to tell Martha about her father’s thoughts?
“They’d suit, Mother. Both of them are determined, focused, and have a mind for mechanics. Jordan is as reserved as Martha and, I think, as lonely.”
Had the duke known she was healthy as a horse? Susan suspected the doctor had, even though she’d acted faint and moaned more than once during his examination. She was not given to theatrics normally, but it seemed easy enough to emulate her dear mother-in-law. The poor woman had declared herself ill with so many different ailments that when she succumbed to heart problems it had been a true shock.
The only thing she hadn’t done was plan Martha’s wardrobe. The unfortunate lavender dress didn’t bring out her delightful coloring. But, that could be construed as an asset as well. If the duke found himself entranced with Martha, she’d know it wasn’t for her attire but despite it.
Should she hint at the fact that Martha was an heiress? No, she’d leave that little tidbit for later, just in case the duke needed some urging.
All she needed now was to give Martha and the duke a little time. And somehow curb Josephine’s curiosity and more acquisitive tendencies. The girl coveted. That was the word for it. Despite never having to worry about money she sometimes wanted what other people had. Heaven forbid someone has a prettier dress or a more accomplished horse.
Unfortunately, from what Amy said, Sedgebrook had captured her attention. Perhaps she should move up her plans for Josephine’s season. That would certainly keep her granddaughter occupied with thoughts of a new wardrobe and appropriate jewels.
As far as Martha, perhaps they should remain here a few more days than she’d originally scheduled. She could always relapse, feel faint again.
For now, she was content to allow nature to take its course.
She smiled and reached for her book and another biscuit.
Chapter 13
Martha slid from the stool and walked to where her father’s boxes and crates were stacked.
