Page 72 of The English Duke
Martha? The older one? Oh, the spinster girl. Oh yes, Martha. You say she did what? How droll. You wouldn’t think it of her, as plain as she is. Studious, though, isn’t she? A bluestocking, I hear. She works onweapons,can you imagine? But to go to the duke’s bed? What did she think to accomplish by her actions? Other than shaming herself, of course. Did she actually think the duke would offer for her? Well, she isn’t that smart after all, is she?
Hopefully, none of them would realize that she’d lost her mind, that she’d been so taken by Jordan’s looks, by his manner, by the way he spoke she’d lost all sense around him. Or that she’d been so filled with desire—a word heretofore meaning absolutely nothing to her—that she hadn’t given any thought to her reputation, or any other ramifications, for that matter.
She deserved every single bit of gossip anyone might say about her.
She knew when the duke entered the room, because Josephine whipped out a handkerchief and began dabbing at the corners of her eyes. She uttered a choked sob, patted her chest with one hand, then sighed loudly.
“If you would put the tray there, Sarah,” he said.
The maid who followed him put the tray on the table between the two settees with a second maid replicating her actions. Both trays were laden with teapots and plates filled with delicacies both savory and sweet.
Evidently, refreshments were to be served at the scene of her humiliation.
Josephine stretched out one trembling hand. “Shall I pour?” she asked, her voice sweet, demure, and faint.
The duke glanced at her. “If you wish.”
“Don’t you think you should wait for Gran?” Martha asked.
Josephine looked toward the duke, smiled tremulously, and said, “It’s up to you, Jordan. Would you like a cup now?”
“I’m content to wait on your grandmother, Josephine.”
He walked to the desk, turned one of the chairs in front of it toward them, and sat. He couldn’t be any farther from them unless he left the room.
She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t even look in his direction. Perhaps she should just scrawl a confession on a note admitting to everything and leave. She hardly needed to be here.
Nor was she in the mood to witness Josephine’s theatrics.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” Gran said.
Martha turned to see her grandmother standing in the doorway, looking healthy, hale, and as autocratic as a duchess. Her gaze touched on Jordan, then Josephine, and finally lit on Martha.
She nodded, as if coming to some kind of decision.
Martha straightened her shoulders, placed her hands flat on her knees, and stared at the tea set. They had a similar set at home that they rarely used since silver didn’t hold the heat well. But their service didn’t have a crest on it, this one belonging to the Hamiltons.
She wasn’t certain the Yorks could trace their lineage back as far as the duke’s family could.
Why on earth was she reflecting on tea sets and lineage? Because she’d rather think about anything but what Gran was about to say. She’d have to be courageous, admit to her behavior, and somehow endure the chastisement of those present.
When Mr. Burthren entered the room, followed by both Mrs. Browning and Frederick, she was shocked. Amy was the last to arrive, taking up a place beside the door. Evidently, she was going to be publicly excoriated. Martha took a deep breath and readied herself.
Gran squared her shoulders and looked at all of them one by one.
“I have something to tell you,” her grandmother finally said. She let a moment elapse before she continued. “It is my pleasure to announce that the Duke of Roth and my granddaughter, Josephine, are to be married.”
Martha had never before considered the act of blinking. What an absolutely marvelous cooperation of brain and eyes. Her eyelids closed and then opened again on their own. Her heart beat and she breathed the same way, too. Each separate function was performed without her conscious thought. A good thing, because she was suddenly incapable of it.
Her heart beat, another automatic function. She would have swallowed, but there seemed to be an impediment in her throat.
There was nothing wrong with her hearing, however, or her sight. She watched as Mr. Burthren crossed the room to shake Jordan’s hand. Amy proffered her congratulations as did the housekeeper and the majordomo, each of them stiffly proper.
She wanted to ask for clarification or explanation. Nothing made any sense whatsoever.
What had her sister done? How had she gotten the duke to offer for her? What had happened in the hours between Martha’s returning from Jordan’s room and this meeting?
“We shall leave tomorrow morning, return to Griffin House, and prepare for the wedding,” her grandmother was saying.
