Page 73 of The English Duke
Josephine was going to be wed. Josephine was to marry the Duke of Roth. Josephine had gotten her wish—she was going to be a duchess.
She should turn to her sister now, paint some kind of smile on her face, and say something.
While her heart might beat, her eyes blink, and her lungs work, her capacity for speech had suddenly ceased.
“When is the ceremony to be held?” Mr. Burthren asked.
Good, someone else had asked. She didn’t need to push the words past her numb lips.
“There’s no reason to wait,” Josephine said, smiling brightly. “In a month.”
She was going to be ill.
Jordan glanced at Martha and for a moment their gazes held. She was the one to finally look away, only to see Josephine’s triumphant smile.
A month from now her sister was going to marry Jordan.
The York family consisted of numerous cousins and second cousins. Their side of the family would make up for any lack from Jordan’s. They could fill a church easily. Add in all the inhabitants from the two villages not far from Griffin House and there would be an overflow crowd at the church.
How was she going to endure this?
Josephine had called him lame. She hadn’t seen the man behind the injury. She cared nothing for Jordan’s character or his questioning mind. His curiosity didn’t impress her at all. All she wanted was the title and the house.
Somehow, Josephine had managed to get exactly what she wanted.
Martha was in the parlor, but she sat there unmoving as if turned to marble, a sculpture of a woman in repose. He saw her blink, breathe, look down at her hands folded in her lap, but moments after her grandmother made the announcement, she still hadn’t spoken.
His bride-to-be accepted the well-wishes of his staff and Reese with the sort of noblesse oblige that might’ve amused him under any other circumstance.
He was finding nothing about this situation remotely humorous.
He wanted out of the room, away from his guests, his friend, and his staff. He wanted to be alone where he could occupy his mind on something other than himself and this idiotic situation.
At least he’d had the sense to bed an heiress. Sedgebrook would be saved, but at what cost?
The price was too damn high.
Chapter 21
“Well played, Josephine. How did you manage to convince Jordan to offer for you?”
Josephine held herself still, determined not to let Reese know he’d surprised her. He leaned against the brick gate to the garden, his arms folded, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
“I came to the garden for a little solitude,” she said. “Not to be insulted.”
“Solitude? I would think you’d still be holding court, accepting congratulations from the staff.”
She frowned at him.
Holding court? Hardly. Jordan had left the parlor in indecent haste without a word to her. Martha had stared at her intently until it was uncomfortable. And the staff? Mrs. Browning had been distant, her well-wishes bland and lacking in enthusiasm. Nor had Frederick looked eager to accept her as his mistress.
If they didn’t change their attitude, she would be replacing them shortly.
“I’m not insulting you,” he said. “I admire your nerve. How did you do it? I watched you. You didn’t go to Jordan’s room. How did you convince him that you had?”
“Does it matter?” she asked.
He studied her for a moment, so intently that she grew uncomfortable.
