Page 82 of The English Duke
She turned away when the two of them began discussing plans they would make as soon as they reached Griffin House. She didn’t want to hear about the wedding preparations. She didn’t even want to think of the coming ceremony.
The journey home would be miserable. Being around Josephine was uncomfortable especially since she wanted to shout at her sister, demand an explanation even as she knew nothing could explain away the viciousness of Josephine’s actions.
Every mile they traveled away from Sedgebrook, she would feel worse. She hadn’t known him long enough to yearn for him. She didn’t know him well enough to feel this kind of grief. Yet it felt as if she had. Five years of letters, sometimes two a week, had given her an insight into the man, probably more than he wanted.
He’d been her friend, too, although he’d never known it. She and her father had talked about him often, wondering what he’d think about a certain modification to their design. She’d marveled at his instant understanding of complex concepts.
At least she had copies of her father’s notes. She’d already replicated his vessel, calling her ship theGoldfish. She hadn’t given up trying to understand the final test that had so overjoyed her father.
She would do that—finish her father’s work independent of Jordan Hamilton. Yet in a way, working each day on the same project would make her feel close to him.
The carriage was brought around and she waited until Josephine and Gran had settled before she entered the vehicle.
She studiously ignored Josephine, which was difficult since her sister hadn’t stopped prattling about the wedding arrangements.
She pressed her hand to her waist. Would anything happen from that night? Was she going to have a child? She almost wished she would, and wasn’t that a shocking thought?
Would it be enough to stop this hideous wedding?
Jordan stood at the head of the twin staircases leading to Sedgebrook’s iron front door.
The York carriage had been brought around to the front. He’d instructed Mrs. Browning to lead Susan York through the small corridor to the exterior door beneath one of the stairs. The passage wasn’t often used, but today it would eliminate the need for the older woman to have to descend one of the staircases.
The younger York women were already there. Josephine glanced up at him and smiled. Martha didn’t turn.
Shortly, the carriage would make its way toward the main road. From his vantage point he’d be able to see them for nearly a quarter hour, at least until they made a left turn, dipping behind the strip of trees bordering the front of his property.
Martha still didn’t turn.
Leaning heavily on his walking stick, he watched as they entered the carriage.
From now on he would take better care of himself. He wouldn’t overdo, at least not until he healed a little more. He would take frequent breaks since he’d no longer have a boathouse companion he wanted to impress.
His damn leg was a constant reminder of not only his limitation but his failings. He had flaws and frailties and wasn’t the paragon he should have been. He wasn’t anything like his father or Simon, for example.
Nor as charming at Reese.
In a few days Jordan would write a note to Mrs. York, expressing his hopes that the journey had been easy and she’d regained her health. That would be the polite thing to do even though they both knew she hadn’t been all that ill. He’d have Mrs. Browning send along a batch of the biscuits the older woman had liked.
Martha said she would write him from time to time. He would let her know if her suggestions worked. He could change the hydrostatic valve and adjust the pendulum and test it out.
He’d known her for only a matter of days. There was no reason to feel this sudden sense of loss, as if he’d miss her.
He would be wiser to leave now and get back to the boathouse.
Only an idiot would stand here until her carriage was out of sight.
She was gone.
Three days ago, she’d mounted the steps and stared at him accusingly. What had been her first words to him? Something about him not having any choice about her being there. He couldn’t help but smile at the recollection.
Martha was everything Matthew had said she was: stubborn, opinionated, determined, fiercely loyal, kind, generous, witty, and intelligent.
The next time he saw her, it would be at the wedding. She’d be his sister by marriage.
That thought was enough to sour his mood.
“Interesting women,” Reese said at his side.
