Page 89 of The English Duke
“I’m not dressed for visitors,” Martha said, which was the truth.
She was wearing her oldest dress, a faded blue cotton only requiring one petticoat. Otherwise, it was too short. The cuffs were frayed as was the collar.
Her hair was frizzing around her face and she knew her cheeks were pink from the sun. She had a blemish on her cheek. She hadn’t slept well in the past week and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. These weren’t from soot, but rather sadness.
She would look even worse next to Josephine who was probably dressed in one of the new garments in her trousseau.
“Your grandmother was insistent, Miss Martha.”
Standing, she turned to face Amy.
“Tell her I’ll be there for dinner,” she said. “But I can’t possibly become presentable in time to welcome him. Plus, if I’m not going to test theGoldfishI have to empty her engine compartment.”
Amy looked as if she wished to say something but changed her mind. Turning, she walked back to shore, her shoes making clomping sounds on the dock.
How was she supposed to do this? From where did she get the strength to watch Josephine marry a man she so much admired? Or was it just admiration she felt? Was it more? It couldn’t be more. She couldn’t feel anything stronger for Jordan Hamilton.
Besides, what did it matter how she felt? No one cared, least of all Jordan.
She would concentrate on the only thing over which she had any control: her own actions.
Perhaps she should move away, take up residence somewhere else. Or travel. If she hired a companion, travel would be acceptable. She would go to Germany to take the waters. Or perhaps even to Scotland. She would go somewhere where there was no talk of Josephine, where no one knew Jordan. Where news wouldn’t come of him.
Anything but subject herself to more of this pain.
Jordan and Reese were warmly received from the moment they stepped inside Griffin House. A majordomo about half Frederick’s age directed them to a sunny parlor overlooking a formal garden.
“Mrs. York will be with you shortly, Your Grace. In the interim, I’ll direct your trunks to be taken to the Queen’s Rooms.”
He only nodded, assuming the Queen’s Rooms was a suite set aside for visitors.
“And your trunks as well, Mr. Burthren,” the majordomo continued, bowing slightly to both men.
Evidently, the staff had been fully informed about their arrival.
Less than a minute later Mrs. York sailed into the room.
“Welcome to Griffin House,” she said.
“You look well,” he said to Mrs. York.
He wasn’t exaggerating. The woman looked at least twenty years younger than she had playing the invalid at Sedgebrook. Today she was wearing a black dress with a coral cameo at her neck, her white hair arranged in a crown of braids.
She gestured to the comfortable-looking chairs in front of the windows. Once she sat on the facing sofa he and Reese each took a seat.
“I had no idea Griffin House was so large,” Reese said. “It’s nearly the size of Sedgebrook.”
“But without the history,” she said. “Most of the house was completed in the last hundred years. My husband was the last to build anything and that was Matthew’s cottage. You must see it while you’re here.”
He smiled politely, wanting to ask about Martha, but keeping silent. The room faced the east side of the house, but didn’t have a view of the lake.
For the next several moments they skated atop the glassy surface of politeness. All of them were careful not to say anything too personal or intrusive.
Mrs. York served tea and whiskey. He wanted to decline both, but sat holding a cup and saucer for a few moments before placing it back on the tray.
“I’ll send for Josephine, shall I? She’s with the seamstress right now, but you haven’t seen her for a few weeks. We’ll give you two a few minutes alone,” she added, glancing at Reese.
“That’s not necessary,” Jordan said.
