Page 9 of The English Duke
“Miss Martha York, I presume,” the duke said, his voice a low baritone.
She was not going to allow him to know that even his voice affected her.
What was wrong with her? She was being as foolish as those girls she’d met in London during her season, giggling over a man, whispering about his attributes—and they hadn’t been speaking of his fortune.
“I’m afraid His Grace was ill,” Mr. Burthren said from behind her. “For some time.”
The duke shook his head. “It’s all right, Reese. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”
What an odd way to put it. She was not engaged in a battle with the duke; she was just pinning his ears back because he’d been insufferably rude. In addition, his actions had hurt her father, which was unpardonable.
Mr. Burthren stepped forward, Gran’s hand on his arm. Evidently, he’d been assisting her up the steps, something she’d not thought to do.
“This is Mrs. Susannah York,” Mr. Burthren said. “Accompanied by her granddaughters Miss Martha York and Miss Josephine York.”
“You’ve made an outing of it, I see,” the duke said.
“Hardly an outing, Your Grace,” Martha said. “We’ve traveled one whole day to get here.”
“A train trip is only an hour or so, Miss York. Are you given to much exaggeration?”
Her grandmother disliked trains, thinking them a blight on the countryside, noisy, dirty, and beneath the dignity of York women. An irony, considering a great deal of their wealth came from railroads. Gran ignored that fact as well as the main source of their income: armaments.
She was not going to explain her grandmother’s idiosyncrasies to the duke.
“Regardless of the distance or the time,” he said, “the trip was wholly unnecessary.”
“To you, perhaps, Your Grace. I am simply fulfilling my father’s wish. He wanted you to have his research, his papers, and the latest prototype of the York Torpedo Ship. Had I known he wanted you to have everything, I would have counseled against it. I would’ve added my powers of persuasion, such as they are, to change his mind.”
“Do you not think me worthy?”
Oh dear, why had she made that remark? Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“You don’t even seem to care he died.”
If she hadn’t been studying him so intently, she might have missed the slight change of expression in his eyes. Just for a moment it looked as if she saw regret behind the flatness of his gaze. Or she could simply be mistaken.
“You must accept my apologies, Mrs. York,” he said, turning slightly to address her grandmother. “Mr. Burthren was correct. I was unwell and didn’t know your son had passed.”
Gran nodded, but instead of speaking, she placed her hand flat against the middle of her chest and let out a slight gasp.
“Gran?”
Martha stepped closer as Gran moaned.
“What is it?”
She placed her arm behind her grandmother, supporting her.
“She needs to sit down,” she said, glancing toward the duke.
“I fear the stairs were too much for me,” Gran said, her voice sounding breathless.
Her grandmother was looking entirely too pale, almost the same color as Amy who came up the steps behind her. Gran was not a young woman and the past year had been a difficult one for her, with her son’s death and her daughter-in-law’s abdication of any responsibility.
Amy moved to assist her grandmother while Josephine still stood there smiling at the duke like a dolt.
“Please,” Martha said.
