Page 98 of The English Duke
His priorities had never been so skewed before, but then he’d never been as confused as he was now. The woman he was about to marry was a stranger and the woman who should have been a stranger felt like someone he’d always known.
Part of it was Matthew mentioning his daughter in his letters. He’d grown accustomed to Matthew’s observations about Martha, knowing what she’d said or how she felt about a certain situation. The older man had also passed along Martha’s thoughts about improvements to the vessel, most of which Jordan found insightful and practical.
Plus, his talks with Martha at Sedgebrook had been unusual, at least for him. He’d never divulged as much to anyone, feeling a trust with Martha that he’d only experienced with her father.
He didn’t feel that same trust for the woman he was about to marry.
He’d been trapped into this marriage by honor. Wouldn’t it be interesting if he could withdraw from it for the same reason? He’d kissed Martha. Would it be enough for Josephine to release him?
He doubted it. Even now Josephine was holding court by chattering on about events planned around the marriage ceremony. He didn’t care. Just get it over with. He would take Josephine back to Sedgebrook and involve himself wholeheartedly in his work.
Would Martha tell him how she fixed the guidance system? Or would she rightfully retain the knowledge so her father got the credit for the York Torpedo Ship? If so, he would have to find something else to occupy himself, a few other inventions that had interested him in the past.
What the hell was he going to do with his life? What was he going to do about this marriage?
He was going to do his duty. He was going to be the 11th Duke of Roth, damn it.
Everyone was looking at him expectantly.
“Josephine was just complimenting your stable,” Mrs. York said.
Why the hell did the woman keep mentioning those damnable horses? Wasn’t she aware of the accident? Or perhaps she didn’t know why he wouldn’t be able to walk without a limp for the rest of his life.
“My brother is to be thanked for the stable,” he said.
“You won’t have to sell Ercole now,” she said, deigning to finally smile at him.
He almost wanted to sell the damn horse to spite her. He studied her for a moment in silence, then simply nodded.
He caught Mrs. York’s eyes on him and looked away.
Susan York watched Josephine and Jordan, a sinking feeling growing in her stomach. What a horrible set of circumstances, and how like Josephine to have taken advantage of the situation.
Her granddaughter had lost no time circulating the news she was to wed the Duke of Roth. Susan had never seen Josephine write so many letters in such a short time, and most of them to their London friends.
Had it not been for the flurry of correspondence—and she suspected that was the exact reason Josephine had written everyone she knew—Susan might have tried to stop the wedding.
Why hadn’t the duke spoken up? Why hadn’t Martha said anything? Shame? Humiliation? Perhaps she didn’t want to be put in the position of having to marry the duke while Josephine was more than happy to do so.
Susan didn’t know the answer to any of those questions. She said a quick prayer, hoping the Almighty would understand her request: she wanted a way out of this marriage, some divine intervention that would result in happiness for those who deserved it.
At the moment she was out of ideas.
Chapter 29
Martha didn’t venture out of her suite for three days. Staying in her rooms was the only way she could avoid people, namely Gran, Josephine, and Jordan.
Sam sent word that he’d put theGoldfishin the cottage. A good thing he’d been so conscientious because she’d forgotten to take care of the vessel, the scene on the dock taking her mind from her responsibilities.
Gran came to check on her every day, but she didn’t urge Martha to emerge from her hermitage. She was well aware that Gran was looking at her strangely. Did she know what had happened at Sedgebrook? Did her grandmother know her heart was breaking?
On the evening of the third day, desperately tired of her own company and wanting a respite from drawing plans and reading, she went to sit on the terrace.
The hour was advanced; it was late enough that people would have retired after dinner. Even the servants were preparing for bed.
The brick-walled terrace was her favorite spot on a summer night. Beyond lay the forest, now only shadows.
She sat on one of the built-in benches, looking up to see the magnitude of the heavens spread out for her to witness. All the stars made her feel infinitesimal. What were her minor worries in comparison? Her petty annoyances, even her accomplishments, felt so minor in view of such a display. She was only a sigh in the Almighty’s consciousness, nothing more. Yet sometimes when she sat here, especially in the past year, she had the feeling she wasn’t alone. Something or someone cared about her, guarded her, looked out after her. Perhaps it was God or the spirit of her parents.
