by Karen Ranney
She’d known, ever since she was a girl, that where Josephine was concerned, she always came second place. Josephine’s needs came first.
As a child she used to be afraid of thunderstorms until Josephine awoke terrified. Everyone in the household flocked to her room to comfort her. Occasionally, one of the maids would notice that she was standing in her doorway wishing she wasn’t alone. She’d learned to depend on herself. Her father had often commented that she was the most self-reliant female he knew.
She never told him why.
Another lesson she learned because of Josephine: she might call Marie mother, but it was all too evident that she wasn’t Marie’s child.
Her father, poor dear, was always more concerned with his experiments than he was his household. Occasionally, he would ask Martha if she was happy and she would always answer yes.
When Gran came to live with them about five years ago, everything changed. She had a feeling that she had an ally, even though Gran had never said such a thing. She had, however, overheard her grandmother say a few unflattering things about Marie.
When Marie had left Griffin House for the entertainments of Paris, Gran had let slip her dislike.
“Perhaps I’m being too hard on her. If she hadn’t been so greedy, Matthew probably would never have married again. She was aggressive, like a hunter who sees a wounded fawn. She went after him and he had no chance from the beginning.”
She’d been surprised at her grandmother’s revelations. Now she wondered if Gran knew Josephine had also inherited Marie’s acquisitive nature. When Josephine wanted something woe to the person who tried to stop her.
Before she could confide further in her grandmother, the door opened and Josephine swept into the room. Her color was high, but her hair was perfect, as was her appearance. Josephine could walk through a mud puddle and emerge immaculate.
“Sedgebrook is simply glorious,” she said in greeting. “Every room has something to recommend it. The duchess’s sitting room alone will make you sigh. Everything is upholstered in a pale peach silk with tiny flowers embroidered on it. I understand it comes from France, of course. The walls are upholstered in the same peach silk. I wouldn’t change a thing in the room.”
Martha stared at her sister, uncertain whether to be aghast or embarrassed.
“How did you find out the fabric came from France? Did you ask the housekeeper?”
Josephine waved one hand toward Martha as if her questions were foolish.
“Of course not. Simply one of the upstairs maids. A knowledgeable girl. I had her unlock the Conservatory for me so I could see the inside of it.”
No, she was both embarrassed and aghast.
“You can’t simply go traipsing through Sedgebrook as if you own it,” she said.
Josephine glanced at her and smiled. Someone else might interpret it as a sweet or maybe even a condescending expression. But she knew her sister well enough to know it signified something else. Josephine had something planned.
“I don’t think you should . . .” she began, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.
She expected it to be Amy, returning with another plate of biscuits, but instead, the duke stood there. He’d put on a jacket and was no longer attired in just a white shirt and black trousers. She preferred him in more casual dress, but regardless of what he wore, he was a strikingly handsome man.
He stood there for a moment, looking at Gran and Josephine. For some reason, he didn’t look at her as he took a few steps into the room, his slow progress making her heart ache. Josephine, thankfully, found the view from the window suddenly fascinating. Gran, however, was studying the duke with sharp eyes.
“His Grace has a boathouse set up almost like Father’s cottage,” Martha blurted out, uncomfortable with the silence.
She’d intended to draw her grandmother’s attention. Instead, she succeeded with her sister. Josephine’s head whipped around so fast it seemed to be mounted on a swivel.
“It’s quite large,” Martha continued. “He has a great deal more space than the cottage.”
“You’ve been busy,” Josephine said, the words so soft she knew they were meant only for her.
“You mustn’t mind Martha, Your Grace. She was Father’s assistant. I can’t tell you how many times she could be found up to her waist in the muck when she was tinkering with one of his machines.”
The duke studied Josephine for a moment, his face expressionless. Instead of answering her, he glanced at Gran.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. York?”
“Much better, Your Grace. Thank you for your concern. And thank you, as well, for your hospitality. Everyone on your staff has been exceedingly kind and gracious.”
He inclined his head. “Is there anything they haven’t done? Is there anything you need?”
“Nothing at all,” Gran said, smiling. “Except time, perhaps. Dr. Reynolds said I should rest for a few more days. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so.”
He nodded, his face still not revealing what he felt. The expression struck Martha as being ducal, but he hadn’t been reared for the role. He’d been a naval officer when he’d met her father. Had he commanded men? Had he been aboard ship?
She really should quell her curiosity about him.
“I’m afraid my confinement is tiresome for my granddaughters,” Gran continued to Martha’s horror.
“Unfortunately, we have no entertainments planned at Sedgebrook,” the duke said.
Gran smiled. “Then perhaps they could join you and Mr. Burthren for dinner.”
She couldn’t look at her grandmother. Nor could she glance at the duke. Josephine, however, didn’t have any such reservations. Her sister sauntered over to the end of the bed, only feet from where the duke stood.
“What a pleasure that would be, Your Grace,” she purred, lowering her voice until it was a throaty contralto.
Martha almost rolled her eyes. She’d seen Josephine’s behavior around men. It always reminded her of a cat’s insistent charm just before it was fed.
She glanced at Hero still sunning himself. The cat lifted his head and returned her look. He seemed to raise one eyebrow as if to ridicule her concerns.
“Then perhaps you and your sister could join us for dinner,” the duke said, bowing slightly.
Josephine smiled while Martha wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
“Miss York, were you able to speak to Frederick?” he asked Martha.
“Not yet,” she said. “But I shall in a few minutes.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll expect you at the boathouse later,” he said, turning to leave.
The minute the door closed behind him, Josephine rounded on her.
“What did he mean, Martha?” Josephine asked.
Twin lines formed between Josephine’s brows. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned until they almost disappeared in her face. Any one of her many admirers would be surprised to see her now.
“I’m going to help him with his ship,” Martha said. “It’s what Father would have wanted.”
“Gran,” Josephine said, turning to their grandmother, “you can’t allow this. It’s scandalous. She and the duke will be alone. In the boathouse.”
“If it makes you feel better, Josephine,” Martha said, annoyed, “I’ll ask for a footman to be in attendance. Would that satisfy your sense of decorum?”
She knew exactly why her sister was upset. She was going to be with the Duke of Roth and Josephine wasn’t. But there was a difference between them. She had no intention of trying to charm the duke.
Besides, she wasn’t Josephine. She wasn’t as attractive. Nor did she have an affinity for flirting.
“I’ll go with you,” Josephine said, her smile once more restored. “I’m better than a footman.”
Martha stared at her sister. The duke wouldn’t be pleased. Unless, of course, she could convince Josephine to sit there in silence. Josephine would fill the air with chatter. If not
about herself, then how dark the boathouse was, how much it smelled of the water, how boring she thought the silence was.
Perhaps her thoughts were unsisterly. Even more disturbing was the idea that maybe she’d been wrong. Perhaps she wanted to try to charm the duke after all.
Chapter 9
“Why are we going this way?” Josephine asked.
“There’s no other way to reach the stables.”
“I’m not going to the stables,” Josephine said, stopping in the middle of the path. “We were going to the boathouse.”
“We have to go to the stables first,” Martha said, trying to push back her irritation. “I have to move Father’s crates.”
Josephine grabbed her skirts and mumbled something under her breath. Martha caught only a few words, but it was enough to make her frown at her sister.
“It’s no good complaining,” she said. “I’m responsible for Father’s work.”
“Not anymore,” Josephine said. “You’ve given it to the duke and it’s his now.”
She didn’t bother trying to explain what had happened. Her sister simply didn’t care and attempting to make her understand would be a waste of time and effort.
Frederick had told her a footman would meet her at the stall and she could direct him to load the material into a handcart, the better to transport it to the boathouse. She hadn’t, however, thought Josephine would be following her, punctuating every step with another complaint.
The smell was horrid.
The flies were abominable.
You would think Josephine had never been around horses before when it was just the opposite. She rode every day, taking one of her three favorite horses out around Griffin House. Josephine never rode with a companion, saying no one could keep up with her. Martha wasn’t as good a horsewoman as her sister. She respected horses, but she could go for a long time without riding one.
Once inside the stables Josephine stopped to admire one of the duke’s stallions. Martha glanced at the name above the stall: Ercole.
“Aren’t you a beauty?” Josephine said, rubbing the horse’s nose.
Martha continued on to the stall, catching sight of both the stablemaster and a young man in dark blue livery.
“His Grace said to bring everything, Miss York,” the older man said. “Is there anything we should start with?”
She nodded, directing them to which crates she wanted loaded first.
Grabbing a small bag packed with the most recent notes she’d taken, she put it atop the handcart—a wagon pulled by a human being rather than a horse. Once the cart was filled, she followed the footman, a young man by the name of Ben, with bright red hair, a freckled face, and a pleasant smile, out of the stables and down the path to the boathouse.
Josephine had rejoined her by this time and was raving about the duke’s horses.
“I’m going to ride that stallion,” she said.
“You didn’t bring your habit,” Martha said. A second later she looked at her sister. “You didn’t, did you?”
“If I did?”
She didn’t know what to say. Had both Josephine and her grandmother planned for this visit to be something other than what she’d anticipated? This trip to Sedgebrook had been to carry out her father’s wishes, not to parade Josephine in front of the duke.
She wasn’t feeling betrayed as much as irritated by both her relatives.
“You’re going to have to remain silent while we’re working,” she said.
Josephine didn’t say anything, only sent her a quick look. She noted, however, that Josephine was also checking her appearance as they walked.
The dress her sister was wearing was a lovely blue on white print, the sash at her waist a matching blue. Her hat had a large brim to better shade her complexion from the sun and was secured by a ribbon Josephine had tied to one side under her chin.
She couldn’t help but wonder how many dresses Josephine had packed. The original plan was to stay overnight at an inn after delivering the wagon to Sedgebrook. She’d brought only one additional dress, the pale lavender garment she’d worn this morning. Nor had she bothered grabbing her bonnet before leaving the house. A bonnet only made her hair worse. Nothing would stop it from curling, especially being so close to the water.
She was being silly, almost like Josephine in wanting male approbation. Her sister flirted with every man in sight, even the tradesmen who appeared at Griffin House. Was it something she’d learned or inherited from her mother? Marie had been the same, exceptionally charming, but more so toward men.
It was as if she developed a separate personality when dealing with males. She’d seen Josephine change when a man walked into a room. The effect was startling and disconcerting. She was left wondering exactly which person was actually Josephine.
She had no doubt her sister would spend the whole time at the boathouse flirting with the duke. He would, no doubt, allow himself to be charmed like all of Josephine’s conquests.
Once they were in sight of the boathouse, the footman pulled off the path and let them precede him. Martha grabbed the valise and led the way, ignoring Josephine’s complaints about the weeds, the smell of the lake, and the blinding sun.
The door to the boathouse was open, but she knocked on the frame. When she heard the duke speak, she stepped inside, momentarily blinded until her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
“Your Grace?” Josephine called, her voice taking on the velvet tone she used when talking to men.
“Yes?”
Martha could finally see him, seated at the bench on the far side of the boathouse. He’d taken off his jacket again, revealing his white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
She’d never before admired a man’s arms. What was wrong with her?
“I’ve brought my father’s things,” Martha said.
“Our father,” Josephine interjected.
She sent Josephine a quick look, but her sister wasn’t paying any attention. Instead, Josephine had a smile on her face as she looked at the duke.
If he was still simply a naval officer, as he’d once been, would Josephine be so charming?
Pushing that disloyal thought away, she placed the valise she carried onto the workbench, opened it, and withdrew a sheaf of papers.
“These are the last of my father’s notes,” she said.
He nodded, but didn’t reach for the notes.
“What a lovely place you’ve made this,” Josephine said.
Martha glanced at her sister in disbelief.
The whole of the interior of the boathouse was shadowed. There were no flowers or other embellishments about the structure. The only thing “lovely” about the boathouse was its spaciousness and the lure of the bright afternoon in the glint of the sun off the lake.
Josephine, however, wasn’t finished.
“Not only are you the Duke of Roth, but you’re so clever, Your Grace.”
The duke turned on his stool and regarded Josephine with some interest. Next, he would say something about her appearance, how she made the boathouse brighter with her beauty. Then he’d smile at her and the two of them would be encased in a special bubble of mutual attraction.
Meanwhile, she’d feel unwanted and invisible.
“Not as clever as your father, Miss York,” he said. Surprisingly, he looked over at Martha. “I have your father’s latest letters,” he said, pulling a box forward. “Would it be any inconvenience for you to look through them?”
“You want to see if there’s anything he told you that I didn’t list in his notes?”
He nodded.
Actually, it was a wise idea. Her father meant to include ideas in his daily notes but sometimes forgot. She often had to ask him to fill in the gaps between days or even processes.
She took the box from him and looked around for a place to sit. He gestured to a stool not far away. She grabbed it with one hand, dragging it below a clear spot on the workbench.
“Well, I can certainly see you did
n’t plan on visitors,” Josephine said on a trilling laugh. “Wherever shall I sit?”
Any of Josephine’s admirers would have immediately stood and offered his stool to her. The fact that the duke blatantly ignored her sister was not only startling, but it evidently infuriated Josephine.
“Shall I just stand here, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice losing its seductive timbre and carrying a note of irritation.
“I’m afraid you’re right, Miss York,” he said, not looking in Josephine’s direction. “I’ve not planned on visitors. Perhaps dinner would be a better place to converse.”
Martha didn’t turn when Josephine flounced out of the boathouse a few minutes later. She’d seen her sister’s tantrums often enough to be able to picture Josephine’s expression, the clenched fists on her skirts, and her stomping progress back to the house.
Neither of them spoke. The duke didn’t offer any explanations for his rudeness. Nor did she attempt to excuse Josephine’s behavior. Sometimes, silence was better than words.
Perhaps she should leave, too, demonstrating a loyalty to Josephine her sister honestly didn’t deserve in this instance. She knew, when she next saw her sister, that Josephine was going to criticize her for all the things she should have said, but didn’t. If she was going to bear the brunt of Josephine’s anger, she might as well do what she wanted first, spend some time with the surprising Duke of Roth.
She was startled to find that her father had written Hamilton more often than she realized. Although she’d read each of the duke’s letters, she’d rarely seen the letters her father had sent him.
Five years of letters were carefully arranged by date. Some letters were dated the same day. Each looked well-read. In addition, the duke had made notes in the margins. A great many times his comments had echoed her own thoughts. Sometimes he questioned things she’d never considered.
She found herself embarrassed about her father’s praise. He wrote about her in almost every letter, but his words weren’t limited to her assistance with his work. No, he even talked about her sense of humor, her penchant for laughing at the most awful jests, her frustration with being unable to make something work the way she wanted. To her horror, she discovered her father had even commented on her disastrous season.