by Karen Ranney
Not only did he answer her, but he did so with a candor that was even more surprising.
“My brother was always better than I was in a great many things. Speaking languages, being cordial to perfect strangers, painting. He even knew most of the plants we’re growing in our greenhouse and he was an expert horseman. I was a better marksman, but he was a better rider. One of his last acquisitions in Italy was Ercole, an irritable, nearly wild stallion.”
He stood, walked some distance, then returned, standing in front of her.
“The day my solicitor called on me and let me know to what degree my brother had attempted to ruin the family financially, I found myself enraged. I thought a good ride might take the edge off my anger as well as prove to myself I was his equal in horsemanship.”
His chuckled mirthlessly.
She wanted to comfort him with words or even touch. She only looked at him standing there, baring himself to her.
His hair was askew, a lock tumbling down over his brow. She wanted to push it back into place with her fingers.
“All I proved to myself was that pride goeth before a fall, isn’t that the expression? I was a fool and it was a mistake I’ll pay for every day of my life.”
“Have you nothing to ease the pain?” she asked.
“I do, but I’ll not be taking it. Because of that damned elixir—begging your pardon for my language—I’m about to become a bridegroom.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Slowly, he returned to the bench.
“It’s why I’m marrying your sister.”
She turned her head toward him.
“Sometimes, the pain is so great that I don’t think I can endure another minute of it,” he said. “On those nights I take the mixture my doctor prepared. Unfortunately, it makes me lose a connection to the world around me. I feel drugged and unlike myself.” He took a deep breath. “It’s as if something takes hold of me,” he added. “I become someone not myself.”
He didn’t look away. She wished she could see the expression in his eyes. She had the strangest feeling he was asking for forgiveness.
She didn’t say anything in response. What could she say? That she’d witnessed his behavior up close? Last night she’d thought him affected by the wine he’d drunk, not drugged. Otherwise, she would have left him in his suite and returned to her room still a virgin.
Still, she’d known he wasn’t himself. Yet she’d stayed.
“You took the elixir last night,” she said. It wasn’t a question and the words chilled her like winter rain.
“Yes.”
“And you think you took advantage of Josephine,” she said, speaking the words slowly.
“Yes,” he answered. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
It hadn’t. Josephine had somehow convinced him it had, and he’d done the right thing, the proper thing, the honorable thing.
She stared out at the shadowed rosebushes. From this moment on she knew she’d never be able to smell the scent of roses without also feeling this horrible sense of loss.
Now was the time for her to speak, to turn to him and say, “It wasn’t Josephine in your bed. It was me.”
How, though, did she explain that she’d remained with him, even thinking he was inebriated? How could she explain that she’d been fascinated with him, that she’d wanted him to touch her and introduce her to passion?
Would he hate her if he knew? After all, her behavior had put him in this position.
She pressed a hand against her waist, the other at the base of her throat, almost as if to keep herself mute.
Didn’t you know it was me? Don’t you know now?
She wanted to tell him the truth, but she remained silent. Perhaps a miracle would occur and he’d suddenly realize that it had been her who’d held him, who’d kissed him, who had given him her virginity.
Instead, the silence stretched out thinly between them. No miracle occurred.
He hadn’t known. He didn’t know now. She was the only one who knew the truth, the only one who could keep this disaster from happening.
At what cost?
Everyone at Sedgebrook was aware that the Duke of Roth was going to marry her sister. They were probably all aware of the circumstances as well. She could just imagine what would happen if she spoke now.
This morning she’d been stunned into silence, but she’d had hours to consider the ramifications of coming forward.
Gossip would swirl around them like a miasmic fog. The York name would be synonymous with derision. She and Josephine would be laughingstocks. They might be heiresses, but scandal would still follow them, probably until the ends of their lives.
She couldn’t imagine Josephine recanting her story, not when she was so close to becoming a duchess. It would be a case of her word against her sister’s.
Did you hear? Both York girls say they were in the Duke of Roth’s bed! Can you imagine? No wonder the mother escaped to France. It’s a wonder their grandmother hasn’t had apoplexy!
She’d lost her sister. She’d never be able to look at Josephine without knowing what she’d deliberately done. Josephine had wanted a title and Sedgebrook more than anything else. More than family.
And now she had the same choice.
How much did she want the truth to surface?
When she woke this morning her first thought was that she was going to see Jordan. She wanted to help him make his torpedo ship a success, a mission completely separate from what she might feel about him personally. It wasn’t, after all, his fault she found him attractive. Or that she’d wanted to experience passion and had, at his hands.
Everything had changed this morning. Lives had been altered. None of them would ever be the same.
She sat there in silence, gradually coming to a decision. She wasn’t going to be like Josephine. She wasn’t going to manipulate others to get her way.
She’d made a terrible mistake. First, by staying with Jordan. Second, by not realizing the lengths to which Josephine would go.
If she had remained with Jordan until he woke, none of this would have happened. If she had taken responsibility for her actions the entire house would have been scandalized, but at least it would have been better than this outcome.
But she hadn’t and now they needed to go their separate ways, the Duke of Roth and his onetime lover, the spinster Martha York, heiress and oddity.
Yet the words still wanted to be spoken. It was me. Can’t you see? Can’t you tell? Shall I kiss you and have you say, oh yes, I see it now, it was you, Martha.
How foolish she could be sometimes.
“I hope you have a safe journey home,” he said.
“Thank you,” she responded, taking a deep breath. This farewell needed to be done, as quickly as possible. “I wish you luck on your trial voyages. Shall I write you if I come up with any new ideas?”
“I’d like that,” he said.
“Would you let me know about your own observations?”
If nothing else, perhaps they could have a correspondence. She would come to treasure his letters to her as much as she did his letters to her father. She would press them against her chest as if to inhale the words or somehow feel him through the ink and paper.
“Thank you for your kindness,” she said.
“When you arrived, you didn’t think I was particularly kind.”
“Then you must forgive me. It was an error in judgment. I’m sure my father wouldn’t approve of what I said.”
“He was always in favor of your strong opinions. ‘Martha knows her own mind.’ I remember reading his comment many times.”
She didn’t know her mind now. Or perhaps she did, but she couldn’t do anything about her thoughts or her wishes. She wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders, place a kiss on his cheek, perhaps invite him to turn and embrace her. They would kiss and she would show him, wordlessly, how she felt.
It was too late. The time to be honest with him was last night. Befo
re he’d pledged himself to Josephine this morning. Before the announcement that was, no doubt, even now finding its way to London.
In her defense she’d had no idea Josephine would insert herself as the harlot of this piece.
What did she do now? What could she do now?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Any explanation she offered, any truth she said would only bring scandal down upon all their heads.
“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” she said. There were so many words she shouldn’t say, but she’d say what she could. “I think my father was right in liking you.”
“That’s a great compliment,” he said, “but I’m not sure I’m worthy of it.”
Oh, he was. He was the most honorable man she’d ever met yet honor had proved to be a burden, hadn’t it? Still, she was glad she’d gone to his room. There, the truth, perhaps never to be revealed to another soul.
She stood and looked at him one last time, one long and steady look to last her for the rest of her life.
She smiled, then said, “Good-bye, Your Grace.”
My love.
Chapter 23
Martha finished packing her lone valise and looked around the room she’d occupied the past few days. She’d already left a small gratuity with Mrs. Browning, along with her thanks.
How strange that the chamber felt familiar and comfortable. It wasn’t Sedgebrook she would miss. It was him. Jordan of the letters. The arrogant man who’d touched her heart so easily.
It was time.
She hadn’t known him before arriving. Perhaps she’d been curious about him from reading his letters, but that’s all it was. It certainly wasn’t fascination. Making love to him was only because of that same curiosity: she’d wanted to know what passion was like.
What a terrible series of lies she’d just told herself.
Moving to the window, she stared out at the lake. Would she ever feel the same about another man as she did Jordan? Probably not. Never again would she allow herself to feel as much. Never again would she be as free as she’d been that day only three days ago when they’d first arrived at Sedgebrook. Never again would she look at a man the way she’d looked at him, with her breath tight and her pulse racing and tears too close to the surface.
She was standing in a sunbeam. That was the only reason her entire body felt warm.
From here she could see a tiny corner of the boathouse. She wouldn’t go and say good-bye. She’d already done that last night.
Their carriage was being readied. She’d been told they’d leave within the hour.
She looked down at her dark blue traveling dress, wishing she had something else to wear. But it was a choice between this and the loathsome lavender and she couldn’t bear to wear that garment one more day.
She’d already helped Amy prepare her grandmother and watched as the footmen devised a chairlift to help Gran down the stairs.
Once at the bottom of the grand staircase she greeted her sister with a nod, ignoring Josephine’s almost proprietary glance around Sedgebrook. Almost as if she was saying: This is all mine and in a few weeks I’ll come back and claim it.
Martha was more than ready to go home; she was almost desperate to reach Griffin House. She knew herself there. There were no secrets being revealed just when she least expected them. She would not be challenged by a handsome man who also touched her heart and made her dream of things that could never happen.
In the past three days he’d revealed himself to be truly Jordan of the letters. A man who’d so captivated her heart it hurt to think of leaving him. Especially knowing that when she saw him next he’d be her sister’s husband.
“You didn’t see His Grace,” Gran said.
“You should have said a proper farewell,” Josephine offered, pulling on her gloves.
“I’m sorry,” Martha said to her grandmother. She was not going to address Josephine. Nor did she offer that she and Jordan had seen each other last night. The time in the moonlit garden was hers, not to be discussed with anyone else.
“When will the carriage be ready?” Josephine asked.
“Only a few minutes from now,” her grandmother said.
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 the Goldfish. 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.
“Yes.”
“I never thought you would offer for her,” Reese said.
Jordan’s mind made the adjustment between sisters.
He didn’t want to think about Josephine.
“Was she able to help you?” Reese asked.
Another adjustment back to Martha.
“Yes,” he said. “I think she was. I have to finish the modifications and test them out, but everything she recommended made sense.” He smiled despite himself. “She also recommended I put a leash around the ship so I don’t lose it. I can call it home like a lost puppy.”
“Intelligent woman.”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “She is. Remarkably so. I was able to discuss the problems with my compressor with her and she told me what to do to fix it. She has an affinity with machines I’ve never found in a female. Rarely in a male, for that matter.”
“In other words, she tinkers like you do.”
“She invents,” Jordan corrected. “She attempts. She proposes and dares and postulates.”
“It sounds as if you and Martha are better suited than you and Josephine.”
He had nothing to say in response. What comment would be appropriate? That he was sickened by the thought of marriage to Josephine? That he couldn’t remember a damn thing about two nights ago? Lust and only lust had guaranteed this union, but it was fueled by the elixir, not his wishes. He was damned if he was going to take it every night in order to feel something for his bride.
