Jordan asked his driver to stop for a few moments on a hill overlooking Griffin House. Behind him, Reese’s carriage did the same. Reese sat with him while the other vehicle contained his valet, Henry, and his trunks.

In two days he’d be wed to a woman he didn’t know and wasn’t certain he liked. He’d delayed until the last possible moment before leaving Sedgebrook. This journey was the first time he’d left his house in nearly fourteen months.

Griffin House surprised him. He’d expected a manor house, square and solid on the landscape. What he saw was a sprawling estate, nearly the equal of his own home.

The main part of the house was a four-story Palladian building in dark red brick with white columns and cornices. Two wings stretched on either side of the structure and behind those were smaller buildings. A scaffold erected on the western side of the house was a symbol of the York wealth. He couldn’t afford to do any major repairs to Sedgebrook, but money was no consideration to the York family.

Behind the house, surrounded by a good-sized forest, was a lake. Matthew had described it better than his home.

“Impressive place,” Reese said from beside him. “At least she’s an heiress.”

He glanced at Reese but didn’t answer. Yes, at least Josephine was an heiress. That fact didn’t ease the discomfort he felt about his coming marriage, however.

After giving the signal to the driver to continue on, he settled back against the seat and clenched his hand around the top of his new walking stick, a wedding gift from Reese. The gold top of the ebony wood cane was formed in the shape of a griffin, the body of a lion topped with the head and wings of an eagle. He wondered if Reese knew the mythology, that the griffin was the king of all creatures and responsible for guarding treasure. Or had he merely procured the walking stick as a bit of irony considering the name of the York home.

Regardless, he’d brought it with him and he clutched it now, girding himself mentally for the arrival at Griffin House and his reunion with the York women.

He’d been unable to stop thinking of one of them ever since she’d left, but it hadn’t been his soon-to-be bride. Instead, Martha had filled his thoughts. Every time he’d begun work on the new leveling device for his ship he’d seen her smile. Whenever he was working on the pendulum, he heard her voice, low and seductive.

He pictured her in different places throughout his home: in the dining room, her eyes wide at something outrageous her sister had said. He couldn’t remember Josephine’s words, only Martha’s startled expression. Or standing on the landing at Sedgebrook’s entrance, trying to hide the compassion in her eyes and failing miserably.

He’d never thought his memory to be perfect, but he’d been able to remember each of their conversations, how she charmed him when he was certain she hadn’t meant to, or annoyed him when he was sure that had been her intention. She amused him and challenged him and made him wish circumstances were different and he could retrace his steps in time.

If so, he would never have taken the elixir. Nor would he have seduced Josephine. He wouldn’t have placed himself in a compromising position, one requiring he be sacrificed on the altar of honor.

Martha was loyal and kind. She was also irritating, didactic, fierce, and opinionated. But she wasn’t his fiancée and wishing things were different didn’t change them.

As they approached Griffin House he was more impressed by what he saw. Even Reese remained silent beside him, taking in the sheer size of the house and the grounds.

Jordan knew, from things Matthew had said, that the majority of the York wealth came from York Armaments. The family had become as rich as Croesus after the Crimean War, and had diversified their investments into transportation, including ships and railroads.

They needn’t worry where the money was going to come from to pay the annual salaries of the servants. Or how the roof repairs were going to be made.

If nothing else, the wealth Josephine would bring to their marriage should have given him some enthusiasm for the union. Unfortunately, it didn’t.

Josephine had written him once in the past weeks, informing him of certain activities planned around the ceremony. Her handwriting had been juvenile, the many misspellings, inarticulate grammar, and almost bluntly worded demands giving him an indication of what his future was to be.

It wasn’t enough that he brought a title and Sedgebrook to the marriage. He suspected he was going to be reminded, often, that she was an heiress. Frankly, he was ready to let Sedgebrook crumble around his ears rather than sell himself.

If he hadn’t taken her to his bed, he would have never offered for her.

As it was, every night when he entered his bedroom, he got a flash of memory, something making him smile. It made no sense, but he remembered being happy. Feeling as if the moment, the interlude had almost been ordained.

On retiring, he sat on the edge of his pristine bed, remembering how rumpled the sheets were after they loved, the spot of blood declaring her virginal.

In his memory he heard her soft voice and it caught in his chest, almost as if she’d reached in and placed part of herself there.

He couldn’t rationalize those memories with the woman he was going to marry.

The day was a lovely one, the sun passing directly overhead. Not a cloud marred the piercing blue of the summer sky. Sunlight glittered on the surface of the lake, making the scene appear as perfect as a painting.

To the north, however, the sky was darkening, promising a storm shortly.

Martha walked from the cottage down to the dock, carrying the Goldfish in her arms. A soft, warm breeze carried the scent of the water as she approached the lake.

The dock was wide and had been constructed three years ago. The boards had already weathered to a pale gray, but they were even and didn’t bounce beneath her feet as she made her way to where she normally launched her ship.

Kneeling, she placed the Goldfish on the boards, unbuttoned her cuffs, and began to roll up her sleeves.

“Miss Martha?”

Martha turned to see Amy standing at the end of the dock. She watched as the maid approached her.

“Your grandmother sent me to tell you His Grace’s carriage has been spotted. He should arrive momentarily.”

She knew Jordan was coming today. She just hadn’t expected him to arrive right now. Nor had she expected her pulse to suddenly race at the news that he was here.

Part of her wanted to rejoice that she would see him. She’d be in the same room with him again. She’d be able to talk to him. Another, more rational part, reminded her that he was going to be her brother in marriage.

In the past few days she’d been behaving like one of those besotted females she’d met in London. She’d reread each one of Jordan’s letters to her father. Several of them she’d placed in a special pile because they’d revealed his character. His sense of humor was in those letters. So, too, the warmth and affection he felt for her father.

“I can’t possibly leave now,” she said. “A storm is coming and I wanted to get in one test beforehand.”

Amy walked a few feet closer, her hands smoothing her skirt.

“I’m to tell you that your grandmother expects you to welcome him, Miss Martha.”

Martha stared down at the Goldfish.

No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t be there when he arrived, not when she was certain Josephine would make a scene. She could just envision it now.

Her sister would come sweeping down the stairs, her face lit with happiness, a bright smile—one of her better expressions—curving her mouth. She’d embrace Jordan, act as if her life had been dull and gray without him instead of what it had been, weeks of Josephine commanding everyone and having a wonderful time doing it.

“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 the Goldfish I 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.

The last thing he wanted was to be alone with Josephine. In a matter of days he’d have a lifetime with her. The thought made him wish he hadn’t declined the whiskey.

“Then I’ll let you get settled and we’ll all meet each other at dinner. Like you, we keep country hours.”

Another few moments of conversation made him grateful for Reese’s command of a hundred different topics. His were limited to the scientific journals he’d recently read or the correspondence he’d exchanged with friends in London.

Reese knew about current events, fashion trends, and, most important, gossip. He and Mrs. York talked companionably like two middle-aged women.

“Oh, but we’re boring you,” Mrs. York finally said, glancing at him.

Evidently, he hadn’t been able to hide what he was feeling. Either that, or Mrs. York was extraordinarily perceptive. He had a feeling it was a combination of the two.

She stood. “We have you in the Queen’s Rooms,” she said. “A project of my husband’s. He invited Queen Victoria to come and visit after they were finished.”

“Did she?” Reese asked.

She smiled brightly. “Yes, she did, but only once. She came with her entire brood on the way back from Scotland.” Turning to Jordan who’d also stood, she said, “But since there isn’t any hope of her making another visit, poor thing, I feel safe in placing you there, Your Grace.”

He said something innocuous, one of those tedious phrases he’d had to learn as a child. He was adept at those—saying nothing while saying something, appearing pleasant and conformable while wishing you were anywhere but where you were.

As his eyes swept up and around Griffin House’s curving staircase, he realized climbing those steps was going to be a challenge.

“If you wish, Your Grace,” Mrs. York said in a whisper, “I can convert one of the parlors to your use. It would mean not having to mount the steps.”

He was damned if he was going to sleep in one of the parlors. He’d master Griffin House’s stairs or die in the attempt. At least, then, he wouldn’t have to marry Josephine York.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the Queen’s Rooms,” he said, taking the first step.