Griffin House was built of a red brick that probably looked almost black in the rain. The stables were, to his surprise, built of stone that looked almost white in the morning sun. The style was Palladian, however, to match the house.

Jordan hesitated at the entrance, then pushed himself forward to the carriage staging area. He had to pass a line of stalls, some of which had interested occupants peering out to see who passed. Or, more likely, checking to see if he’d come armed with some sort of treat.

Instead of searching out Reese’s carriage, Jordan stopped at the stablemaster’s office, a small square space filled with papers and all matter of equipage either ready to be mended or newly purchased.

Unlike the stablemaster at Sedgebrook, Mr. Haversham probably had no budget. Nor a need to mend tack until the leather fell apart in the stableboy’s hands. The man wasn’t in his office, but he wasn’t surprised. He located him in the yard to the right of the main stable building.

Haversham was inspecting a coach, no doubt the one to deliver the bride to the church. Two stableboys stood at the ready, each armed with a white cloth to buff out any spots on the shiny black lacquer.

As he approached, the stablemaster turned and addressed him.

“Your Grace,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to retrieve Miss York’s torpedo ship,” he said.

Surprise flickered over Haversham’s face before the expression disappeared.

“Miss Martha told you, then?”

Jordan nodded. “I can only apologize for Burthren’s behavior, Mr. Haversham.”

“Well, and it’s not like you did it, did you, Your Grace?”

“No, but I brought him here.”

The man only nodded.

“Aye, then.”

Haversham led the way to where the carriages were stored, each bay spacious and well lit. His carriage had been pulled out as well as another almost equally fine. No doubt it was going to be Mrs. York’s vehicle to travel to the church.

Reese’s carriage was still in one of the bays. He opened the door and would have lifted the seat had it not been for the stablemaster. The man pushed his way past Jordan and hauled the crate out of the vehicle.

“Where do you want it, Your Grace?” he asked.

He liked the man’s assertive behavior, but he didn’t need to be coddled. However, since he had another few tasks to perform before he had to get to the church he decided to let the man help.

“In the cottage,” he said.

They walked in companionable silence around Griffin House, heading toward the lake.

“Hear tell you fiddle with those ships as well, Your Grace.”

He smiled. “I do. But it was Miss York who made this one work.”

Haversham nodded again. “Smart she is. Always has been. I can still see her as a little girl following her father around like a baby duck. It hasn’t been easy for her this past year, Your Grace. I didn’t like to see people taking advantage of her.”

He wasn’t certain if Haversham was referring to Reese trying to steal the ship or something else entirely. He decided that it would be prudent not to ask.

Once at the cottage, he reached out, opened the door, and stepped aside so the stablemaster could enter. Once he’d done so, Jordan entered.

“Should I put it here on the table, Your Grace?”

He nodded.

“Did that fellow take the ship to get credit for it, Your Grace?”

“Maybe not for devising the ship, but certainly for acquiring it.”

Haversham nodded. “It do take all kinds in this world, doesn’t it, sir?”

“That it does,” Jordan said. “That it does.”

“Is there aught I can do for you?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

“Then I’ll be getting back, Your Grace. I’ve the final inspection of the carriage before the ceremony.”

Jordan didn’t say a word as the man walked out the door. The fact Haversham didn’t seem concerned about leaving him alone was a compliment of sorts.

He’d never been here, but it seemed familiar. Matthew had described it over the years. Over there was the storage room where he kept his other inventions. On the far wall was his tool rack. The table that occupied the middle of the space was where he made adjustments to his torpedo ship.

Jordan placed his hands on the smooth wood, wondering how many times Matthew had done the same.

He’d met his friend in London on only two occasions. Why hadn’t he made the trip to Griffin House before? Why, for that matter, had he not invited Matthew to Sedgebrook? Probably because he’d thought there was all the time in the world in which to do so.

Time was getting away from him once again.

He opened the crate. Someone had burned the name Goldfish into the wood.

He carefully removed the top and set it aside. The copper vessel gleamed as if it had been recently polished. He knew, from working beside Martha, that she saw to every detail. She noticed things he wouldn’t have seen.

Her mind was as fascinating as her character.

“I wasn’t at liberty to speak before,” Reese said from behind him.

Jordan turned, regarding the man he’d known since his school days. He had a great many acquaintances, but few friends. Today, he had one less.

“Is that why you’re here? To plead your case? It’s too late for that. Or perhaps you’re here to explain. While you’re at it, perhaps you could share why the woman I’m to marry today was in your bed this morning.”

He’d never seen that startled look on Reese’s face before, and it was the only enjoyable moment in this scenario.

“Perhaps we could revisit your definition of friendship one of these days, Reese. In my world, it doesn’t mean stealing. Should I check the silver at Sedgebrook?”

“You know damn well I didn’t steal anything from you.”

Jordan marched on him, finding it remarkable that his anger kept him advancing on Reese without an appreciable limp. Evidently all he needed to not appear lame was to be enraged.

A foot away from Reese he stopped.

“You don’t realize, do you? If you steal from her, you steal from me. If you hurt her, you hurt me. Damage her in any way and it’s as if you’ve taken a sword to me.”

“So it’s like that?” Reese asked.

“It’s like that,” Jordan said, finding it strange that articulating his feelings for Martha had suddenly come so easily.

Yet once the words had been spoken, they wouldn’t be beaten back. They demanded to live with the same fervency he had this past year.

“Yet you’re still going to marry Josephine?”

He had no intention of voicing his plans for this afternoon, especially not to Reese.

“I wish you well, then,” Reese said, turning and leaving the cottage.

Jordan stared after his friend. An abrupt farewell, but perhaps not even that. In a few weeks he’d probably receive a letter from Reese filled with gossip about the War Office and tales he shouldn’t be sharing. There’d be no reference to this morning’s actions or this scene in the cottage.

Reese had crossed over the line, even though he probably had no idea he’d done so. Jordan would be pleasant to the man in the future, but he could never again trust him.

A few minutes later, he replaced the top of the Goldfish’s crate and left the cottage.

Josephine had made no secret of her plans, informing Jordan and others in her family exactly what would transpire on the day of the wedding.

For the first time, he was grateful for her self-absorption. She’d decided her grandmother would go on ahead, accompanied by her sister while she rode alone like a queen in the more luxurious carriage.

Jordan waylaid her before she could enter the vehicle.

“If we could speak,” he said, placing his hand on her elbow. He turned and walked up the short flight of steps to the main entrance of Griffin House again, giving her no chance to refuse.

“Jordan, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice filled with outraged indignation. “We’ll be late for our own wedding.”

“There isn’t going to be a wedding, Josephine.”

She pulled her arm free, facing him.

“What do you mean there isn’t going to be a wedding?”

When Josephine tilted her chin up like that and narrowed her eyes, she lost all pretense of prettiness. Her face grew hard, almost old. He wondered what she would look like as she aged. Almost a crone, nearly witchlike—especially if her character was anything to go by.

“We both know it wasn’t you in my bed that night at Sedgebrook,” he said.

“Does it matter now? The whole of England knows we’re about to marry. Would you cause a scandal?”

If she’d asked the question of him a year ago, the answer might have been different. Honor had been a watchword, a definition of his character, perhaps. Now he knew that honor wasn’t enough. It might define his life in some narrow fashion, but he also wanted more.

He never wanted to experience the past year again, feeling adrift and isolated from others, alone in his anguish and knowing only his will kept him going.

His servants respected him because he found a way to pay their wages and they were, perhaps, in awe of their surroundings. His London acquaintances liked the fact he’d become a duke. The hangers-on clung to him for any referred power they could attain. Little did they know he didn’t wield any power. Not even the ability to keep himself upright without limping.

Even Reese had used him.

There was only one person who’d offered him boundless friendship with no conditions. She’d given up her knowledge selflessly. She wanted nothing from him. In fact, she’d effortlessly excused his behavior, granting him understanding and compassion he hadn’t deserved.

What he felt for Martha was different and special, something he’d never before experienced. He’d admired certain women in his past, but he’d never thought one of them might hold his future happiness in the curve of her palm.

He wanted to be happy. He wanted someone to appreciate his work. He was, damn it, more than his role as the Duke of Roth, more than the sum of his ancestors. He was himself, alone and individual. He wanted to be important to someone, not because a great house had been entailed to him. Not because he bore a title. Not even because he had a mind lending itself well to invention and discovery. He drew breath. He lived, therefore he mattered.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “It matters. I’m not going to marry you, Josephine. Not now. Not ever.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jordan. You can’t beg off now.”

He studied her, noted the pursing of her lips, the frown line already beginning to show between her eyes. Was she going to stomp her feet in a tantrum? Throw herself to the ground, shrieking and tearing at her hair? He could almost envision her doing exactly that.

“Yes, I can,” he said. “And I am.”

“What are you going to do, Jordan? Leave everyone sitting in the church waiting for me?”

He’d already made plans. Whatever the payment was for escaping this marriage, he’d do it and willingly. In addition, the honorable thing was to offer to offset any of the Yorks’ expenses of this wedding, although how he was going to pay the bill he had no idea.

“My reputation will be in tatters,” she said. “I’ll be known as the woman the Duke of Roth spurned.”

“You should have considered your reputation before you lied, Josephine. I’m sure you’ve always gotten your way,” he added, certain of it. “Just not in this instance.”

He turned and walked away, heading toward the stables. The sooner he got to the church, the better.