Gran and Amy sat opposite her in the carriage while Sarah had remained behind to assist Josephine in her final preparations.

All the way to the church, the carriage wheels rolled along the road, singing a refrain echoing in Martha’s mind.

No more.

No more.

No more.

She had to do something. She could not allow this marriage to continue. She didn’t care how she did it, but she was going to stop this ceremony. Jordan deserved better. He deserved his share of happiness, too.

Inside, Josephine was hollow, the space filled up with possessions, acquisitions, and a sense of power she’d cultivated ever since she was a young girl. Although she now spurned the relationship, she was a York, and it brought enough attention on its own. Plus, she was ethereally beautiful. She could charm any man she wanted and did, if it suited her purpose.

But being wealthy and beautiful was not justification for destroying a man’s life. Martha knew, without a doubt, that that’s exactly what Josephine would do.

Somehow she had to stop her, even if it meant acting the fool. Even if it meant bringing the brunt of society’s disapproval down around her head.

Both Gran and Amy glanced at her from time to time, their looks strangely compassionate. Did they know what she was thinking? Could they sense the level of her misery?

She was going to horrify the villagers, not to mention their friends from London.

When the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the church, both Gran and Amy looked wide-eyed at the crowd of spectators waiting to greet them. Martha only sighed inwardly. This debacle was evidently going to be amply witnessed. The stories would continue for years.

She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and waited until Gran exited the carriage first. Amy startled her by reaching across and placing her hand on Martha’s arm.

“I just wanted to say how lovely you look today, Miss Martha.”

“Thank you, Amy,” she said, grateful for the maid’s kindness.

Her hair had been unmanageable this morning and she knew it had already escaped its careful styling. The dress she wore was new and horribly uncomfortable, requiring the corset to be tighter. The bustle was heavy, pulling at her waist and back.

She was much more comfortable in the hated lavender dress she’d worn at Sedgebrook.

Gran greeted numerous people as they made their way up the steps of the church. Amy was there at her side, in case she needed some assistance, with Martha following behind.

When she entered the church she found it, too, filled with people. Congregants were even along the outside aisles.

Most of the staff at Griffin House had been released to attend the ceremony. Since the reception was not going to be held until two hours after the wedding, they had more than enough time to return home and make the final preparations.

Would Gran want to continue with the reception? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps her grandmother would want to retreat to Griffin House and barricade the gates, remaining in isolation until the gossip died down.

She was about to shame the entire family. That day at Sedgebrook she should have stood, denounced Josephine’s lie, and admitted to her own behavior, taking responsibility for it.

She should have, but she hadn’t. Now she had to make this right.

They took their place in the York pew, the first one on the right side, facing the altar. Behind them, the congregation continued to talk until the choir began. The little boys in their starched round collars looked and sang like angels.

She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.

Five minutes passed, then five more. The choir was replaced by organ music, the selections no doubt chosen by Josephine and designed to give an imposing feeling to the ceremony. She found them more suited to a funeral and wished the choir would begin singing again.

She hoped Gran would forgive her. If not, the lecture she was sure to receive would be something along the lines of: “Perhaps it’s a good thing your father wasn’t alive to witness your behavior, Martha.” Or: “Matthew would be rolling in his grave, child. Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

Love? Was it reason enough? Honor? Her own sense of decency and propriety? Respect? For Jordan and herself. Revenge? The thought stopped her.

No, she didn’t feel vengeful, but she was angry. Not only about Josephine’s manipulation but her callous disregard for anyone else’s feelings. No one was more important to Josephine than Josephine.

Martha had never been miserable in her life, not until going to Sedgebrook. Then, it was as if someone peeled away part of her she’d never known existed. A shield, a blanket, a way of keeping her from looking at the world as it truly was. Or maybe her father’s death had changed her. She’d been left bereft and grieving, unable to connect with anyone and finding friendship in a man’s letters and perhaps a bit of imagination as well. No, not imagination. She’d created a picture of Jordan from his own words and he’d turned out to be exactly as she hoped.

What had Gran said? That she was always someone’s something: her father’s daughter, Marie’s stepdaughter, Gran’s granddaughter. Josephine’s sister.

Jordan’s lover.

When was she simply going to be herself because of herself? When was she going to be whole and separate, asking more of the world than she had in the past? At what point did she refuse what she’d been given and demand a greater share of happiness?

When? Right now, this exact moment.

The choir began singing again, only to fade off when the double doors opened and Jordan entered the church.

Every single person turned his head and watched Jordan’s approach. He must hate being the center of attention, especially since he was still dependent on his walking stick.

A few days ago Josephine had informed her of the details of the ceremony. She wouldn’t walk down the aisle. She would have no attendants. She and Jordan would emerge from the door beside the altar and present themselves to the congregation before turning to face the minister who would begin to officiate.

She hadn’t known at the time why Josephine had cut out everyone from the ceremony, but now she did. Josephine didn’t consider herself a member of the York family. Instead, she saw herself as a stray dog that had somehow wandered into their kennel. That stray dog had become an heiress thanks to the generosity of her father, a man she rebuffed on her mother’s word.

Perhaps Josephine had made another change to the ceremony and would follow Jordan down the aisle, the better to make an entrance.

It didn’t matter. Martha couldn’t allow the wedding to continue one more minute.

Her grandmother suddenly stood, the congregation’s attention moving from Jordan to Gran.

“Jordan Hamilton,” she said, her voice carrying over the abrupt silence, “do you love my granddaughter?”

Jordan stopped, half a church away and regarded Gran.

Before he could speak, she continued. “Not Josephine, but Martha.”

His gaze veered to where Martha sat, her eyes wide. Every thought had flown from her head at her grandmother’s question.

“Yes, Mrs. York, I do.”

Martha’s gaze flew to his.

This was not going at all the way she’d planned. She had thought she would scandalize the entire congregation, perhaps even be sent from the church in disgrace. She’d no idea Gran would suddenly act like an avenging archangel or that Jordan would shock her with a declaration of love.

He loved her? He could have mentioned that earlier.

“This marriage can’t go on,” Gran said, further surprising her.

“I agree,” he said, making his way to the pew and standing in front of Martha, his expression solemn. “It’s why I came. To make an announcement that the ceremony has been canceled.”

Martha was teetering between a bone-deep joy that he’d said he loved her to a terrifying certainty that she was dreaming all of this. Any moment she’d wake up in her bed with this interminable day to be gotten through.

Perhaps she’d taken some of Jordan’s elixir.

But would she have imagined Gran and her question? No, she couldn’t have envisioned that. Nor could she have foreseen Jordan looking at her as he did now, as if he was memorizing her every feature.

Gran sat down beside her. Evidently she was retreating from the fray, leaving Martha to carry on. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath and stood.

She had planned to declare her love for him, tell him that if he needed an heiress, she was one. She’d gone over and over the words she would say in her mind. She’d utter them quickly, before anyone could interrupt her.

Yet now, with what felt like the whole world waiting, she couldn’t form one coherent sentence. No, not one word would escape, let alone a few of them strung together.

All she could do was stare at him.

“You can’t marry Josephine.” There, finally, words had passed the portal of her lips.

“I agree,” he said. “I can’t.”

He turned, his gaze encompassing the congregation.

“Please accept my apologies,” he said, his voice sounding formal and ducal. “There will be no wedding today.”

He looked at her once more. “Shall we go?” he asked, stretching his hand out to her, palm up. “I think we need to have a conversation.”

Bemused, she placed her hand in his and walked with him from the church.

He didn’t give her a chance to balk, just grabbed her hand and pulled her down the aisle with him. Hundreds of eyes followed their passage from the church.

Martha didn’t have to struggle to keep up. If anything, she had to slow her pace to his. Damnable leg.

He glanced at her, unsurprised to see her face flushed. The situation was rife with embarrassment, humiliation, and some degree of dishonor.

Why, then, did he feel so damn good?

Holding her hand would have been a damn sight easier if he didn’t also have to wield this idiotic walking stick. The problem was without it, he wasn’t sure he could maintain his balance.

Damn it all.

He stopped at the church door.

“Shall we proceed?” he said, glancing toward the carriage.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to Griffin House for the moment,” he said. “I want to propose marriage to you,” he added. “Without so many witnesses.”

She only stared up at him, her expression one that made his heart lighter. She looked as stunned as a child presented with a magical present. Happiness lit up her eyes and her mouth was slightly open.

He couldn’t help himself. He bent and kissed Martha in front of hundreds of people.

Let them talk. Let them tell the tale of the duke who came to announce that one wedding wasn’t going to take place while proposing to another woman on the steps of the same church.

Nor was that the only shocking thing he did. He kissed her again and she kissed him back.

Reese packed his valise and looked around the room, paying special attention to the rumpled bed. Josephine would be married shortly. Would being the Duchess of Roth be everything she wanted or expected? He doubted it.

Most of the staff had already left for the church to witness the exchange of vows. How long would it be before Josephine broke hers? A month? Longer?

He wagered that Jordan would be faithful until the end. Or maybe he wouldn’t even make it to the church. He wouldn’t fault the man if he grabbed Martha and hied off to Gretna Green.

To his surprise, his carriage had been brought around to the front of the house without his order. Not only had it been readied for him, but it seemed as if he had a traveling companion.

He entered the vehicle to discover Josephine sitting there, dressed in a brilliant blue traveling dress and jacket, a jaunty blue hat with a bouncy feather completing her attire.

“Should I ask what the hell you’re doing here?” he said. “Or shall I just congratulate you for escaping a loveless marriage?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Most marriages are loveless.”

“There are a great many, I understand, that are the height of companionship, not to mention passion.”

She sent him a look no doubt designed to singe him to his toes. He was not so easily cowed. Perhaps she would learn that fact in time.

“I’ve been thrown over,” she said, the words said with less venom than he expected. “Jordan has decided he doesn’t want to marry me.”

After her announcement, she glanced at him.

“You knew,” she said.

“I didn’t, but I’m not surprised.”

“You might have warned me.”

“Did you blame him?” he asked. “He knew it was you in my bed last night, by the way.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Was that why?”

He shook his head. “I suspect it was because he wanted Martha more than he wanted you.” Daring words. He half expected her to fly into a rage.

She surprised him by smiling and the expression look almost genuine.

“They belong together, don’t you think? They’ll always smell of the lake. Perhaps their children will be little goldfish.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. She had a way about her when she wasn’t being manipulative.

“You said something intriguing.”

“Lucky me,” he said, leaning close. “Dare I get an appreciative kiss for my brilliance?”

She put both hands on his chest and pushed him away.

“No. You said something about my working for the War Office. Would it be a possibility, do you think?”

He sat back and regarded her with some interest.

He and Jordan both had begun work at the Topographical & Statistics Department, collating military statistics. Recently, however, the department had begun assimilating other duties and taking on other missions. As such, perhaps women could be utilized. Hell, maybe they were being used now and he just didn’t know.

“You’re an heiress. Why do you feel the need to work?”

She made a little moue of dissatisfaction. “I’ve always envied Martha. She’s always had a goal, something to achieve. Other than a new wardrobe, I haven’t.”

He studied her for a few moments, wondering if she knew that with every new aspect of character she revealed he became more fascinated.

“It’s worth a try,” he said. “Shall I ask and let you know?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve become importun at Griffin House,” she said. “I’m traveling to London with you.”

“Are you?”

She nodded.

He gave the signal to his driver and they pulled away, gravel pinging on the undercarriage.

“I have a present for you,” she said, reaching across the seat.

Only then did he realize there was something hidden under a blanket in the corner. He stared at the crate with the name Goldfish on it in amazement.

Slowly, he began to smile.

“It seemed only right they lose their precious ship.”

“How did you get it in the carriage?” he asked.

“It’s not heavy. Besides, the only person in the stables was Brian and he would do anything for me.”

He had a feeling most men would.

“Perhaps I should emulate Jordan,” he said, bowing slightly. “Shall I offer to make you an honest woman, Miss York?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I have no intention of marrying you.”

Of course not. He didn’t possess a title. Perhaps he should tell her about his elderly uncle and how he would probably inherit an earldom in a few years. Or perhaps he would simply keep the information to himself. It would always be better to stay one step ahead of Josephine.

Once in the carriage Martha still held on to Jordan’s hand.

He smiled at her in such a way she lost her breath. Thankfully, he hadn’t smiled at her earlier. She might have fainted at his feet. But she couldn’t just sit there staring at him like a loon, all the while holding on to his hand as if it was a life rope.

“You have a tendency to do something wrong for the right reason,” she said.

“I do?”

She nodded. “Is this one of those situations?” she asked.

“Do you mean am I aiming to make reparations for my behavior by marrying you?”

She nodded again.

“I want to marry you because I want to marry you,” he said.

She only stared at him.

“Although I admit I wasn’t certain it was you in my bed until last night. I kept seeing you in my dreams. It makes sense now why, but not at the time. I thought I was just longing for you.”

The most wonderful thing about this moment was that she wasn’t imagining it.

“You told my grandmother you loved me.”

“I believe I made the declaration to the entire church,” he said.

Her heart was beating so fiercely surely he could hear it. The birds flying overhead could probably hear it, too, looking downward for that strange thudding noise.

When he extended his leg slightly, she glanced at it.

“How are you feeling?”

“Remarkably well, considering I’ve had little sleep.”

She could feel the blush creeping up to her neck. Should he really be commenting about that?

She glanced away, feeling as if she’d become someone else in the past few minutes. She wasn’t entirely certain she knew who this Martha York was. Surely she wasn’t this tongue-tied, silly creature who felt inept and incapable of speech?

“Despite the fact I announced it to the whole of the church,” he said, “I didn’t say it directly to you. Martha York, I love you.”

That announcement certainly didn’t make it easier to speak.

She could only stare at him. “Oh, Jordan.”

He hadn’t expected Martha to be terrified by his announcement.

She stared at him wide-eyed. Nor did she say a word in the next few minutes, the silence stretching out long enough to worry him.

All he had to offer her was a title and an albatross of a house. He suspected she didn’t care about titles and Sedgebrook didn’t seem to fascinate her, not as it had Josephine.

“Do you think me an invalid?”

He studied her eyes, certain he would be able to tell when she was lying. She was open about her emotions, something else differentiating her from her sister. Josephine used what she felt to manipulate other people. Martha didn’t.

To his surprise, she frowned at him.

“Why on earth would I think you an invalid? Because of your leg?”

He nodded, once.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I might always limp.”

She tilted her head and regarded him, still with a frown. What did she see when she looked at him? He found he wanted to know. Or perhaps it would be better if he didn’t.

“Does it matter to you?” she asked.

“It simply is. The fact does not require me to approve it or not. But it might be distressing to those around me.”

“Do you think people would call you names or whisper behind your back?”

“I’ve known a great many kinds of people, Martha. I don’t doubt they’d come up with a name for me. Something like the Damaged Duke, for example.”

“Would you care?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you expect me to come up with a name for you?”

He studied her. “I doubt you would,” he said.

“I could, if you want me to. Something like the Daunting Duke. I find you daunting a good deal of the time. Or even the Dangerous Duke if your eyes get any steamier.”

“Steamier?”

“They’re positively boiling with emotion right now,” she said.

He was, in fact, trying to fight the impulse to kiss her. She was sitting there with her face pale, her lips tremulous. He wanted to calm her mouth, place his on it until she sighed against his lips.

“I’ve been trying to think of an inducement to make you marry me,” he said. “And I’m coming up with little to offer you. You don’t seem to care about Sedgebrook. Do you want to become a duchess?”

“Not particularly,” she said.

“Then I have little to offer. I could give you half the boathouse. You could do your work on one side while I worked on the other.”

“Would I get lunch there, too?”

“Absolutely. Perhaps we’d even have wine from time to time.”

“Would you balk at my expenditures for copper or a new compressor?” she asked.

“Hardly, since you’d make it possible for Sedgebrook to get a new roof.”

“There’s my ruined reputation,” she said. “That’s a good reason to marry as well. But I doubt marriage will save either of our good names after today. I think we’re destined to be shocking to a great many people.”

“Then it’s settled?” he said. “We’ll marry? Not, however, at Griffin House, unless it’s a private ceremony.”

She sat back against the seat. “Not a proposal steeped in romance,” she said.

“On the contrary. It’s extraordinarily romantic, given I’ve declared myself to you and you’ve done nothing of the sort. I’m working on the assumption that you’ll find yourself smitten with me in due course.”

“The Darling Duke,” she said, startling him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what I’ll call you,” she said. She smiled at him, which lightened his heart immeasurably. “You could offer me you. It’s all I really need. I love you, too. I think I fell in love with you long before we ever met in person.”

He reached over and pulled her onto his lap, desperate to kiss her. He found, to his immense relief, his leg didn’t object at all to Martha being there.

“I love you, too,” she said once more.

He pulled back and looked at her. “You really are my Joan of Arc, you know.”

She was not going to weep at the look on his face or the expression in his eyes. He was letting her see all his vulnerabilities, everything he held back from other people.

She was well aware of what a great gift he’d given her.

Instead of weeping, she decided it was time for another kiss.