Martha made her way back to the house and up the stairs to the second floor. Before she sought out Frederick she’d go and check on Gran and, while she was at it, make sure Josephine hadn’t gotten into any trouble.

Perhaps she should be as concerned with her own behavior. After all, she was going to put herself within working distance of the Duke of Roth. He was too handsome for her, too charming—when it was obvious he didn’t mean to be—and too intriguing.

She wanted to know how he’d been injured, why he felt it so necessary to achieve something of his own, and what he thought about her father’s advancements.

Not one of those questions was commonplace. Nor had she learned the answers from reading his letters. She’d learned how his mind worked when reasoning out the problems inherent with the torpedo ship, but she wanted to know more.

The only way she was going to satisfy her curiosity was by working with the man.

She reached Gran’s room and knocked softly. When her grandmother answered, she pushed in the door, unsurprised to find her sitting up in bed, reading, a pot of tea on the nightstand, and biscuit crumbs on a plate.

Amy was sitting in the chair by the window. At Martha’s entrance, she folded the garment and stood.

“You sit here, Miss Martha,” she said. “I’ll just go and get some more biscuits.”

She smiled at Amy and thanked her.

The windows in the chamber were open to let in the summer breeze. The sunlight formed a large square on the carpet and in the middle of it sprawled a fat orange striped cat.

“That’s Hero,” Gran said.

Martha edged past the sunlight, but Hero didn’t move, merely remained in his position of half on his back and half on his side, allowing the sun to bathe his hairy belly.

“Why Hero?” she asked.

“He’s quite the mouser, I understand, and the father to countless litters. There’s one in the barn right now.”

Evidently, Gran had made friends with the staff.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” she said.

Would her grandmother admit to playing ill? Or should she say something about her suspicions? This journey to Sedgebrook was a perfect opportunity for Josephine. The duke was young, handsome, and unmarried. Josephine was his perfect foil. She was young, beautiful, wealthy, and desirous of marriage.

“I am,” Gran said. “I think there’s something magical in the tonic Dr. Reynolds gave me. I need to make sure my doctor has the same formula.”

She wasn’t going to second-guess the physician, but it didn’t seem as though Gran truly needed to rest for three more days.

“Are you absolutely certain you don’t feel up to going home tomorrow?” she asked.

Her grandmother closed the book she was reading and studied her.

“Why? Is there some reason you want to leave, Martha?”

She shook her head.

In three days a great deal could happen. She could become even more fascinated with the duke. Josephine could make a nuisance of herself exploring Sedgebrook.

“How is Josephine faring?”

She glanced at her grandmother.

“She seems quite taken with Sedgebrook,” Martha said.

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.