CHAPTER 24
It was a blustery day. White clouds scudded across a blue sky, bathing the ground in sunshine one moment, darkening it with shade the next.
Trees waved their branches and flowers tossed their heads.
But it was warm. And it was potentially the loveliest day of his life, Joseph thought as he arrived at Lindsey Hall late in the morning.
Potentially.
It had not been an easy day so far.
His father had quivered with fury even just with the news that Portia had run off with McLeith. He had not excused her actions for a moment—far from it. But neither had he excused Joseph for driving her to take such drastic measures.
“Her disgrace will be on your conscience for the rest of your life,” he had told his son. “If you have a conscience, that is.”
And then Joseph had broached the topic of Claudia Martin. At first his father had been simply incredulous.
“That spinster schoolteacher?” he had asked.
Then, when he had understood fully that it was indeed she, he had exploded in a storm of wrath that had had both Joseph and his mother seriously worried for his health.
Joseph had held firm. And he had shamelessly played his trump card.
“Mr. Martin, her father,” he had explained, “was guardian to the Duke of McLeith. The duke grew up in their home from the age of five. He thinks of Claudia almost as a sister.”
McLeith was not much in his father’s favor this morning, of course, but nevertheless the man was of a rank to match his own, even if it was only a Scottish title.
Joseph’s mother had asked the only question that really mattered to her.
“Do you love Miss Martin, Joseph?” she had asked.
“I do, Mama,” he had told her. “With all my heart.”
“I never did really like Miss Hunt,” she had admitted. “There is something cold about her. One can only hope she loves the Duke of McLeith.”
“Sadie!”
“No, Webster,” she had said. “I will not be quiet when the happiness of my own children is at stake. I am surprised, I must confess. Miss Martin seems too old and plain and stern for Joseph, but if he loves her and if she loves him, then I am content. And she will welcome dear Lizzie into your family, I daresay, Joseph. I would invite them both to tea if I were in my own home.”
“Sadie—”
“But I am not,” she had said. “Are you going to Lindsey Hall this morning, Joseph? Tell Miss Martin if you will that I will call on her this afternoon. I daresay Clara will go with me or Gwen or Lauren if your father will not.”
“Thank you, Mama.” He had raised her hand to his lips.
There had still been Wilma to face, of course, before he left for Lindsey Hall.
She was not to be avoided. She had been waiting for him outside the library and had forced him into the small visitors’ salon next to it.
Surprisingly—perhaps—she had had nothing but recriminations to call down upon the head of the unfortunate Portia.
But she had been deeply shocked by the rumors she had heard last night—rumors none of her cousins would either confirm or deny. Not that rumors had been necessary.
“You waltzed with that teacher, Joseph,” she had said, “as if no one else existed in the world but her.”
“No one did,” he had told her.
“It was quite indecorous,” she had said. “You made an utter cake of yourself.”
He had smiled.
“And then you disappeared with her,” she had said. “Everyone must have noticed. It was quite scandalous. You had better be very careful or you are going to find yourself trapped into marrying her. You do not know what women like her are capable of, Joseph. She—”
“It is I,” he had told her, “who am trying to trap her into marriage, Wilma. Or to persuade her to marry me, anyway. It is not going to be easy. She does not like dukes or even dukes in waiting, and she has no desire whatsoever to be a duchess—even if such a fate is comfortably far in the future provided we can keep Papa healthy. But she does like her pupils—especially, I suspect, her charity girls. She feels an obligation to them and to the school she began and has run successfully for almost fifteen years.”
She had stared at him, almost speechless for once.
“You are going to marry her?” she had asked him.
“If she will have me,” he had said.
“Of course she will have you,” she had told him.
“Lord, Wil,” he had said, “I hope you are right.”
“Wil.” She had looked arrested. “You have not called me that for years.”
He had caught her by the shoulders suddenly and pulled her into an impulsive hug.
“Wish me luck,” he had said.
“Does she really mean that much to you?” she had asked him. “I cannot see the attraction, Joseph.”
“You do not have to,” he had said. “Wish me luck.”
“I doubt you will need it,” she had said. But she had tightened her arms about him. “Go and get her then if you must. I daresay I will tolerate her if she makes you happy.”
“Thank you, Wil.” He had grinned at her as he released her.
Neville had clapped a hand on his shoulder when they met on the stairs after he escaped from the salon.
“Still on your feet, are you, Joe?” he had said. “Do you need a sympathetic ear? A companion with whom to ride neck or nothing across the roughest terrain we can find? Someone with whom to get thoroughly foxed even this early in the day? I am your man if you need me.”
“I am on my way to Lindsey Hall,” Joseph had said with a grin. “Once my relatives have stopped delaying me, that is.”
“Quite so.” Neville had removed his hand.
“I left Lily and Lauren and Gwen all huddled together in our room, all close to tears because Uncle Webster’s voice was carrying from the library and it did not sound pleased with life.
And all agreeing that finally, despite Uncle Webster, dearest Joseph was going to be happy.
I think they must have been referring to the possibility of your marrying Miss Martin. ”
He had grinned back at Joseph before slapping a hand on his shoulder again and then continuing on his way downstairs.
And so now at last Joseph was arriving at Lindsey Hall, buoyed by hope despite the fact that he knew nothing was yet decided.
Claudia herself was the remaining hurdle—and the greatest. She had loved him last night with passionate abandon, especially the second time when she had been on top and had taken the initiative in a manner that could make his temperature soar even in memory.
She also loved him. He felt no real doubt about that.
But making love to him, even loving him, was not the same thing as marrying him.
Marriage would be a huge step for her—far more so than for almost any other woman. For most women marriage was a step up to greater freedom and independence, to a more active and interesting life, to greater personal fulfillment. Claudia already had all those things.
He asked for her when he arrived at the house, and she sent down Lizzie. She came alone, with the dog leading her, and stepped inside the salon when a footman opened the door for her, her face lit up with smiles.
“Papa?” she said.
He strode toward her, wrapped his arms about her, and twirled her about.
“How is my best girl this morning?” he asked her.
“I am well,” she said. “Is it true, Papa? Edna and Flora heard it from one of the maids, who heard it from another maid, who heard it from one of the ladies—it might have been the duchess, though I am not sure. But they all say it is true. Has Miss Hunt gone away?”
Ah.
“It is true,” he said.
“Never to return?”
“Never,” he told her.
“Oh, Papa.” She clasped her hands to her bosom and turned her face up to his. “I am so glad.”
“So am I,” he said.
“And is it true,” she asked him, “that you are going to marry Miss Martin instead?”
Good Lord!
“Is that what Flora and Edna and all the maids say too?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
“And what does Miss Martin have to say about it?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she said. “She was cross when I asked her. She told me I ought not to listen to the gossip of servants. And when the other girls asked her too, she got very cross and told them she would make them all do mathematics problems for the rest of the morning if they did not stop even if this is a holiday. Then Miss Thompson took them all outside except for Julia Jones, who was playing the spinet.”
“And except for you,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I knew you would come, Papa. I waited for you. I wanted Miss Martin to come down with me, but she would not. She said she had things to do.”
“She did not say better things, by any chance, did she?” he asked.
“Yes, she did,” Lizzie told him.
It sounded as if Claudia Martin was as prickly as a hedgehog this morning. She had had a night—well, a few hours anyway—to sleep upon her memories of last evening.
“I am thinking of selling the house in London,” he told Lizzie. “I am planning to take you to Willowgreen to live. It is a large house in the country with a park all about it. There will be space there for you and fresh air and flowers and birds and musical instruments and—”
“And you, Papa?” she asked him.
“And me,” he said. “We will be able to live in the same house together all the time, Lizzie. You will no longer have to wait for my visits—and I will no longer have to wait until there are no other obligations and I can visit you at last. We will be together every day. I will be home, and it will be your home too.”
“And Miss Martin’s?” she asked.
“Would you like that?” he asked her.
“I would like it of all things, Papa,” she said. “She teaches me things, and it is fun. And I like her voice. I feel safe with her. I think she likes me. No, I think she loves me.”
“Even when she is cross?” he asked.
“I think she was cross this morning,” she said, “because she wants to marry you, Papa.”
Which, he supposed, was perfect feminine logic.
“You would not mind, then,” he asked her, “if I married her?”