Chapter Five
Josie was desperate, not delusional. She knew without a doubt that the Duke of Griffendale would never, ever marry her. Not if she was the most beautiful, alluring woman in the world. Which she wasn’t.
She’d been born in a flash house in the East End and orphaned at a young age. When she was about nine years old, Coach Valentine had come across her pummeling a street bully who outweighed her by a stone. The widowed father had taken her in and raised her alongside Franny, his pride and joy.
Truth be told, she didn’t want to marry the duke; it was just that Lord Meddlesome made her see red. The arrogant lift of his chin and humorless laugh infuriated her. His sapphire-blue eyes and his fighting skills addled her further.
Worst of all, he made her feel her place, which was as a woman who was a champion in her sport and yet still relying on the charity of men.
She wanted to leave that place by achieving her dream of teaching other women the art of self-defense. She loved the sweet science with all her heart, so training female prizefighters would be a delightful bonus. It stung that she couldn’t pursue her ambitions unless a wealthy man backed her.
She’d been certain that her dream was finally within her grasp, so when it had been taken from her, she’d snapped and said the most idiotic thing imaginable. “I want ye to make a love match between me and the duke.” Someone should cut out her tongue.
“Josephine,” the widow said, interrupting Josie’s woolgathering. “You shall stay with the Dowager Viscountess Davenport. She will train you to be a genteel lady and once you are ready, she shall introduce you to His Grace.”
In Josie’s opinion, this viscountess should have at least been given a choice, since there was no way anyone could turn Josie into a lady.
“My lord,” the widow said, turning to Lord Meddlesome, “You shall stay with them and assist. If, within one month, His Grace proposes marriage to Josephine, I will forgive your father his debt. Your family may maintain your home, and you will never hear from me again.”
Lord Meddlesome leaped from his chair. “There must be another way.”
“This is my one and only proposition,” the widow said.
Lord Meddlesome dropped into his chair, cradled his head in his palms, and whimpered.
“And you—” the widow pointed at the viscount—“shall oversee this arrangement if you ever want to enter my establishment again.”
Viscount Davenport’s face lit up, and he held out his hand for her to shake. “I do so love a good wager.”
Instead of taking his hand, the widow glared at him. “I see that gleam in your eyes, Lord Davenport. No, you may not fill the duke in on this plan and have him make a fake proposal. That would be cheating, and I do not tolerate cheaters.”
The viscount brought a hand to his heart. “Me, cheat? Why, I am crushed you would accuse me of such underhanded tactics.”
“Shove a cork in it, my lord,” The widow focused on Lord Meddlesome. “I do not peg you as a cheater, but do not think to interfere by garnering a fake proposal.”
Lord Meddlesome harrumphed, garnering more of Josie’s ire. Then, while they argued—make that, she called him names and he frowned, Davenport and the widow shook hands and whispered to each other like children keeping secrets.
Of course, the widow and the viscount were unperturbed.
What did the two of them have to lose? Josie was the one who may have lost her gymnasium and was about to sacrifice her pride.
It seemed Lord Meddlesome had already lost his family’s home.
Relying on her to behave like a lady and defy societal dictates to save either of them was beyond pointless.
And now, thanks to the Black Widow’s terms, Josie was trapped with Nicolas Wentworth for the next few weeks. Adding insult to injury, apparently, he didn’t have a farthing. What good was an indigent aristocrat?
The sun was rising in the sky when they finally left The Lyon’s Den.
Josie climbed into a fancy conveyance with nothing but the clothes on her back.
The carriage rolled along, taking her away from everything she knew.
Nicolas sat across from her, his eyes closed as he obviously pretended to sleep.
Viscount Davenport looked out the window, occasionally peering in her direction and smiling.
And all of this was for naught because there was no way she would make a match with the duke. Hell, she would never make a match with any man, not even one from her class, because she refused to tolerate their nonsense.
The viscount interrupted the deafening silence. “Miss Martin, I believe you will find my mother quite hospitable. She enjoys having house guests.”
“Crackin’ fine,” Josie said sarcastically. Not that it mattered one way or the other since the dowager viscountess was saddled with her whether she wanted her or not.
The viscount rubbed his hands together “We are here.”
Nicolas opened his eyes and stretched.
The carriage halted in front of a white brick townhouse almost the size of a castle.
The top of the rising sun emitted brilliant shades of orange, yellow, red, and gold from behind a four-story structure boasting a large bay window in the center of the second floor.
A wrought iron fence ran across the front of the building, and five steps led to the ornate door.
As the viscount exited the carriage, he looked over his shoulder. “I suggest we make the most of this time together and try to enjoy ourselves.”
“Easy for you to say,” Josie and Nicolas both said at the same time.
The viscount’s laugh emanated from deep in his belly. He waggled a finger. “The two of you need to cheer up.” He reached to help Josie down.
She pushed his hand to the side.
“Being a Lady, lesson number one. Allow a man to help you from the carriage,” the viscount said.
She scoffed. “How to Keep a Woman from Kicking ye in the Bollocks, lesson number one. Keep your bloody hands to yourself, Viscount.”
Jonathon Davenport winked. “You can imagine yourself kicking me in the bollocks as I assist you if it helps.”
Damnation. She almost liked the irreverent viscount.
“Can I imagine myself punching Lord Meddlesome in the nose while I smile and take your hand?” She sent Nicolas a faux, toothy grin.
The viscount doubled over with laughter.
Meddlesome met her gaze and rolled his eyes. It seemed this overwrought man might be less amused than her over their impending demise. Perhaps this was something she could use to her advantage every time he vexed her.
Taking the viscount’s hand, she exited the carriage.
Once her feet touched the ground, she faced the men.
“Why thank you, my lords. How gentlemanly of you to assist a helpless lady down from your fancy carriage.” With every intention of making a mockery of their farce, she turned on her heel and strode to the front door, attempting to daintily sway her hips.
However, since she possessed very little feminine grace, she felt like a monkey swinging its arms wildly as it tried to waltz in a straight line.
Josie stood in the grand foyer, circling like an awe-struck child. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d never been in a house this lovely. The polished marble floor shined, and gilded sconces adorned the walls. Fresh vases of colorful flowers adorned every available space.
A man wearing impeccable black livery greeted them. He dropped his stiff bearing to beam at Meddlesome. “My lord, ’tis so good to see you again. It has been too long.”
Lord Meddlesome smiled back, a shockingly genuine smile, showcasing dimpled cheeks. “Good morning, Peters. ’Tis’ always a pleasure. And I assure you, this visit, I won’t fence in the dining parlor.”
Peters chuckled. “Young boys must play. His lordship still occasionally turns a family meal into a sparring session.”
The viscount laughed. “Not in at least a year, Peters.”
Had Meddlesome been a fun-loving lad? Although hard to believe, the man was exceedingly handsome when he didn’t look like someone had poured fire ants into his small clothes.
“Peters, Miss Josephine Martin and Nicolas will be our house guests for a while,” the viscount said.
“Please see that they each have a room in the guest wing. Have a bath prepared for Miss Martin right away and see that she has a wardrobe. I believe Caroline’s clothing will suit for now.
Let my mother know that we will be having our midday meal in the formal parlor.
Have Cook prepare a splendid feast. There will be no boxing or sparring.
” He grinned. “At least not today. We are all quite exhausted. Until then, see that our guests have tea, fruit, and bread delivered to their rooms.”
“Do ye have oranges?” Josie asked.
Apparently, that was not a polite question because Nicolas glared at her, and she didn’t miss that Peters’ eyes briefly widened.
“See to it that Miss Martin has oranges,” Lord Davenport said.
“Yes, sir,” Peters said.
“I ain’t Miss Martin. I’m Josie or Josephine. Coach calls me JoJo. But don’t nobody else call me that. And who is Caroline? If I’m gonna wear her clothes, I’d like to know who she is.”
Nicolas huffed.
“Caroline is my sister,” the viscount said. “She married and moved to the country with her husband about a year ago.”
Josie shrugged. “Guess I ain’t got a problem with that.”
Meddlesome rolled his eyes.
The man rolled his eyes a lot. Perhaps she should blacken them for good measure. She lunged into his space hoping he’d back away like a coward. Instead, he sighed and stood his ground.
“Now, now, children. Play nice,” the viscount said. “I am sure we will all feel better after a bite to eat and a couple hours of sleep.”
The viscount departed, leaving the butler—at least she thought Peters was the butler—to show them to their chambers.
After dropping Meddlesome off at the room beside hers, Peters ushered her into her chamber.
“I will see to your bath, clothing, and oranges.” Peters closed the door and left her to herself for the first time in hours.
The tear that trickled down her cheek was most likely from exhaustion and had nothing to do with the beautiful chamber because she was not missish or superficial.
The walls were painted a light green, and hand-painted pink roses adorned every wall.
The gilded headboard was higher than she was tall, and a dozen pillows and a soft blanket covered the bed.
She toed off her slippers, digging her toes into the thick carpeting.
Was it wrong of her to be delighted with how lovely her chamber was? Perhaps, but she could enjoy it for a few moments. Couldn’t she?
“Yes,” she whispered.
She dashed across the room and leaped onto the bed. She bounced and then sunk into the plush bedding.
She was still giggling when someone knocked on the door. Before she could answer, a woman about her age entered, her arms full of colorful dresses.
“Miss, I am Diana. I’m to be your lady’s maid during your stay.”
Two other maids followed her, their arms also full of shoes, ribbons, and other accouterments.
Within seconds, the peaceful chamber was a dizzying buzz.
Two footmen lugged a tub beneath the window.
She lost track of how many men carried water.
Someone placed a tray of tea, bread, butter, and oranges on her dressing table.
Having never had a person attend to her bathing, Josie had no idea what to do with a lady’s maid, so she sent Diana away.
Once she was alone, Josie peeled off her shapeless round gown and chemise. She unwrapped her breasts, moaning her relief as they bounced free of their tight bindings. Grabbing an orange, she carried it to the tub. Fruit in hand, she sunk into the steamy bathwater.
Although she did not believe in miracles, she decided she might just change her tune because this was sublime magic.