Chapter 11 #3
“Well, then we shall not discuss it.” Martha resumed brushing with brisk efficiency.
Once her hair was arranged in an elegant chignon with soft curls framing her face, Josephine stood and followed her mother out of the room. As they descended the stairs, the faint scent of roses drifted towards them.
The moment she rounded the corner, she saw the entire entry hall overflowing with vases—pink roses, white lilies, blue delphiniums—all arranged in elaborate sprays. Every table, every stand, every open surface was covered.
Her brother stood in the middle of the floral chaos with a broad grin. “You never mentioned that the man you were holding hands with in the library was Lord Pendryn.”
Josephine paused on the last step. “I didn’t think it was important,” she replied. She absolutely would not admit that she hadn’t known it was him at the time. That humiliation she would take to the grave.
Alexander plucked up a note from one of the arrangements. “Can you imagine? Lord Pendryn sent all these flowers to you.”
“I don’t need to imagine it,” she said dryly as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I can see them right in front of me.” She turned to the butler. “Please see that all these flowers are returned to Lord Pendryn.”
Her mother gasped. “Josephine! That would be a grave insult.”
“I’m aware,” Josephine said. “But I do not wish to encourage Lord Pendryn.”
Alexander stepped between her and the butler, raising a hand. “These flowers are to remain exactly where they are,” he ordered. Then he faced Josephine, irritation clear in his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you encourage Lord Pendryn? He is heir to a dukedom.”
“I am well aware of who he is,” Josephine said through clenched teeth. “And I don’t care.”
Alexander stared at her as though she’d sprouted antlers. “This could be a boon for our family. Do not be selfish.”
Josephine lifted her chin. “If caring about my own dignity is selfish, then I shall have to bear the burden with courage.”
Her mother rubbed her temples. “Good heavens. It is too early in the day for all this drama,” she remarked.
“Do try to talk some sense into Josephine,” Alexander said. “I have business I must attend to.” He marched towards the front door and slammed it behind him with unnecessary force.
The moment the echo faded, her mother turned to her with a weary sigh. “Must you antagonize him?”
Josephine crossed her arms. “I think my very existence antagonizes him.”
Her mother gave a small, dry laugh as she reached for her bonnet from the hook near the entryway. “Shall we go shopping and then stop by Gunter’s for a lemon ice?”
Josephine’s gaze drifted over the extravagant display of flowers filling the entry hall. They were beautiful. Annoyingly so. And there was something painfully thoughtful in the gesture.
“I could be agreeable to that,” Josephine said, pretending she did not spend a full two seconds admiring the hydrangeas.
Before her mother could reply, a knock came at the door.
The butler moved to answer it, his composure impeccable.
Josephine’s heart stilled.
Please, let it not be—
“Is Lady Josephine available for callers?” a painfully familiar voice asked.
Her stomach plummeted. Mr. Broderick.
Panic flared through her. She darted behind the open parlor door and mouthed fiercely, I am not home.
The butler’s eyes flicked towards her, and he nodded his understanding before turning back to the caller.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Lady Josephine is not home. If you leave your calling card, I will be sure to inform her of your visit.”
Mr. Broderick huffed, then tried to soften it. “Thank you.”
When the door finally closed and his footsteps disappeared, Josephine slumped against the wall, exhaling shakily. “I do not ever want to see that man again.”
“You may have to,” her mother said. “He does business with your brother.”
Josephine scowled. “Then I shall need to start carrying my muff pistol everywhere.”
“You have a muff pistol?”
“Yes, Jude gave it to me.”
Her mother’s brow arched with queenly precision. “I believe you are referring to Lord Pendryn.”
“Yes, but—”
“You must not be so familiar with him.”
Josephine knew that her mother wasn’t wrong. “You are right.” She straightened and walked over to the window to ensure that Mr. Broderick was nowhere to be seen.
Her mother clasped her hands, thoughtful. “Now, about this muff pistol… do you even know how to shoot one?”
“Yes,” Josephine replied. “Jud—er—Lord Pendryn taught me at Ashmoore Hall. It belonged to his mother.”
That certainly caught her mother’s attention. “He gave you his mother’s muff pistol?” she repeated, her eyes widening.
“He did.”
Her mother hummed. “Interesting.”
Josephine rolled her eyes. “There is nothing interesting about that.”
“So says you.”
“Can we please go get lemon ice and put an end to all this nonsense?” Josephine asked with a groan.
Her mother smiled, looping her arm through Josephine’s. “Yes, my dear. Lemon ice sounds perfect.”
But even as they stepped outside, she couldn’t quite stop thinking about the flowers.
Or the pistol.
Or him.