Chapter 17 #3
Lady Redden wrapped Josephine in her arms, holding her daughter tightly. “No… no, my darling. There must be a way out of this.”
“There isn’t!” Josephine sobbed. “And Lord Pendryn wants to marry me to protect me, but I won’t let him. I won’t ruin him, too. I won’t.”
Lady Redden smoothed her daughter’s hair, her voice soft but steely. “Josephine, my dear, you are not ruined. And we will find a way to undo this. I promise you that.”
But Josephine could only cling to her mother, feeling everything come undone at once—her reputation, her heart, her future.
And Jude.
Especially Jude.
The door swung open with a careless shove and Alexander strode into the entry hall, shrugging out of his greatcoat as though nothing in the world could possibly be amiss.
“What is the matter?” he asked, his tone maddeningly uninterested—as if she’d merely misplaced a glove.
Their mother released Josephine’s arms and turned towards him, her expression tight with controlled fury. “Mr. Broderick told lies to The Morning Post,” she said. “They are printing an unflattering article about your sister.”
Alexander frowned, but it was a mild confusion, not outrage. “What did he lie about?”
Josephine tried to steady her voice. “He told the newssheets that I eloped with him but the carriage accident stopped us.”
Alexander shook his head with firm disbelief. “No. Broderick wouldn’t do such a thing. I told him he couldn’t marry you.”
Josephine let out a humorless laugh. “Well, I won’t marry him regardless. Not if he were the last man on earth.”
Her brother began pacing, his boots striking sharp, angry notes on the marble floor. “What if I speak to Lord Pendryn? You could marry him and—”
“No.” Josephine lifted her chin. “I won’t marry Lord Pendryn either.”
He spun towards her so fast she flinched. “Whyever not? If you don’t marry before that article comes out, no one will want you. You’ll be a spinster.”
“There are worse things,” she declared.
Alexander’s mouth twisted. “You don’t mean that. It’s just the delirium talking. You will marry Pendryn. His father is a duke and he has powerful allies. He will make it right; he has to.”
“I’m sorry,” Josephine responded. “But there must be another way.”
“There is no other way, Josephine!” Alexander exclaimed. “I don’t condone what Broderick did, but he made your bed and now you must lie in it.”
Josephine’s breath hitched, and she took a step back. “I’m sorry, but you are wrong.”
“I am not wrong!” Alexander barked. He turned sharply to their mother. “Talk some sense into her. She’ll be throwing away her future if she doesn’t marry Pendryn.”
“And he will be throwing away his future if he marries me!” she shot back.
Alexander threw his hands into the air. “But you love him! You told me as much this morning over breakfast.”
Josephine’s stomach twisted painfully. “Which is precisely why I won’t marry him.”
Alexander stared at her. “That… that is the most backwards thing I have ever heard.” He stepped closer, looming. “You will marry Lord Pendryn.”
“No,” she said, her voice steady though tears pricked her eyes.
“Think of Mother. Think of me,” Alexander pleaded. “That article could ruin us, too. Is that what you want?”
Her chin wavered. “No. Of course not.”
Alexander exhaled heavily, frustration seeping from every line of him. “Josephine… you are being stubborn. Start thinking about yourself and your future. It could all disappear in the blink of an eye.”
She took another step back, mustering her courage to say her next words. “I think… it would be best if I retired to our country home for the remainder of the Season.”
Her mother’s face fell. “You would leave us?”
“It would be for the best. If I were gone…”
“Then the gossips would win,” her mother said firmly.
“It is better than walking around on parade while they whisper behind their fans,” Josephine replied, her voice cracking.
Her mother reached out and touched her sleeve gently. “Why don’t you go rest and let me speak to your brother for a moment?”
Josephine didn’t need to be told twice. She wanted—no, needed—to be alone. She spun and hurried up the steps, her skirts swishing with each frantic step.
At the top of the stairs, she heard her brother shout, “She is being so difficult!”
Tears spilled over, slipping hotly down her cheeks as she made her way down the corridor towards her chamber. She pushed open her bedroom door and stepped inside, letting the door slam shut behind her. She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the coverlet.
A soft gasp came from behind her.
“Good heavens. Whatever is the matter?” Martha asked, her maid’s voice soft with concern.
Josephine should answer. She knew she should. But she had no strength left—not for another explanation, not for another retelling of her humiliation.
Martha moved closer and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. “Did Mr. Broderick do something?”
Josephine nodded into the coverlet.
Martha let out an exasperated sigh. “I suspect we’ll be needing chocolate. Loads of chocolate.”
A sob broke free from Josephine’s chest.
If only chocolate could fix this.
But nothing could fix this.
Not even love.