Chapter 18 #3
A shaky laugh slipped out of her. “Yes,” she breathed. “We are. And thank you for accompanying me.”
“I figured it would be better than letting you face the highway robbers alone,” he teased with a smile.
She tried to force a smile but failed miserably. “I daresay we will be all right. We have never encountered one in all my years of traveling these roads.”
“Times are changing,” he remarked. “People are growing desperate. Food grows scarce. Those poor souls.”
Her heart pinched. “Those poor people, indeed.”
Her uncle watched her a moment before asking, “And what of your Lord Pendryn? Does he know you are leaving Town?”
She bit her lower lip. “No.”
“I wonder why that is?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.
She clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. “He would have tried to convince me to stay… with him.”
“And that is not what you want?”
“No.” The lie scraped her throat raw.
Her uncle raised a brow. “Yet you love him.”
“I do.”
Uncle Leroy let out a soft chuckle. “In all my days, I have never been able to understand the woman’s mind. Perhaps that is why I never wed.”
“Any woman would be lucky to have you,” Josephine said earnestly.
The humor slipped from his face. “You are kind, but as a younger son, women tend to be more wary of me.”
“You are still the son of a marquess,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but they want titles. Power. Prestige.” He nodded towards the window. “And I have none of those things.”
Josephine had never heard him speak so vulnerably. Her heart twisted. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”
“But you are different,” he said, his expression softening. “You turned down Lord Pendryn to protect him, despite loving him. That is admirable.”
“I wish he felt the same.”
“He will,” her uncle responded. “Given time.” He settled back into his seat with a sigh. “I had a rider go ahead to secure lodging at our usual coaching inn. We should arrive before the lamps burn out.”
Josephine inclined her head, then turned to stare out the window again. The tall, smooth-lined buildings blurred past as dusk began to creep in.
“I tried to speak to The Morning Post about that dreadful article,” Uncle Leroy said. “But they were firm. It will be printed.”
“Thank you for trying.”
“Ironically, I was not their first visitor.”
Josephine met his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Your Lord Pendryn spoke to them as well.”
Her back grew rigid. “He is not mine.”
“So you say.” He adjusted his black cravat, then continued, “Apparently, he offered them five thousand pounds to keep the article from being printed.”
Her breath left her in a rush. “Five thousand pounds? That is a fortune.”
“It is,” her uncle agreed. “But it did not sway them. They muttered something about journalistic integrity.” He gave her a pointed look. “My point, Josephine, is that Lord Pendryn is fighting for you.”
She turned her gaze stubbornly to the window. “I wish he would stop.”
“Do you?” her uncle asked, his voice sharp with knowing.
“Yes,” she insisted.
He studied her for a long moment. “Then you are a fool.”
She jerked her head towards him. “Pardon?”
Leaning forward, he said with no small amount of exasperation, “He is a man who clearly cares for you—deeply—and would move heaven and earth to be with you. Why would you cast that aside?”
Josephine stared at her clasped hands and forced herself to speak the truth she had kept hidden. “He doesn’t love me, Uncle.”
“Did he say so?”
“No. He only said he cares greatly for me.”
Her uncle threw his hands heavenward. “Why can’t women think more like men?”
“Pardon?”
“If you care for a woman, you say you care for her,” he said. “But when a man says he cares greatly for a woman, it often means far more.” He fixed her with a stern look. “Lord Pendryn will come for you. I am absolutely sure he will come for you. When he does… what will you do?”
“I told you—”
He cut her off. “What did he say when you told him you loved him?”
Her gaze dropped to her lap.
“Dear heavens, you didn’t tell him? Josephine!” He slapped his knee. “We must go back so you can tell him how you feel.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she asserted. “The article will be printed tomorrow. It is over.”
He settled back in his seat. “You are right,” he said. “It is over.”
She looked up sharply.
“Because how much could you love Lord Pendryn,” he started, “if you gave up so easily?”
“I did not give up!” she snapped. “I’m protecting him.”
“Bravo!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands slowly. “You will die falling on your sword rather than face what is right in front of you.”
“And what is right in front of me?”
He held her gaze. “A chance at true happiness.”
Josephine felt the sting of her uncle’s words as keenly as if he had struck her. Her throat tightened, and tears pricked at the backs of her eyes—unwelcome, traitorous things she refused to let fall. He wasn’t wrong, and that truth cut sharper than any reprimand.
A soft, unsteady breath escaped her.
This is what you chose, she reminded herself. This is the only way to protect him.
But the farther the coach traveled, the more hollow the reassurance felt.