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 itwasonly a Scottish title.
Joseph’s mother had asked the only question that really mattered to her.
“Do youloveMiss 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.
“Youwaltzedwith 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 youdisappearedwith 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 trapherinto 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 shedoeslike 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 tomarryher?” she had asked him.
“If she will have me,” he had said.
“Of courseshe 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 foryears.”
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.”
