Page 4 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

“Or jewels,” her mother put in, joining in the game. “Diamonds or rubies.”

“Perhaps a tiara. Or a carriage of my own and a team of matching horses.”

The duchess leaned back into her chair, smiling. “Now we are getting somewhere. A carriage. Emma always wanted to travel. Do you?”

“Not particularly. Our visit to France after the war was more than enough for me.” She hadn’t done particularly well on the sea crossing, despite the calm waters. “Though I suppose I will visit Emma at her husband’s home someday.”

“Not travel.” Her mother raised a hand to her cheek and pursed her lips. “What is it you want to do with yourself?” The question dropped softly between them, featherlight and unworried.

They had talked of this before over the years, but Josie sensed a difference in the question this time. Whether it was in how her mother asked or within Josie herself, she couldn’t be certain.

She looked down at her hands again. Her mother couldn’t know what Josie wanted most of all—to write novels. To have them published. As a duke’s daughter, she would bring gossip and censure upon the whole family if she did such a thing. Especially if critics disliked her work.

Finally, she answered with a weak shake of her head. “I want nothing, Mama. I have everything I could ever ask for.” She twisted the ring around her finger once, then forced herself to laugh. “I suppose things will continue on as they have. I will keep learning from you and from Grandmama, and I will help to keep up the house and social obligations.”

The duchess released a short, brisk breath. “How dreadfully dull that sounds.”

Josephine blinked at her mother. “Would you rather I take up mountain-climbing?”

“Of course not. I would rather you enjoy yourself more.”

“Mama. We both know that when you were my age, your idea of enjoyment was visiting houses and buildings under construction so you could sketch them.”

“True.” When her mother smiled, Josie couldn’t resist grinning back at her. “I also attended my share of parties, balls, and everything else.”

“I do those things. I am hardly a hermit.” Josie stood and moved to the fireplace, pretending to study one of the small Parisian figurines upon it. Her parents had bought the replica of a seventeenth century musketeer, along with his lady, and both now stood on either side of the mantel clock. Forever separated by time, of all things.

“Yes, but I have yet to see you take a personal interest in anything.” Her mother rose and joined her, studying first Josie’s face and then the little musketeer. “Or in any man.”

Josie started. “A man? Mama, I am only nineteen.”

The duchess raised one hand to stay her daughter’s protests. “I know, my dear. Nearly twenty. Your father and I have no expectations for you to marry merely because you reach a certain age, whether it is twenty or seventy.”

Having heard this well-meant lecture many times in her life, Josie recited the rest of it by rote. “So long as your children are happy, you are content. And you wish us to marry where we have genuine affection, rather than as a matter of convenience. Yes, I know.”

The duchess lifted her head, her bearing regal once more. “Good. Never forget it.” Then she gave Josie an affectionate kiss upon the cheek. Josie closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of her mother’s lavender perfume. “I must look in on your grandmother. She hasn’t left her rooms today.”

Josie looked to the clock. It was nearly two in the afternoon. “It is late. Even if the dreary weather puts her out of sorts, she is usually about by now. I will come with you.”

“An excellent idea. Come. We will ply her with tea and sweets until she is happy again, and then you may ask her what she received as a gift for her twentieth birthday.” The way the duchess’s eyes sparkled meant mischief, and Josie happily gave herself over to the idea.

Josie looked again at the musketeer and his lady on the other side of the mantel. Pursing her lips, she lifted the musketeer and placed him beside his lady, pushing the mantel clock over enough to make room. She grinned to herself, then she followed her mother from the room.

She would happily offer distraction to her grandmother, and do anything else that would take her mind off her manuscript and her father’s additional security measures.

CHAPTER 3

Although acquainted with many, Josephine had few genuine friends. Her companion, Emma, had been the person closest to her for most of her life. Until Emma returned from her tour of Scotland and Wales with her new husband, Josephine had to find other young ladies to accompany her on visits and shopping trips.

Which meant inviting some of those acquaintances to visit her home, so they might walk to the Burlington Arcade to visit the shops. Somewhat predictably, her guests looked over their shoulders quite often at Josie’s accompanying footman.

“My father would never let an upper-servant follow me about all day,” Lady Helen said, using the reflection in a shop’s glass to peer behind her at the vigilant man.

“Especially one so attractive.” Miss Lesley’s smirk was full of more mischief than her father would likely approve of.

Lady Helen giggled behind her hand. “How does one find such servants, Lady Josephine? All of ours are either gray-haired ancients or speckled juveniles.”

They did not know that the footman, tall, handsome, and an upper servant in the duke’s household, was also a guardsman. His duty had little to do with carrying the occasional parcel and much more with the various weapons hidden about his person.