Page 5 of The Duke’s Absolutely Fantastic Fling (The Notorious Briarwoods #15)

J osephine stood in the shadowy hallway with moonlight spilling in through the tall windows, watching as her fiancé or affair partner—she wasn’t quite certain what to call him—was towed off in the direction of the gentlemen’s rooms.

He looked like a man in distress, and yet she knew that her uncles would be good for him.

The Briarwood men were always good for any man who came into their circle.

She knew that with utter clarity, and so she would not feel any remorse for him being all but ambushed, though she might feel a moment’s hesitation and pity for what he was about to be put through.

Still, she knew with all certainty that whatever her uncles deemed fit would be for the best. One of the beautiful things about being a Briarwood was knowing that their family always did what was best. Oh, it might not seem so at first, but there was a strange thread running through the Briarwoods, as if they could collectively sense what was best for a family member and bring that about. Through almost any means necessary.

Now, she herself was entirely uncertain as to what to do. She’d been left alone to ponder what would transpire next.

She could go back into the ball and dance and speak with her cousins. That might be wise and would allay any gossip that might arise from her deception about her injury on the dance floor.

Then again, perhaps retiring might be an excellent idea and she could claim she needed to rest.

Really, she longed to tell Anne and Emily what was afoot. And yet she could not manage to turn and head back into the large grouping of the wealthiest people in—some might argue—the world, certainly in England. For balls at Heron House always had the wealthiest and most exclusive people.

But because her grandmama and her aunt, the current duchess, were lovers of thought, art, and innovation, oftentimes the greatest minds of the day filled the house too.

She pursed her lips, not used to being indecisive, but the truth was she felt as if the proverbial rug had been pulled out from under her slippered feet.

Someone cleared their throat in the shadows, and she all but jumped.

Footsteps padded down the dark hall. Several of them. And they were coming from quite the opposite direction of the gentlemen’s rooms.

Josephine had a strong feeling that there was a possibility she was about to be bombarded by more family.

She turned, glancing over her shoulder, anticipating it, and was not at all surprised to see, as if in perfect harmony, a few of her aunts parading down the hallway towards her.

She no longer questioned strange coincidences, as they seemed to happen regularly in the Briarwood family. Whether it was some sort of metaphysical miracle or not, people in the Briarwood family had a tendency to turn up just when they were needed or when it was awkward but necessary.

Here was an exact example of such a thing. She had been standing, needing guidance, and lo and behold, guidance was appearing in the forms of her magnificent aunts, Perdita, Hermia, and Juliet.

Her mother was away, but that was likely a good thing. In her experience, as wonderful as mothers were, aunts often gave much needed advice that mothers simply could not quite give.

She adored her aunts.

There was Perdita with her dark hair in an emerald green dress shot through with gold.

Usually a crow perched upon her shoulder, but not now, for the crow did not care for large amounts of company and was no doubt in the rooms upstairs.

Then there was Juliet, russet-haired and beautiful, an actress, powerful and married to an American.

Hermia, Juliet’s sister, was a woman who had come into her power in every sense, having once been a bit of a wallflower.

She was rather surprised that her aunt Mercy, the duchess, wasn’t with them. And as if the thought had conjured her, Mercy suddenly appeared out of the shadows, her dark hair shining with diamonds.

“What was that?” asked Perdita, her dark brows rising as she flicked open a silk fan.

“Whatever do you mean?” Josephine exclaimed, knowing exactly what she meant and fighting a groan of horror.

Her Aunt Juliet folded her arms across her bosom. “Do not prevaricate with us. You know that it is impossible.”

“Were you, like the uncles, watching this whole time from the opposite end of the hall?” she asked, trying to make sense of it. “Were the duke and I putting on quite the entertainment?”

Juliet threw back her head and laughed. “Quite possibly. Everything in this family is a theatrical piece of some sort or the other. We all do live to entertain.”

That wasn’t actually true, Josephine knew.

Their purpose was not to entertain, per say, but to live well.

And living well was often a source of entertainment because so many people did not live well.

And for those poor lives, watching those who knew how to be fully alive was not amusing at all.

It was miserable. But Briarwood lives? They were something else altogether.

She supposed she was rather happy that she was providing entertainment for her aunts, but to be such fodder could prove difficult unless, of course, they were about to bestow upon her some excellent advice.

“Then you saw the uncles dragging him off?” she asked.

Mercy smiled slowly, her mischievous eyes dancing. “Poor man. Does he have any idea what’s about to happen to him?”

“Oh, I think so,” Josephine said. “We were excellent friends in Scotland, after all, so he knows what he’s getting into.”

“No one can actually know what they’re getting into with the Briarwoods,” Perdita said rather wisely, “until they’re actually in the family. And once they’re in the family, well, there’s no going back, and they completely understand the way of it.”

“The wonderful way of it,” Josephine said. “I hope he sees that.”

“Is he going to be family then?” Mercy asked.

“What a silly question,” Hermia sighed.

“He already is,” Juliet put in. “His sister is married to Hermia’s son, Mercy.”

Mercy tutted. “How rude of me. What I really meant to ask is whether he is going to be my nephew.”

The aunts nodded together as if this explained everything.

“I don’t know,” Josephine replied honestly, wishing that all her own confusion about it could be whisked away.

“Why were the two of you out here in the hall?” asked Hermia. “Kissing is well and good, but take my example. Though it worked out excellently for me, do not get caught—”

Suddenly, Juliet threw up her gloved hands, causing her sapphire bracelet to shimmer in the moonlight.

“I’m the most scandalous person here, having taken to treading the boards, yet I am the only one who is about to say that we should not be having this conversation in the middle of a hall.

I think we should retreat to the library. ”

“A wonderful room to retreat to,” Josephine said, grateful to have their guidance and lack of judgement. “I second the notion.”

And surrounded by the ladies like a flock of well-meaning geese, Josephine was swept away and into the room that Lady Juliet had suggested.

How Josephine loved the library! How every family member loved the library with its stacks and stacks of books.

Books which sang the songs of ancient peoples, books which held the histories of long-dead countries, and of course there were all the latest sciences, politics, and philosophy, all the plays of William Shakespeare and Marlowe, even though her grandmother did not care for Kit Marlowe’s plays.

But her family was not just obsessed with the sciences or history. There was every single new play too, every new novel, and every novel that her Aunt Mercy had had a hand in publishing.

Here now in the hallowed silence of the library, she stood, folded her hands together. She thought it best to get it out of the way, so she said, “He asked me to marry him.”

Hermia applauded. “Wonderful, my dear. You are going to be an excellent duchess.”

“How magnificent,” Lady Juliet said as she crossed to a tray and poured herself a glass of punch that had been set out in case any of the family had felt the need to retreat for a few minutes into the beloved room.

“There was a part of me that wondered if you would come and join me on the boards, since you do seem to like a little bit of scandal, a little bit of the notorious way of living.”

“No,” Perdita said with a shake of her head. “Not Josephine. There’s something too steady about her. I rather thought she might choose traveling the world and exploring unknown parts, writing back to us, and creating a whole travel journal which we in England would read with great excitement.”

She rather liked both aunts’ suggestions. But she did not know what her fate would be. Could anyone?

Mercy tilted her head to the side. “You didn’t exactly say yes… Or am I mistaken?”

She swallowed.

Mercy was an American. Mercy was ridiculously astute, and Mercy had had the great task of being married to her Uncle Leander, who was a man of many parts, both glorious and very difficult.

The entire family adored the Duke of Westleigh the way he was, but there was no denying the fact that her uncle was quite a complicated figure.

They all adored his half mad ways, and Mercy understood him better than any.

And everyone also knew that Mercy had not jumped at the possibility of becoming a duchess.

So Mercy might understand better than anyone else her reticence in saying yes.

“I did say yes. It seems terribly impractical to say no,” she confessed. “I like him very well, as a matter of fact.”

She swallowed, wondering how to explain her innermost thoughts, which she found confusing herself.

“You think you might love him, don’t you?” Perdita said with the wisdom that was always there in that particular aunt’s eyes.

She frowned. “Is that the word for it, this feeling that I have?”

Hermia sat in one of the brocade chairs, picked up a book of poetry, and flipped the pages open.

Then, as if contemplating the words therein, she snapped it shut and said, “There is really only one way to know, and that is to search the inner corners of your heart. But, my dear, I do think that you are gone. And I do think that the Briarwood family’s blessing or curse, however you might put it, has made itself known. ”

Josephine frowned. She had always wondered if this would happen, if it could possibly be true.

All of the Briarwood aunts and uncles had known the person they were going to fall in love with, almost upon first sight.

It was part of the Briarwood ethos. But she did not have Briarwood blood in her, so she did not know if she would be a part of it.

And yet, from what her aunts were suggesting, it seemed so because, as difficult as it was to accept, she did think he was the one in many ways.

She did. Oh, dear God, she did think that she loved him.

It was why she had kissed him so easily, so passionately.

But just because she loved him did not mean she should marry him.

“Oh, dear,” stated Lady Juliet, her face softening with sympathy. “I can see it. There is a whole conversation happening in your head. I can see from here that it is far too complicated.”

“Yes, I think that she needs to simplify things,” Perdita agreed.

Mercy shook her head and gave her a gentle look.

“No, it is not simple. Becoming a duchess is no easy task. I was not raised for it. Most girls are not equipped. Most girls would not actually want the responsibility, even though it’s a great deal of power.

Perhaps Josephine does wish to do as has been said and flit across the world, writing and describing the great things out there.

” Mercy drew in a long breath. “To take on the responsibility of being a duchess is a thing altogether different than simply marrying the man one loves.”

“And I do not know,” Josephine suddenly blurted, “if I am the one for him , even if he is the one for me. I fear…” Her voice drifted off.

“Ooh, that is a dangerous word,” burst in Perdita. “One we are all intimately acquainted with; one which we all must battle. One which our family does not bow to, my dear.”

“I want to fight it, and I don’t wish to bow to it,” Josephine protested, “but I worry that if I say yes to him and marry him that it will not work out. He is a duke and I am not of the aristocracy. And I… You all know I have a shadow in me that I have carried since childhood. I fear he does too. I have you all to support me, but he is struggling in a way that I do not know if I can…”

“Ah,” Mercy said softly. “This reticence, this pause in truly accepting him, is a test then?”

“An exploration?” suggested Perdita.

“You are going to let him decide on his own, quite kindly, if his proposal truly is the right thing,” Juliet observed.

She nodded, though it pained her. “And so I have offered him an affair. We shall have this time together to see if we do indeed suit, but even though my heart longs for him, I do not think that we will suit in the end. I think we are like two forces which seemingly attract at first, but if left together will eventually cause more harm than good in the end.”

“Then the only thing to do is wait and see,” Perdita said softly.

“Waiting is hard,” Josephine confessed.

“So do not think of it too much,” replied Lady Hermia.

“Indeed,” Juliet agreed. “There is only one task you have.”

“And what is that?” Josephine asked.

“I was not born to the aristocracy either, my dear. And your task? The only one that will ever matter? It is to be entirely yourself, and no one else,” Mercy said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And, if at the end of your affair, he still wants to wed you, then he is not only the one for you, you are without question the one for him, and you must not resist that.”

Josephine swallowed, wondering if she could do it, hoping beyond hope that she could.