He poked at the teacup, wondering what the women had put in the brew. “We didn’t have one for good reason,” he said. “Our families hate each other. If we put them together in the same room, they’ll tear each other to pieces.”
“That’s exactly why we need this breakfast,” Miss Brittany told him.
“So our families can kill each other?” Stephen asked, incredulous.
“No, so our families can find common ground again,” Lady Madeleine said patiently. “So you and Josie can explain that there’s no reason for you to be enemies.”
“She told us about One-Eyed Jack,” Lady Valentine added. “How it was he, not Nathan Hale, that killed your grandfather. We thought that might mend some of the bad feelings.”
Stephen looked at Josie. She smiled sweetly, and he wondered just when in the past three weeks she had managed to find time to enlighten her cousins about One-Eyed Jack. It seemed to him, she’d been in his arms, in his bed, night and day.
“You see, my lord,” Lady Madeleine said. “The ton is talking, gossiping really. Your story has been in all the papers and on the lips of every matron at all the parties.”
“I don’t care about the gossipmongers,” Stephen said. His stomach rumbled, and he took a bite of his scone. “I’ve lived with gossip all my life.”
“And you know I don’t care either,” Josie told him, “but it makes things hard for our families.”
Lady Valentine stepped in. “Just the other night Aunt Mavis and your mother, Lord Westman, were both at the opera, sitting on opposite sides of the theater. Why, the entire evening, everyone was looking from one to the other and whispering about them, watching to see if the ladies would acknowledge each other.”
“You might imagine the strain that sort of thing has on their nerves,” Josie added.
Stephen narrowed his gaze. “And your mother’s delicate nerves concern you?” He remembered her mother coming after him like an attack poodle only a few weeks ago. If she had delicate nerves, they must be deeply buried.
“Oh, let’s just be honest,” Miss Brittany broke in bluntly. “We don’t care about Aunt Mavis or your mother—sorry, but it’s true—or Uncle William. That’s Maddie’s father. What we do care about is Josie, and all of this talk and scandal makes it hard on us.”
“My father has forbidden me to see her,” Lady Madeleine told him. “He doesn’t want any more gossip.”
“My parents feel the same,” Miss Brittany said.
“And though Lord Valentine would never ask me not to see Josie,” Lady Valentine said, “I know the strain gossip puts on his career.”
“Catie, I told you I don’t care about that,” Valentine said. He came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.
She smiled up at him. “I do. That’s why we need something to mend the gap between your families. End the tension so that we can all be friends again.”
Stephen thought about his mother, her acid tongue and lashing temper. He wanted her as far from Josie as possible. Why, the woman hadn’t even so much as sent him a note of thanks when he’d written to tell her that all their debts were erased, and they had more money than they could ever spend. He’d saved the family, just as he’d promised to do. She’d been silent and ungrateful, giving him none of the approval he’d always desired from her.
But now that he had Josie, he’d told himself that didn’t matter. He didn’t need anyone’s approval but hers, didn’t need to prove himself at all anymore.
He would have been more than happy never to see his mother again, but here was Josie asking him to contact his mother, his entire family, and celebrate this marriage with them. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to tell her that Society and Lord Castleigh and his mother could all go to hell. Then he looked at the four women. The friendship they’d formed was obviously special. Who was he to stand between them?
“Very well,” he finally agreed, lifting his teacup to sip the warm brew. “When is it?”
Josie smiled. “Tomorrow.” Stephen almost choked.
Chapter Twenty-five
The breakfast was not going well. Josie could see that. Her family was on one side of her drawing room, and Westman’s family had camped on the other.
A vast expanse of polished marble floor separated them, and the invisible barrier was as solid as any made of brick and mortar.
They’d made introductions, welcomed everyone, encouraged mingling, and no one was cooperating. Only her cousins made an effort to cross the great divide—and, Josie saw—got nothing for their efforts. They were ignored by Westman’s side and chided by her side.
Finally, after trying everything she knew, Josie gave Maddie a pleading look, and Maddie pantomimed lifting her glass and toasting. Good idea.
Josie turned to Stephen, who was standing beside her at the head of the room, looking as troubled as she. “I think you should make a toast.” She elbowed him in the side. “Everyone has champagne.”
He gave her a doubtful look. “And just what am I supposed to toast? Familial love? Togetherness? This is a disaster.”
