Chapter 4
Four
“You will marry him, Kitty. That is final.”
Richard’s words stung her like a hard slap to the face.
Kitty almost shot to her feet, but her head nearly banged on the low carriage ceiling. “You cannot be serious!”
Jane flinched at her outburst, but Richard didn’t even register it. “We are beyond discussion.”
“The devil we are!” Kitty raised her voice, her chest heaving rapidly as she turned to face them both.
“Nothing did happen! It seemed unusual I suppose, but we did not do anything wrong! I simply tripped and now I’m supposed to marry someone I barely know?
I am not a prisoner, and I refuse to be handed over as such. ”
“It does not matter,” Jane whispered, furrowing her brows, almost as if in pain. “You were seen.”
Jane knew her better than anyone—she had entered their lives thirteen years ago, when Kitty was a mere twelve-year-old child. She had been given the responsibility of shaping her into a befitting young lady.
Year after year, Jane slowly became more than just a governess—she had become theirs. When lessons ceased to be a necessity, having to send her away had never been an option for Kitty. Her father had pleaded with her to stay, and she had done so.
How could she not take my side? Of all people, Jane should have understood.
Kitty clenched her fists in rage—blood rushing to her head. “Then let people gossip! Let them chatter until they talk themselves into their graves! I will not—”
Kitty steadied herself against her seat as the carriage lurched to an abrupt stop.
She glanced out the window, her head spinning at the sight of the lavish manor rising in front of them.
Its elegant Georgian facade gleamed even in the muted light of the overcast sky, the symmetrical rows of tall windows framed by pristine white shutters.
A wrought-iron balcony adorned the first floor, its intricate scrollwork softened by cascading ivy, while the front door stood flanked by two stone urns overflowing with vibrant flowers.
It was undeniably beautiful, but Kitty refused to let herself be impressed.
Richard stepped out first, offering her a hand she barely acknowledged.
They both hurried up the stone stairs, Richard slightly ahead while Kitty lifted her skirts just enough to keep his rapid pace.
The door was opened before he could take hold, though, and their butler stood in front of them. He ushered them inside with silent competency, but his presence did little to dissipate tension between them.
They entered in awkward silence into the golden drawing room. The scent of polished wood and a hint of perfume lingered.
And there, standing beside the hearth like a queen surveying her court, was Lady Mulberry.
“You have quite the audacity,” she said to them before any of them could say a word.
Kitty lowered her lashes at the older woman’s sweeping, disapproving glance.
“Coaxing my grandson into matrimony,” Lady Mulberry continued, her voice as slick as cream on a blade. “Quite the ambitious stroke, I must say.”
Kitty stepped forward, her pulse pounding in her ears. “I did no such thing!”
Lady Mulberry arched an eyebrow. “No? Then explain to me, how is it that you find yourself alone with him, your reputation conveniently in tatters?”
Despite the sheathing flames of embarrassment in her cheeks, Kitty refused to back down. “It was an accident. We were trapped!”
“And yet,” Lady Mulberry sighed, “here you are, demanding marriage like some seasoned huckster.”
“I am not demanding anything!” Her voice rang out louder than she had intended.
“Enough,” Richard broke in. His good nature seemed to have soured. “We are not here to squabble, Lady Mulberry. We are here to lay the matter to rest with some decency. The Duke of Wharton will marry her.”
Lady Mulberry’s face froze. “You are confusing me with someone who cares a fig about your definition of honor, Lord McGowan. His Grace owes this girl nothing.”
“He owes her everything,” Jane flashed, surprising them all with her steel. “And you know it. You have a granddaughter, do you not? Tell me, Your Grace—were she in Kitty’s position, would you be so quick to dismiss her ruin as mere consequence?”
Lady Mulberry opened her mouth to retort, but before she could fire back at Jane, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Norman appeared in the doorway, his presence commanding an immediate, almost tangible change.
The air seemed to still, the tension thickening as all eyes turned to him.
His tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the space, his expression unreadable but his energy unmistakable—quiet, controlled, and utterly commanding.
Even Lady Mulberry, momentarily silenced, seemed to recalibrate her next move under the weight of his gaze.
“I’ve spoken to the parish priest,” he announced. “The wedding shall take place in three weeks, at my country house’s parish.”
Kitty’s breath froze.
“No,” she breathed, barely above a whisper.
She’d returned to London to find a match, yes—but one of her choosing, one built on tender courtship and mutual regard, not some cold transaction forced upon her by a man who’d seen her at her most vulnerable.
“Yes,” Norman said, unmoving. “It’s done.”
Kitty spun around him, her pulse racing. “You can’t just make this decision!”
And yet—
The memory of Norman’s hands steadying her in the garden flashed unbidden—the heat of his grip, the low timbre of his voice as he’d demanded Grewin unhand her. Her skin prickled traitorously at the recollection.
“I can, and I have,” he answered, his voice even but with unshakable resolve as he moved towards her, each step slow and deliberate.
“You have no right—”
“I have every right,” Norman cut her off, his eyes darkening. “I saw you. I held you. I know what I saw.”
Oh God. The way he said held—as if he’d memorized the shape of her beneath his palms. Her face burned, but worse, a treacherous warmth pooled low in her belly. She hated it. Hated him for making her feel it.
Her face grew hot. “You—”
“This isn’t only about you, Miss McGowan.” His tone was gentler now, but no less determined. “Eleanor can’t have a brother who ruins a lady and doesn’t marry her. Believe me, I want this marriage less than you. I do not wish to have a love connection. But I have duties, which I must fulfill.”
Kitty breathed quickly, shaking her head.
This wasn’t happening.
The drawing room of Foxdrey House was drenched in late-afternoon sunlight when Norman stepped through its tall double doors. The air carried the faint scent of old books and sandalwood, a lingering relic of its usual occupant.
“You’re late,” came a voice from the window seat, where Andrew Pasley, Duke of Foxdrey,—and Norman’s most beloved cousin, reclined with the easy grace of a man who had never taken anything seriously in his life.
Norman shut the door behind him, his boots clicking softly against the polished oak floor. “I had business to attend to.”
Andrew arched a brow, tossing a grape into his mouth. “What sort of business requires the presence of His Grace, Duke of Doom, in the middle of a perfectly agreeable Thursday afternoon?”
Norman crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy. He took a sip before replying, eyes fixed on the cut crystal. “I’m getting married.”
The room fell silent.
Andrew blinked once. Then twice.
Then, he started laughing. A deep, rich sound burst from his chest, echoing through the room with such unexpected mirth that even the candles seemed to flicker in surprise. His shoulders shook slightly as he dragged a hand down his face, fingers catching on the grin that refused to fade.
“To whom? The Queen? A duchess from some forgotten Bavarian province? Surely not someone alive.”
The laughter continued, rolling from him in waves. His amusement filled the space between them, bright and unguarded in Andrew’s typical way.
Norman smirked faintly but didn’t rise to the bait. “Miss Katherine McGowan.”
Andrew choked. “Miss—Miss Continent? That one? The one who just returned from her lifelong travels?”
“The same.”
“And why, in the name of God, are you doing such a thing?”
Norman took a seat across from him and leaned back, brandy in hand. “Because I was caught with her. In the gardens. After fending off Grewin from her.”
Andrew’s smirk faded. “You fought Grewin?”
“He tried to force himself on her. I intervened. And unfortunately, half the ton seemed to be within eyesight the moment I helped her up. Her father arrived. You can imagine the rest.”
Andrew whistled low. “And now you must marry the girl to preserve her reputation. You do know that sounds remarkably like the beginning of a farce?”
Norman didn’t smile. “It’s done. The banns will be read within the week.”
Andrew sprawled deeper into the cushions, studying him. “Well, this is unexpected. I thought if you ever married, it would be to some frigid lady of rank, the sort with icicles for lashes and a heart for property acquisition.”
Norman drained his glass and set it aside. “I never intended to marry at all.”
Andrew gave him a mock look of astonishment. “How come you agreed to marry that girl? It cannot be simply duty.”
Norman drained his glass and set it aside. “It was the right thing to do.”
Andrew raised a brow. “So you find Miss McGowan tolerable, then?”
Norman hesitated.
Images flashed unbidden behind his eyes—the gleam of Kitty’s dark brown hair in the moonlight, the defiant tilt of her chin, the way her voice trembled but didn’t break when she stood her ground. The rage he’d felt at Grewin, and the sick twist in his gut when he saw her frightened.
“She’s... spirited.” Norman finally spoke.
“That means beautiful,” Andrew grinned. “You like her, don’t you?”
Norman shot him a look. “It means she is not dull. I appreciate intelligence in a woman.”
“Ah yes, because your bed will be so enlivened by chess.”
Norman rose and paced to the hearth. He stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the dying embers though there was no fire lit.
“It will be a marriage in name only,” he said at last.
Andrew straightened, losing some of his usual levity. “Does she know that?”
“Not yet.”
“You intend to tell her?”
“When the time is right.”
Andrew studied his cousin quietly. “You sound as though you’re trying to protect her. From yourself?”
Norman remained silent. The truth of Andrew’s words settled between them like dust motes in a sunbeam—undeniable, yet too frail to grasp.
There was no time to dwell on what might have been with Kitty under different circumstances, no luxury to entertain impossible fantasies.
Duty carved its demands into his bones with familiar precision that being the Duke of Wharton required.
He must uphold centuries of tradition, and armor their honor against any stain.
A clock ticked somewhere in the room.
“I saw what love did to my father,” he said eventually, voice low. “When my mother died, he withered into a shadow. He was the strongest man I knew, and she brought him to his knees.”
He looked down, jaw tight. “He loved her so deeply he stopped living after she was gone. I remember standing at his bedside as he wasted away, month after month. So much grief.”
It was that grief that blinded him—led him into reckless investments, desperate wagers. He thought he could rebuild something, maybe feel alive again. But all it did was ruin him.
“So now you fear losing your wife?” Andrew murmured. “If you loved her, that is.”
“No. I fear becoming like him.”
Andrew leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So what do you plan to do? Cage this young woman in a loveless union because you’re afraid of your own heart?”
Norman turned. “I’ll give her a title. Wealth. Security. She’ll be respected and protected, and free to do as she likes within the bounds of decency.”
“But not loved.”
“Love is not essential to a marriage.”
Andrew tilted his head. “It is if she expects it.”
Norman stiffened. “She’s not a girl to dream about hearts and roses. She’s cleverer than that.”
“You’re clever, too,” Andrew said lightly. “And yet here you are, afraid of love because you know what it would do to you if you felt it.”
Norman didn’t answer.
The silence stretched.
Andrew rose and crossed to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Well, cousin. If you’re determined to be miserable, at least let me be entertained by it. I look forward to the wedding.”
Norman gave him a dry glance. “Your support is overwhelming.”
Norman glanced once more toward the window, where the sky was slowly shifting toward dusk.
He could still see her there, in his mind’s eye—Kitty, backlit by moonlight, defiance burning in her eyes even as she trembled. Brave. Determined.
Beautiful.
But no matter how fiercely she might blaze, he would not be drawn in.
His heart had been buried with his mother. He would not dig it up again.
Andrew grinned. “Always, Your Grace.”