Chapter 5
Five
The drawing room was still, save for the occasional snap of firewood settling in the grate. Afternoon light slanted through gauzy curtains, as the scent of bergamot and honey hung in the air from the tea that steamed in the delicate cups, carefully arranged on the table between Kitty and Jane.
Kitty stared into her cup, untouched. She hadn’t added milk or sugar, which Jane noted silently—Kitty always took two cubes.
“I cannot marry him,” Kitty said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Jane, seated across from her in a high-backed chair embroidered with tiny bluebells, folded her hands over her lap. “You must.”
Kitty’s head lifted. “You saw what happened. He was only helping me to stand. There was no impropriety, no kiss—nothing. And yet the ton is ready to set the date and embroider my wedding veil.”
Jane took a sip of tea before responding. “That may all be true, darling. But perception matters more than truth in London society.”
Kitty set her cup down with a soft clink. “But it isn’t right. He’s a stranger. I don’t know anything about him except that he’s a duke..”
“And rich,” Jane added dryly.
Kitty almost laughed, but the feeling curdled into frustration. “So that’s it, then? A title and a fortune are enough to trap a girl into a life she didn’t choose?”
“Kitty.” Jane leaned forward. “You were caught alone in the garden with him. With a man. A powerful one. They will imagine far worse than truth could provide.”
Kitty stood, suddenly restless. She moved to the window and pulled the lace curtain aside, watching the street where an elegant barouche rolled by. “He didn’t even smile at me. He looked at me like… like a duty. And I suppose that’s what I am now.”
Her fingers gripped the sill.
“I wanted to marry for love.”
Jane’s voice softened. “I know, sweetheart.”
Kitty turned, her chest aching. “You remember my mother, don’t you?”
Jane’s expression changed—softened. “Of course I do.”
“She used to say—” Kitty’s voice wobbled, and she steadied it with a breath. “She used to say that love is the only thing that makes a life feel lived. That she would have rather been a governess with Papa than a duchess with anyone else. And Papa loved her. Truly. I saw it”
A silence stretched between them. Jane bowed her head, her expression unreadable.
“I wanted that,” Kitty whispered. “A connection that makes your heart ache and soar all at once. Not a cold contract built on scandal and obligation.”
Jane rose now, slow and graceful, and crossed to her. “I know. But there is something you must understand, Kitty.”
Kitty’s eyes met Jane’s, her expression brimming with the quiet warmth.
“Love doesn’t always come before the vows.”
Kitty’s brow furrowed.
Jane continued, voice quiet but firm. “You think your mother and father were blessed from the first moment. But your mother told me that when they wed, she feared she’d made a mistake. Your father barely spoke at first. But love grew like ivy between them.”
Kitty blinked.
“You see this as the end of your dream,” Jane said, brushing a curl from Kitty’s brow. “But it could be the beginning of something entirely unexpected. You may find that the duke is not so cold. That he has a heart…”
Kitty shook her head. “But I don’t feel anything for him, Jane. And now I must spend my life with a man I barely know?”
Jane smiled faintly. “That is rather the custom.”
Kitty groaned and returned to the settee, folding her legs beneath her like she used to as a child. “I had plans. To marry someone with poetry in his soul and flowers in his hands.”
“And you still might,” Jane said gently, retaking her seat. “But the poetry may not look as you imagined. It may be quieter. In the way he listens. Or in…preserving your reputation. Perhaps.”
Kitty stared at the steam curling from her cup. She wanted to believe Jane. She wanted to believe love could be forged, not just found. But her heart was not yet ready to let go of her imagined life.
“So this is truly happening?” she asked.
Jane nodded. “Yes.”
She offered a small, unconvincing smile before quitting the room, the door clicking shut with terrible finality behind her.
Saturday came all too quickly.
Kitty had calmed herself into believing that Norman would leave her alone, that he would be too occupied with his own affairs to trouble her until the wedding banns were read.
She was wrong.
The butler announced his arrival as the McGowans finished their tea, and a foul hush came over the room. Kitty obstinately stayed facing away as he entered but could feel the tension in the air—his presence settling on the room like an unwritten command.
“Your Grace,” Richard spoke up. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Norman had no patience for frills. “Tomorrow, you’ll accompany me to the parish, to hear the banns read for the first time.”
Kitty’s head snapped up.
“You want me to go to church with you?”
He looked at her then, his gaze firm and piercing. “Yes.”
She looked at her father, at Jane, at the stillness in the room. The weight of what they all expected of her settled like stones in her chest.
There had been a time she might have laughed. Flung something witty or cutting across the space between them just to see if it would land. But now—even her defiance felt hollow. She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
“I see,” she murmured.
Norman breathed slowly and turned toward Richard. “Could you leave for a few minutes?”
“How scandalous!” Jane protested. “Absolutely not!”
He turned back to her, his expression unreadable. “You are concerned about propriety now?”
Jane blushed. “It would be highly improper—”
“Nothing about this situation is proper,” he stated bluntly. “But here we are.”
Richard paused, then motioned for Jane to come with him. “Come. Let them have a moment.”
Jane sputtered. “You can’t possibly—”
Richard gave her a glance, and she finally acquiesced with great reluctance.
The door clicked shut.
And Kitty was alone with Norman.
The silence stretched, heavy and charged. She didn’t move. Her spine was straight, her hands clasped in front of her. Stoic. Cold. Like a statue carved to be obedient.
He will not see me cry. He will not see me falter.
“I will come,” she said at last. Her voice was quiet, but it rang clear in the space between them. “I will go through every preparation, smile through every visit, bow my head at every church aisle. I will wear your ring and sit at your side and play the perfect duchess.”
She finally looked at him. Her eyes were bright but unreadable. “But things will be different between us, Your Grace.”
He stilled.
Kitty’s pulse thrummed in her throat, but she held her ground. He will not have my heart. He will not have the part of me that is still mine.
Norman stepped forward, unhurried. The firelight caught the edge of his profile as he stopped before her—closer than propriety allowed.
He tilted his head. “Is that so?”
She didn’t answer.
His gaze flicked over her face, unreadable. Then he raised his hand and touched her chin—lightly, deliberately—guiding her to look up at him.
“Be careful, wife,” he said softly, his voice like velvet laced with steel. “For I will enjoy breaking you.”
Kitty’s breath caught. Not in fear—but in something else entirely. Her skin prickled where he’d touched her, the heat of it lingering even after he let go.
He thinks I am something to bend. Something to shatter and reshape. But he will learn—I do not break easily.
“I look forward to your disappointment,” she said, her voice low.
He smiled faintly.
And for a moment, the distance between hatred and something darker, something dangerous, narrowed to a breath.
He leaned in, his face drawing closer until only an inch of space separated them. The warmth of his body reached her, a subtle but undeniable heat that seemed to seep inside her skin.
Her heart quickened, its rhythm betraying her as it hammered against her ribs, entirely of its own accord.
She could feel his scent—spiced and intoxicating—filling the air between them.
Every nerve in her body seemed to hum with awareness, but she held herself still, refusing to let him see how deeply his nearness affected her.
“If I hadn’t been there,” he continued, “Grewin would have done worse. Much worse. And then what?” His eyes locked on hers, impenetrable, fragile. “What do you think would’ve happened then?”
Kitty swallowed hard, hating the way her heart was betraying her, the way his closeness made her light-headed. She knew he was in the right. And yet—
“You did what duty requires,” she whispered, voice throbbing with defiance.
The duke’s eyes dropped for a moment—to her lips.
Desire curled low in her stomach.
“You are my betrothed,” he said, his breath feathering against her skin.
She smiled hesitantly, wanting to conceal the trembling of her arms.
“How... romantic,” she murmured, her voice hollow as the words left her lips.
The reality of it settled like winter frost—she was baggage to be accounted for, another obligation in his ledger of duties.
There should have been anger, but all that rose in her chest was a quiet ache, the sort that came from recognizing an inescapable truth.
Norman’s expression darkened. “There will be no romance.”
Kitty’s heart pounded erratically in her chest.
“No?” She challenged, tilting her head a fraction. “Then why loom over me?”
The duke stood stock still.
They did not speak for what felt like a really long time. The quiet stretched out, thick and charged, each passing breath between them a countdown.
Kitty heard the beat of her own heart, felt the tension wrapping itself around them like an invisible cord. She ought to have moved away. She ought to have made space. But she did not.
She could not.
Norman didn’t answer.
He merely touched a finger to her chin, tipping her head by an inch. Her breath held. She ought to have struggled against it—ought to have stepped away—but she didn’t.
The world narrowed to the space between them, to the warmth of his hand on her skin, to the deepening of his eyes as he gazed at her.
And then—
Norman took a step back, his breathing ragged, his eyes impenetrable.
Kitty stared at him, dazed, lips vibrating, all ideas in her head shattering.
“You will be at the parish tomorrow,” he growled. “And you will stand beside me.”
Kitty swallowed, her head spinning.
Norman’s gaze dropped to her lips once more—briefly—before he spun on his heel and made for the door.
She barely had time to catch her breath before he vanished.