Chapter Six #2
Drake didn’t answer immediately. He had indeed transferred a significant sum from his American investments to shore up the estate’s depleted coffers. It wasn’t information he’d intended to share.
“The source is irrelevant,” he said finally. “What matters is that work will begin immediately.”
Lady Katherine studied him for a long moment, her blue eyes disconcertingly perceptive. “A noble gesture, Lord Greythorne. Though as a businessman, surely you recognize the impracticality of continuously subsidizing an unprofitable enterprise?”
“Greythorne is not unprofitable by nature,” Drake countered. “Only by neglect. With proper management and strategic investments, the estate can and will support itself.”
“And the western fields would aid considerably in that goal,” she concluded, bringing their conversation full circle to the unresolved dispute.
Drake inclined his head, neither confirming nor denying her assessment. “The fields are one piece of a larger puzzle.”
Mrs. Collins emerged from the cottage then, her father leaning heavily on her arm while the children struggled with bundles nearly as large as themselves. Drake immediately moved to assist them, taking the old man’s other arm while signalling a labourer to help with the children’s burdens.
To his surprise, Lady Katherine was already there, kneeling before the youngest child, a girl of perhaps four years, and gently taking the overstuffed sack from her tiny hands.
“What treasures are you carrying, Emily?” she asked, her voice softer than Drake had ever heard it.
“My dolly and blanket,” the child whispered. “And Papa’s picture.”
“Very important things indeed,” Lady Katherine agreed seriously. “Shall we carry them together? They’ll be safer that way.”
The little girl nodded solemnly, slipping her hand into Lady Katherine’s with complete trust. The simple interaction revealed a side of the Dowager Countess that Drake had not glimpsed before—a gentle kindness that seemed at odds with the sharp-tongued, business-like woman he’d encountered in London.
As they helped the family to a cart that had arrived to transport them to the gamekeeper’s cottage, Drake found himself watching Lady Katherine with grudging admiration.
She moved among the tenants with natural grace and authority, yet also with genuine concern.
When the elderly grandfather became distressed about leaving his home of fifty years, it was Lady Katherine who calmed him, promising that they would preserve the small garden he had tended for decades.
“The rosemary bush your Elizabeth planted will be carefully protected, Mr. Taylor,” she assured him. “I’ll speak to the gardeners myself.”
The old man patted her hand gratefully. “You’re a good girl, just like the previous countess. The old earl chose well.”
Drake raised an eyebrow at this statement and watched Lady Katherine accept it as comfortably as she could manage.
The old man’s words cast her marriage to Edmund in a new light—a highborn lady wed to an earl would have been considered an excellent match by Society’s standards, regardless of the private reality.
Once the family was safely loaded into the cart, Drake gave instructions for their care and temporary accommodations. As the cart pulled away, he turned to find Lady Katherine in deep conversation with Wilkins, the carpenter.
“...reinforced with oak beams, not pine,” she was saying. “The extra expense is justified by the longer lifespan of the repairs.”
Wilkins was nodding in agreement. “Aye, my lady. As we did with the Miller cottage. Those repairs have held beautifully.”
“And ensure proper drainage this time,” Lady Katherine continued. “A culvert to direct water away from the foundation would prevent similar problems in the future.”
Drake stepped closer, intrigued despite himself by her evident expertise. “You seem to have given this considerable thought, Lady Katherine.”
She straightened, as if suddenly remembering his presence. “Experience is a thorough teacher, Lord Greythorne. After supervising three similar repairs during my time here, I’ve learned what works and what doesn’t.”
“And you supervised these repairs personally?”
He couldn’t keep the scepticism from his voice. Most aristocratic ladies he knew considered estate management entirely beneath their notice, preferring to leave such matters to stewards and land agents.
“I did,” she confirmed. “Edmund had little interest in tenant welfare, as long as rents were paid. When repairs became unavoidable, I took responsibility for ensuring they were done properly.”
“Why?” The question escaped before Drake could consider its implications.
Lady Katherine looked momentarily taken aback. “Why did I involve myself?”
“Yes. Most women in your position would have been content to leave such matters to the steward.”
She considered him for a moment, as if deciding how much to reveal.
“Most women in my position would not have found themselves with so little else to occupy their time,” she said finally.
“Edmund preferred that I remain at Greythorne while he spent most of his time in London. The estate became my project, I suppose. A way to be useful when I had few other outlets available to me.”
There was a wealth of unspoken history in those carefully measured words.
Drake found himself wondering, not for the first time, what exactly her marriage to his predecessor had entailed. The staff’s evident affection for her, contrasted with their reticence when speaking of Edmund, painted a telling picture.
“Well,” he said, unsure how to respond to her candour, “your ‘project’ clearly benefited the tenants, even if it was born of circumstance rather than choice.”
“Not everything of value comes to us by choice, Lord Greythorne,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the cottage. “Sometimes we must make the best of what fate has assigned us.”
Before Drake could respond to this philosophical observation, Thompson approached with a list of materials needed for the repairs.
The conversation turned to practical matters—costs, timelines, and priorities.
To Drake’s continued surprise, Lady Katherine remained fully engaged, offering insights about local suppliers and seasonal considerations that even Thompson hadn’t thought to mention.
“The quarry at Thornfield provides better stone, but they’re often backed up with orders by midsummer,” she explained. “If you place your order now, you’ll secure priority for delivery before harvest season.”
Drake found himself taking mental notes, impressed despite his determination to maintain a professional distance. She knew the estate and its surroundings with an intimacy that would take him months, perhaps years, to develop on his own.
By midday, plans for the Collins cottage repairs were firmly established, and Drake had commissioned assessments of three other tenant properties in similar states of disrepair. Throughout it all, Lady Katherine had remained actively involved, her practical suggestions invariably proving sound.
As the workers dispersed to begin gathering materials and preparing the gamekeeper’s cottage, Drake found himself alone with her once more.
“You’ve been surprisingly helpful today,” he acknowledged, the admission costing him more than he cared to admit.
“Surprisingly?” A hint of amusement played at the corners of her mouth. “Did you expect me to stand idly by while you struggled with matters I understand better than you do?”
Her directness both irritated and refreshed him. Most women of his acquaintance would have simpered and deflected such a comment, playing at modesty even when false.
“I expected you to remain in London,” he replied honestly. “Or at least at Willow Park, attending to your own affairs rather than involving yourself in mine.”
“As I told you, these people matter to me.” She gazed around at the modest tenant holdings that stretched before them. “Their welfare was the one aspect of life at Greythorne that gave me purpose. I won’t abandon them simply because ownership has changed hands.”
Drake studied her profile, struck by the quiet determination in her voice. “You could have been a formidable countess, had circumstances been different.”
She turned to him, surprise evident in her expression. “I beg your pardon?”
“I mean,” Drake clarified, suddenly conscious of having overstepped, “that your management skills are evidently considerable. Had you been given proper authority, Greythorne might not be in its current state of disrepair.”
Lady Katherine’s eyes widened slightly at what was, coming from him, a significant compliment. “That’s a generous assessment, Lord Greythorne.”
“Not generous,” he corrected. “Merely accurate. I may disagree with your claim to the western fields, but I would be a fool to ignore your obvious competence in estate matters.”
A strange tension hung between them then—not quite the antagonism of their previous encounters, but not quite accord either.
They were adversaries still, with opposing interests and unresolved conflicts.
Yet Drake found himself reluctantly acknowledging that she was not at all the adversary he had anticipated.
“I should return to Willow Park,” she said, breaking the silence. “I’ve imposed on your patience long enough.”
“You’ve hardly imposed,” Drake replied, surprising himself. “Your insights have been valuable, if unexpected.”
She regarded him with that same penetrating blue gaze that seemed to see more than he intended to reveal. “Perhaps next time I’ll send advance notice of my arrival.”
“That would be...” he sought the appropriate word, “civilized.”
A smile touched her lips briefly. “I’m gratified to hear you find me capable of civilization, Lord Greythorne.”
“Drake,” he said impulsively.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My name is Drake,” he repeated, unsure why it suddenly mattered that she use it. “All this ‘Lord Greythorne’ business becomes tiresome, particularly when knee-deep in mud discussing roof repairs.”
She hesitated, clearly uncertain about this sudden shift toward informality. “I’m not sure propriety would permit—”
“Propriety be hanged,” he interrupted. “We’re going to be dealing with each other on estate matters for the foreseeable future. Might as well dispense with unnecessary formalities.”
Lady Katherine considered this for a moment before inclining her head slightly. “Very well... Drake. Though I would request that such informality be reserved for private conversations regarding estate business.”
“Naturally,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t dream of compromising your reputation in public.”
Was that a flash of humour in her eyes? “How considerate of you. Then I suppose you must call me Katherine in these... private estate discussions.”
“Katherine,” he repeated, testing the name.
It suited her—direct and unpretentious, yet with an undeniable elegance.
The moment stretched between them, charged with something Drake couldn’t quite identify. Then she nodded briskly, reverting to her business-like demeanour.
“I’ll have my steward send over the contact information for the Thornfield quarry,” she said. “And any other suppliers I think might be useful to you.”
“Thank you,” Drake replied, matching her professional tone. “That would be most helpful.”
As he watched her walk toward her waiting carriage, her straight-backed posture and measured steps revealing nothing of their unusual conversation, Drake found himself wondering about the woman beneath the carefully maintained facade of the Dowager Countess.
Today he had glimpsed aspects of her character that contradicted his initial assessment—compassion beneath her cool exterior, vulnerability beneath her strength, warmth beneath her reserve.
What other assumptions had he made about her that were wrong?