Chapter Eight
Katherine knelt beside an elderly tenant, brushing dust from the woman’s sleeve. “This is unacceptable. I will see it repaired immediately.”
Drake observed from the doorway of the small cottage, where the roof had partially collapsed during the previous night’s storm.
He had been surprised to find Katherine on his doorstep immediately after he had received word of the damage. She had insisted on accompanying him to assess the damage.
He’d expected her interest to be administrative—another entry on her ever-present list of estate repairs.
He had not expected this: Katherine Halston, Dowager Countess of Greythorne, kneeling in the dirt beside old Mrs. Parsons, her expensive walking dress gathering dust as she spoke in low, comforting tones to the shaken woman.
“You’ll stay with your daughter until the repairs are complete,” Katherine was saying, her hand resting gently on Mrs. Parsons’ weathered one. “I’ll have your things moved this afternoon.”
“But my herbs, my lady,” the old woman fretted. “My garden—”
“Will be tended in your absence,” Katherine assured her. “And any plants that need special care can be transplanted to your daughter’s garden temporarily.”
Drake stepped fully into the cottage, ducking beneath a precariously hanging beam. The damage was even worse than Thompson had described. Nearly a third of the roof had given way, sending debris throughout the small dwelling. It was a miracle Mrs. Parsons hadn’t been seriously injured.
“My lord,” Mrs. Parsons attempted to rise, but Katherine gently kept her seated.
“Rest, Mrs. Parsons. There’s no need for formality when your home has just collapsed around you.”
Drake approached, suddenly conscious of his imposing height in the cramped space. He crouched down to bring himself level with the two women.
“Are you hurt at all, Mrs. Parsons? Should we send for the doctor?”
The elderly woman seemed startled by his concern. “No, my lord. Just a fright, is all. I was in the garden when it happened, thank the Lord.”
“A blessing indeed,” Drake agreed, surveying the damage.
The ancient beams had finally surrendered to years of neglect, probably weakened by persistent water damage. It was the same story throughout the estate—patchwork repairs instead of proper maintenance, corners cut until the structures simply couldn’t withstand further strain.
Edmund’s legacy.
“The entire roof will need to be replaced,” he said, more to Katherine than to Mrs. Parsons. “And those support beams look dangerously compromised.”
Katherine nodded, her assessment matching his own.
“The walls appear sound, at least. But you’re right—a complete roof replacement is necessary.” She turned back to Mrs. Parsons. “It will take some time, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I don’t mind, my lady,” the old woman replied. “Just grateful for the help. The late earl, God rest him, never did get around to the repairs I asked for.”
Drake caught the brief flicker of something—anger? regret?—in Katherine’s eyes before her expression smoothed once more.
“Lord Greythorne has different priorities,” she said diplomatically.
Drake felt an unexpected surge of gratitude for her discretion. She could easily have used the moment to highlight Edmund’s failures and, by association, cast doubt on Drake’s commitment to the estate. Instead, she’d offered him a clean slate in the eyes of his tenants.
“This cottage will be fully restored, Mrs. Parsons,” he promised. “You have my word.”
The old woman studied him with surprisingly sharp eyes. “You sound like Lady Katherine when she first came to Greythorne. Full of plans and promises.”
Drake glanced at Katherine, curious about this comparison. “Did she make good on those promises?”
Mrs. Parsons’ face softened. “Whenever she could, my lord. Whenever the late earl permitted it.”
There it was again—that subtle reminder of the constraints Katherine had operated under during her marriage. Drake was beginning to understand that her accomplishments at Greythorne were even more impressive considering the obstacles she’d faced.
“Well, I am not the late earl,” he said firmly. “And if Lady Katherine and I agree that your cottage requires immediate attention, then that is precisely what it shall receive.”
Mrs. Parsons looked between them, a hint of shrewd assessment in her rheumy eyes. “Working together, are you? That’s a welcome change.”
Katherine rose gracefully to her feet, brushing dust from her skirts. “Lord Greythorne and I share a concern for the welfare of Greythorne’s people, Mrs. Parsons. Now, let’s gather what you’ll need for the next few weeks while the repairs are underway.”
As Katherine helped the elderly woman sort through her meagre possessions, Drake moved about the cottage, assessing the structural damage more thoroughly. The building was small but had once been well-constructed. With proper repairs, it could stand for another century.
Wilkins, the carpenter, arrived with two labourers, and Drake stepped outside to brief them on the situation.
As they discussed the necessary materials and timeline, Drake found his attention repeatedly drawn to the cottage interior, where Katherine efficiently packed Mrs. Parsons’ clothing and keepsakes into a small trunk.
There was nothing affected or condescending in her manner—no sense that she considered such tasks beneath her dignity. She worked with the practical efficiency of someone accustomed to managing household crises, large and small. Not your typical duke’s daughter, that was for certain.
“My lord?” Wilkins prompted, drawing Drake’s attention back to their discussion.
“Yes, sorry. You were saying about the oak beams?”
“They’ll need to be ordered specially. The standard size won’t do for those main supports.”
Drake nodded. “Order whatever is necessary. I want this cottage restored properly, not just patched together.”
“Very good, my lord.” Wilkins hesitated, then added, “If I might say, it’s good to see you and Lady Katherine working together on these matters. The tenants have always held her in high regard.”
“So I’ve gathered,” Drake replied, his tone neutral despite his curiosity. “She seems quite involved in their welfare.”
Wilkins nodded enthusiastically. “Always has been, my lord. Even when the late earl...”
He trailed off, apparently thinking better of criticizing Edmund to his successor.
“Even when the late earl was less attentive to such matters,” Drake finished for him. “You needn’t dance around the truth, Wilkins. I’m well aware of my predecessor’s shortcomings in estate management.”
The carpenter looked relieved. “Then you know Lady Katherine often worked against considerable... resistance. What she managed to accomplish for the tenants during those years was remarkable, given the circumstances.”
Drake found himself increasingly intrigued by these glimpses into Katherine’s past role at Greythorne.
The picture emerging was of a woman who had carved out what influence she could within a highly restricted sphere, using that limited authority to improve conditions for those dependent on the estate.
It was hardly the behaviour of the grasping, self-interested widow he had initially imagined her to be.
Inside the cottage, Katherine had finished packing the trunk and was now carefully wrapping what appeared to be bundles of dried herbs in clean cloths.
“Her medicines,” explained a soft voice beside him.
Drake turned to find a younger woman—perhaps thirty—watching the scene with affection tinged with worry.
“Mrs. Parsons’ daughter?” he guessed.
She bobbed a quick curtsy. “Yes, my lord. Susan Miller. Mother will be staying with us until her cottage is repaired.”
“I understand you live nearby?”
“Just down the lane, my lord. My husband tends the forge.”
Drake nodded. “The blacksmith. I met him briefly last week during the mill assessments. A capable man.”
Susan Miller beamed with pride. “He is indeed, my lord. And grateful for the work the estate provides.”
“There will be plenty more in the coming months,” Drake assured her. “We have a great deal of repair work planned throughout Greythorne.”
“So Lady Katherine mentioned when she visited last week,” Mrs. Miller replied. “It’s a comfort to know both you and her ladyship are taking such an interest. The estate has been... neglected for some time.”
Before Drake could respond, Katherine emerged from the cottage with Mrs. Parsons on her arm, the elderly woman leaning heavily on her as they navigated the uneven threshold.
“Susan,” Katherine greeted the younger woman warmly. “Thank you for coming so quickly. Your mother has packed her essentials, but there’s a trunk inside that will need to be transported.”
“I’ll have my husband bring the cart,” Susan assured her, moving to take her mother’s arm from Katherine.
As the two women slowly made their way down the lane, Katherine turned back to the cottage with a determined expression.
“We should salvage what we can before the labourers begin clearing the debris,” she said to Drake. “There are items of sentimental value that might be overlooked by workmen.”
Drake raised an eyebrow. “Surely that’s not necessary. We can instruct them to set aside anything that appears personal.”
“And how would they know what matters to a woman who has lived eight decades?” Katherine countered. “That chipped teapot might seem worthless to a labourer, but it could be a wedding gift from her late husband.”
Without waiting for his response, she ducked back into the cottage, her practical half-boots navigating the rubble-strewn floor with surprising agility.
Drake sighed and followed her inside.
“You are the most stubbornly hands-on aristocrat I’ve ever encountered,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.
Katherine glanced over her shoulder, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Lord Greythorne.”
“Drake,” he corrected automatically. “If we’re going to pick through an old woman’s possessions together, we might as well use our given names.”