Chapter Eight #2
“Very well, Drake.” She pronounced his name with a precise crispness that somehow emphasized their continued professional distance, despite the informality. “You can start by carefully removing those shelves on the far wall. There’s a collection of painted figures her grandchildren made her.”
For the next hour, they worked side by side in the cramped cottage, salvaging items large and small from the debris.
Katherine moved with purpose and efficiency, seeming to know exactly which objects would hold significance for the elderly tenant.
Drake found himself following her lead, surprised by her practical knowledge of how to safely remove fragile items from precarious positions.
When she climbed onto a rickety chair to reach a shelf high on the wall, Drake moved instinctively to steady her.
“Careful,” he cautioned, his hands hovering near her waist should she lose her balance. “That chair looks about as stable as the roof.”
“I’ve managed worse,” she replied, stretching to retrieve a small wooden box tucked in a corner. “Mrs. Parsons keeps her husband’s letters here. Fifty years of correspondence she wouldn’t part with for all the gold in England.”
As she reached further, the chair wobbled dangerously. Drake’s hands instinctively gripped her waist to stabilize her, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through him. Katherine froze momentarily, then carefully handed down the box before allowing him to help her descend.
“Thank you,” she said, a slight flush colouring her cheeks as she smoothed her skirts. “That would have been an undignified fall.”
Drake stepped back, suddenly aware of how close they had been standing. “You’re welcome. Though perhaps next time, ask for assistance before climbing on furniture that’s older than both of us combined?”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Where would be the adventure in that?”
The teasing response caught him off guard. This lighter side of Katherine was one he’d glimpsed only rarely, usually in her interactions with the tenants. It was appealing.
The realization disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
“I believe we’ve salvaged the most important items,” he said, deliberately returning to the task at hand. “The labourers can clear the remaining debris.”
Katherine nodded, her own manner becoming business-like once more. “I agree. And we should check on the Bennetts’ cottage as well, since we’re in the village. Their roof was also identified as at risk.”
“Always another project,” Drake observed, not unkindly.
“The work of an estate never ends,” she replied simply. “Particularly one that has seen such prolonged neglect. I often wonder if the fourth earl did anything either.”
They emerged from the cottage to find Wilkins directing his men as they assessed the damage more thoroughly.
The village green beyond was busy with daily life—women hanging laundry, children playing, men returning from the fields for their midday meal.
Several villagers paused in their activities to watch the proceedings at Mrs. Parsons’ cottage with undisguised interest.
Katherine greeted each person by name as they made their way toward the Bennetts’ dwelling.
Drake noted the genuine warmth with which she was received—these were not the formal, deferential exchanges between tenants and their social superior, but the friendly interactions of people with established relationships.
“Lady Katherine!” A small boy of perhaps five years came running across the green, a wooden toy clutched in his hand. “Look what Grandpa made me!”
Katherine knelt to admire the roughly carved horse the child proudly displayed. “It’s magnificent, Thomas. The finest steed in all of Greythorne, I’m certain.”
The boy beamed, then cast a curious glance at Drake.
“Are you the new lord?” he asked with a child’s directness.
“I am,” Drake confirmed, crouching down to the boy’s level. “And who might you be, sir?”
Thomas giggled at being addressed as “sir.” “I’m Thomas Bennett. My papa helps with the sheep.”
“Ah, so you’re the Bennetts’ youngest,” Drake said, making the connection. “We’re just on our way to see your house.”
“Because of the leaks?” Thomas asked. “Mama puts buckets everywhere when it rains.”
“Well, we’ll have to see if we can fix those leaks, won’t we?” Drake replied. “No one should need buckets inside their house.”
The boy considered this seriously, then held out his wooden horse. “Would you like to see my horse gallop?”
Drake found himself smiling genuinely. “I would indeed.”
Thomas proceeded to demonstrate his toy’s capabilities with great enthusiasm, while Katherine watched with an expression Drake couldn’t quite decipher.
“Will you make our house better like Mrs. Parsons’?” Thomas asked when his demonstration concluded.
“Yes,” Drake answered without hesitation. “Lady Katherine and I will make sure your house doesn’t leak anymore.”
The boy’s face lit up.
“Lady Katherine always helps,” he declared with absolute certainty. “She brought medicine when I was sick, and a book with pictures.”
Drake glanced at Katherine, who seemed mildly embarrassed by the child’s frank admiration. “Did she indeed?”
“Mmhmm. And she reads stories better than Mama because she does all the voices.”
Katherine cleared her throat.
“I believe your mother is calling you, Thomas,” she said, though Drake heard no such summons.
The boy seemed to accept this nonetheless.
“Goodbye, my lord. Goodbye, Lady Katherine!” He ran off, his wooden horse “galloping” alongside him.
“You do the voices when reading stories?” Drake couldn’t resist asking as they continued toward the Bennetts’ cottage.
Katherine’s cheeks coloured slightly.
“The children enjoy it,” she said defensively. “And during the fever outbreak two winters ago, it provided some comfort while they were recovering.”
“You nursed them yourself?” Drake asked, genuinely curious now.
“Not precisely nursing,” she clarified. “The village has a perfectly capable midwife who attended to the medical aspects. But I visited regularly, brought supplies, and yes, occasionally read stories to restless children confined to their beds.”
It was so far from the behaviour Drake had expected of Edmund’s widow that he found himself continuously reassessing his understanding of Katherine Halston.
The woman beside him, with her practical boots and her knowledge of which herbs Mrs. Parsons valued most, was nothing like the cold, calculating aristocrat he had initially imagined.
They reached the Bennetts’ cottage, where the situation was less dire than Mrs. Parsons’ but still concerning. The roof had multiple leaks, and the ceiling showed signs of water damage that, if left unaddressed, would eventually lead to collapse.
Mrs. Bennett greeted Katherine with obvious relief and Drake with cautious respect. She was a careworn woman of perhaps thirty, with four children including young Thomas, who had apparently raced home to announce their arrival.
“My lady, my lord,” she curtseyed. “Thomas says you’ve come about the roof?”
“Indeed we have,” Katherine confirmed. “Lord Greythorne is implementing repairs throughout the estate, and your cottage has been identified as a priority.”
Drake noted how carefully Katherine worded this, ensuring he received credit for the decision while omitting the fact that she had been the one to place the Bennetts’ home on the priority list.
As they inspected the cottage, Katherine engaged Mrs. Bennett in conversation about her family’s needs and concerns beyond just the roof repairs.
Drake found himself watching their interaction with growing admiration.
Katherine listened attentively, asked perceptive questions, and offered practical solutions that balanced the family’s needs with the estate’s resources.
When Thomas and his siblings returned from playing outside, their reaction to Katherine was telling. They approached her with the easy familiarity of children who knew they were welcome, showing her their toys and clamouring for attention.
Katherine responded with natural warmth, kneeling to their level despite her fine gown, laughing at their stories and complimenting their accomplishments.
Drake found himself standing to the side, observing a scene that challenged everything he had assumed about the Dowager Countess.
This was not a woman playing at charitable responsibility for appearance’s sake.
This was someone who had built genuine relationships with the estate’s people, who knew their needs and concerns, who had earned their trust through consistent care rather than occasional condescension.
As he watched Katherine laugh at something Thomas whispered in her ear, her face alight with genuine amusement, Drake felt something unexpected stir within him. It was more than mere admiration for her competence, though that was certainly part of it.
It was the unsettling recognition that their collaboration might be more essential—to Greythorne and to himself—than he had ever anticipated.
The thought was unwelcome. Drake had spent his life building his own success, priding himself on his ability to manage enterprises effectively and fairly.
He had approached Greythorne with the confidence of a man accustomed to mastering new challenges.
Yet here was Katherine, demonstrating an ease with the estate and its people that he could not hope to match for years, if ever.
She had done all this despite being constrained by a husband who, by all accounts, had actively hindered her efforts. What might she have accomplished with full authority and adequate resources?
It was a question Drake was not entirely comfortable contemplating.
As they finally took their leave of the Bennetts, having arranged for repairs to begin the following week, Katherine paused to speak with several other villagers who approached with various concerns and questions.
Drake stood nearby, ostensibly reviewing notes with Wilkins but actually observing Katherine’s interactions with growing fascination.
“Lady Katherine has always had a way with the tenants,” Wilkins commented, following Drake’s gaze. “They trust her, and with good reason. She’s never made promises she couldn’t keep.”
“Unlike her husband,” Drake surmised.
Wilkins nodded cautiously. “The late earl wasn’t around much.”
“So I’m learning,” Drake replied dryly.
When Katherine finally rejoined him, there was a slight flush to her cheeks and a brightness to her eyes that spoke of genuine engagement with the work at hand. It was a far cry from the cool, reserved widow who had first met him in Wexford’s London drawing room.
“I apologize for the delay,” she said. “Once people realize you’re willing to listen, there’s never a shortage of concerns to address.”
“No apology necessary,” Drake assured her. “It was educational.”
Katherine gave him a curious look. “Educational?”
“Watching you with them,” he clarified. “You know them all so well. Their names, their children, their circumstances.”
“I’ve had five years to learn,” she pointed out. “You’ve had barely a month.”
It was a generous framing of the disparity between them—attributing it to time rather than inclination or ability. Another surprise from a woman he had expected to seize every opportunity to highlight his inadequacies as Greythorne’s new master.
“Nevertheless,” Drake said, “your relationship with the tenants is clearly an asset to the estate. One I would be foolish to discount.”
Katherine studied him for a moment, as if searching for hidden meaning in his words.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “Though they are more than an ‘asset’ to me.”
“I’m beginning to understand that,” Drake replied quietly.
As they walked back toward where their horses waited, Drake watched Katherine greet yet another child who ran up to show her a freshly picked bouquet of wildflowers. She knelt down, admiring the blooms with genuine interest, laughing at something the little girl said.
The scene struck him with unexpected force—Katherine Halston, aristocrat by birth and education, kneeling in the dirt of a humble village, her face alight with shared joy over a handful of common flowers.
He watched her and felt something uncomfortable settle in his chest: the nagging thought that she would have been a much better mistress of the estate than he might be, no matter how long he stayed.
The thought was unwelcome, but he could no longer deny its truth.