Chapter Ten
Katherine hesitated outside the study, arrested by the sound of raised voices within.
She hadn’t intended to make a special trip—she had simply come to Greythorne Manor to deliver the revised planting schedules for the western fields.
After their productive collaboration at the market three days earlier, she found herself looking forward to their next working session with an enthusiasm that probably wasn’t entirely professional.
When Thompson informed her that Lord Greythorne was meeting with his solicitor, she had planned to leave the documents and depart without disturbing them.
She certainly hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. But the sound of her own name being mentioned within made her pause.
“Lady Katherine’s management has been exemplary,” Mr. Winters was saying, his tone measured and diplomatic. “The estate records show significant improvements during her oversight of the western fields, and the tenants speak of her with genuine respect.”
“Then why do I sense reservations in your tone?” Drake’s response carried that familiar note of sharp perception.
Katherine knew she should continue walking. Whatever estate business they were discussing was hardly her concern, and Drake would certainly not appreciate her listening to private matters. Yet hearing herself discussed made her freeze in place.
“It’s not reservations about her capabilities, my lord,” Mr. Winters replied carefully. “Rather... concerns about the impression of your continued collaboration.”
“What sort of impression?” Drake’s voice had taken on a dangerous edge.
“With your marriage deadline approaching, some might view your close working relationship with the previous countess as... unorthodox. There have already been whispers among the staff, and such talk has a way of reaching London Society.”
Katherine’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment. She hadn’t considered how their partnership might appear to others—two people spending long hours together discussing estate matters, often without proper chaperonage, their conversations growing increasingly informal and familiar.
It hadn’t occurred to her that the gossip had reached the manor’s staff and potentially London Society.
The thought that their collaboration was being discussed not just among tenants but in drawing rooms, that it might affect Drake’s marriage prospects, filled her with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.
She had worked so hard to maintain her respectability as a widow, her reputation for propriety and independence.
“Are you suggesting I dismiss her assistance?” Drake asked, his tone now unmistakably threatening. “Because I can assure you, Winters, that would be remarkably foolish given her invaluable knowledge of estate operations.”
“Not dismiss, my lord,” Mr. Winters backtracked hastily. “But perhaps... maintain more formal boundaries? Particularly as you begin your search for a suitable bride. Young ladies of marriageable age—and their parents—might find such an arrangement... concerning.”
There was a long pause, during which Katherine could practically feel Drake’s tension radiating through the heavy oak door.
“I see,” he said finally, his voice carefully controlled. “And what exactly are people saying about Lady Katherine and myself?”
“Nothing specific, my lord. Merely... observations about the frequency of your meetings, the informal nature of your discussions, the way you defer to her judgment on estate matters.” Mr. Winters’s voice grew increasingly uncomfortable.
“Some have noted that you seem to value her opinion above that of your steward, your solicitor, even visiting experts.”
“Because her opinions are invariably correct,” Drake replied flatly.
“Of course, my lord. But perception often matters more than reality in these situations. A future countess might question why the previous countess maintains such... influence over estate affairs.”
The silence that followed was profound, and Katherine could almost hear Drake processing the implications.
“I see your point,” Drake said finally, though his voice remained tense. “You’re suggesting that my... collaboration with Lady Katherine could complicate my matrimonial prospects.”
“Precisely, my lord. Young ladies of suitable breeding might find it difficult to accept such an arrangement. And given your... timeline requirements...” Mr. Winters let the implication hang in the air.
“The marriage clause,” Drake said grimly. “Yes, I’m well aware that time is not on my side. But I won’t sacrifice Greythorne’s immediate needs for hypothetical future concerns.”
“Of course not, my lord. I merely thought you should be aware of how the situation appears to outside observers.”
“How convenient,” he said finally, his voice like ice. “And a long-lost cousin, Captain Halston stands ready to inherit should I fail to meet the entail’s requirements.”
“My lord, I don’t think there’s any reason to suspect—”
“Do you not?” Drake’s response was sharp. “Captain Halston stands to benefit considerably should I fail to meet the entail’s requirements. One wonders if certain... influences might be working to ensure such an outcome.”
“The provision has existed for nearly sixty years, my lord,” Mr. Winters pointed out reasonably. “Captain Halston had no role in its creation.”
“Perhaps not,” Drake conceded. “But the timing of various complications seems rather convenient for his interests.”
Katherine’s mind was racing. She had known about the marriage clause, of course, but hearing Drake discuss it in this context—with suspicion about his heir’s motives—cast their entire collaboration in a new light.
Drake had been working tirelessly to restore the estate, investing his own funds and energy, all while knowing that failure to marry within the year could hand everything over to a distant cousin.
The pressure he must be feeling, the frustration at being forced into such a constrained timeline, suddenly made his occasional sharp edges more understandable.
“The situation remains manageable, my lord,” Mr. Winters was saying, his tone deliberately optimistic.
“You are young, titled, and—if I may say so—likely to be considered an eligible match by many suitable young ladies. The London Season is well underway. A focused matrimonial campaign could resolve the matter quite efficiently.”
“Efficiently,” Drake repeated, the word laden with distaste. “Is that what marriage should be? Efficient?”
Katherine felt an unexpected pang at the bitterness in his voice.
She had assumed Drake viewed marriage as most men of their class did—a necessary transaction to secure lineage and fortune.
His evident repugnance at the idea of treating it as merely “efficient” suggested a complexity she hadn’t fully appreciated.
“Given your timeline, my lord, practicality may need to take precedence over other considerations,” Mr. Winters suggested delicately.
“And when has that ever resulted in happiness?” Drake’s response was so quiet Katherine had to strain to hear it. “Two people bound together by obligation and expediency, with no deeper connection to sustain them through the years that follow?”
The question hung in the air, unanswerable. Katherine felt suddenly like an intruder witnessing something far too personal. She should leave now, before she was discovered.
But as she began to step away, she heard Mr. Winters speak again.
“There is one other possibility, my lord. Though I hesitate to mention it given the... delicate nature of your current working arrangement.”
“What possibility?” Drake’s tone was guarded.
“A strategic marriage that would solve multiple problems simultaneously. The boundary dispute, for instance, would become irrelevant if you married someone who already had legitimate claim to the western fields...”
For a moment, Katherine couldn’t breathe. Surely Mr. Winters wasn’t suggesting—
“Lady Katherine, you mean.” Drake’s voice was flat, without inflection.
“It would be mutually beneficial, my lord,” the solicitor replied carefully. “The estate would benefit from her experience, the legal complications would resolve themselves, and both parties could maintain considerable independence within the arrangement.”
“You cannot be serious.” Drake’s response was immediate and emphatic. “Lady Katherine has made it abundantly clear that she has no intention of remarrying. Ever. And given our... spirited disagreements on estate matters, such an arrangement would be tumultuous at best.”
Katherine felt a complicated surge of emotions at his dismissal.
Relief, certainly—the very idea of another marriage, even one of convenience, was anathema to her.
But beneath that relief was something less easily defined.
A flicker of... what? Not hurt, surely. Not disappointment that Drake had rejected the notion so emphatically.
“It was merely a suggestion, my lord,” Mr. Winters backtracked. “Though I would observe that your disagreements seem rooted in shared passion for Greythorne’s welfare, rather than fundamental incompatibility.”
“Enough, Winters,” Drake cut him off. “I will not subject Lady Katherine to such a proposal. She has earned her independence from matrimonial obligations, and I won’t be the one to suggest she sacrifice it again.”
There was something in his tone—a respect, perhaps even a protectiveness—that Katherine had never heard from any man regarding her freedom.
Edmund had viewed her autonomy as something to be constrained; her father had seen it as something to be traded for advantage; even her brother, who loved her dearly, sometimes treated her independence as a temporary state until a more suitable arrangement could be found.
But Drake spoke of her freedom as something she had earned.
Something valuable that should be protected, even at cost to himself.
It was... unexpected.