Chapter Fifteen #2
He had assumed she felt unwell, as she claimed. The possibility that her retreat had been prompted by jealousy—that she might care enough to be disturbed by his interaction with Lady Westmore—sent an unexpected surge of hope through him.
Hope he had no right to encourage, given Katherine’s consistent stance on remarriage.
“Lady Beauford is a notorious gossip with a penchant for romantic speculation,” Drake said firmly. “Whatever she imagined she observed, Lady Katherine has given me no reason to believe she views our relationship as anything but professional.”
Harrison sighed, setting down his empty glass with deliberate precision.
“For a man of considerable intelligence, you can be remarkably obtuse about certain matters, Drake. Have you considered the possibility that Lady Katherine’s reluctance regarding marriage might be overcome by the right circumstances? With the right person?”
“She endured five years of marriage to Edmund,” Drake replied, his voice hardening at the thought of what Katherine had suffered. “Five years of subtle cruelty and diminishment, from all accounts. Why would she risk such an experience again, regardless of the man involved?”
“Because not all men are Edmund,” Harrison said simply. “And perhaps she has begun to recognize that distinction more clearly in recent weeks.”
Drake shook his head, unwilling to indulge in false hope. “You’re speculating without foundation. Lady Katherine has given no indication that her views on marriage have altered.”
“Has she not?” Harrison challenged. “Consider her actions rather than her words, Drake. She has spent countless hours assisting with estate matters that are no longer her responsibility. She has maintained a connection to Greythorne that extends far beyond what propriety or practicality would demand. And if Lady Beauford is to be believed, she was visibly distressed at the prospect of you marrying Lady Westmore.”
These observations struck Drake with unexpected force.
He had attributed Katherine’s continued involvement with Greythorne to her attachment to the estate and its people—a connection forged during her years as countess, when she had carved out a realm of meaningful activity despite Edmund’s neglect.
But what if Harrison was right? What if her persistent presence in his life signified something more personal than merely concern for Greythorne’s welfare?
The possibility was both exhilarating and terrifying.
“Even if you’re correct,” Drake said slowly, “I have no right to ask Katherine to reconsider her position on marriage merely to solve my inheritance dilemma. She has earned her independence at considerable cost. I won’t be the one to suggest she sacrifice it.”
Harrison studied him for a long moment. “Is that truly your concern? Or are you perhaps afraid of the answer you might receive if you were honest about your feelings?”
Drake opened his mouth to deny the accusation, then closed it again as the uncomfortable truth of Harrison’s words sank in.
Fear wasn’t an emotion he often acknowledged—in business and in life, he had always confronted challenges directly, weighing risks against potential rewards with clear-eyed assessment.
Yet when it came to Katherine, he found himself uncharacteristically hesitant. The prospect of rejection—of confirming that her involvement with Greythorne was indeed solely about the estate rather than any personal regard for him—was strangely paralyzing.
“Your silence is remarkably eloquent,” Harrison observed dryly. “As is the fact that you’ve been agonizing over this letter to Lady Westmore rather than simply sending your acceptance of what you yourself described as a perfectly sensible proposition.”
Drake glanced down at the unfinished letter, the word “accept” still hovering incomplete on the page. “Lady Westmore represents a practical solution to an urgent problem.”
“And yet you hesitate,” Harrison pointed out. “Because somewhere in that calculating mind of yours, you’ve already recognized a fundamental truth: some decisions cannot be made on practical considerations alone.”
The statement hung in the air between them, impossible to deny yet difficult to accept for a man who had built his life on rational assessment and strategic planning.
“I should complete my response to Lady Westmore,” Drake said finally. “She deserves the courtesy of a prompt reply, whatever my decision.”
Harrison rose, recognizing the implicit dismissal. “Of course. Though I would suggest you consider carefully what you truly want, Drake—not merely what seems most convenient or practical. Some opportunities, once declined, never present themselves again.”
After Harrison departed, Drake returned to the letter, determined to finish what he had begun.
Lady Westmore’s proposition remained the most logical path forward.
If his feelings for Katherine were indeed one-sided—if her involvement with Greythorne was truly motivated solely by concern for the estate rather than any personal attachment to him—then accepting the widow’s offer was not merely practical but necessary.
It would be my honour to accept your proposal, he wrote, completing the sentence he had abandoned earlier. The arrangement you suggest offers advantages to us both, and your approach to marriage aligns with my own practical considerations.
The words felt hollow as he wrote them, but Drake pressed on.
I would suggest we meet at your earliest convenience to discuss the specific terms of our agreement, with a view to announcing our engagement within the fortnight. This timeline would allow for a wedding before the autumn, well within the entail’s requirements.
I remain, respectfully yours, Drake Halston, Earl of Greythorne
Drake read over the completed letter, each word perfectly correct and utterly wrong. This was what reason dictated—the clear path to securing his inheritance, ensuring Greythorne’s future, and resolving the boundary dispute with Katherine in a single, efficient arrangement.
He folded the letter precisely, reaching for the sealing wax to make it official.
As he held the wax over the candle flame, a memory surfaced with such vivid clarity that his hand stilled: Katherine, standing in the spring sunshine at Greythorne, explaining to young Thomas Bennett why the new drainage system would keep his family’s cottage dry during the rainy season.
Her face had been animated with genuine enthusiasm, her blue eyes bright with intelligence, her laughter spontaneous when the child asked if the rainwater could be redirected to flood the schoolmaster’s vegetable garden instead.
In that moment, she had been entirely herself—not the guarded widow maintaining careful distance, but a woman of warmth and wisdom and unexpected humour. A woman Drake had come to admire, to respect, and yes, to desire, with an intensity that no practical arrangement could ever inspire.
Lady Westmore offered order, efficiency, and clarity. Katherine represented uncertainty, challenge, and the exhilarating possibility of something far deeper than a mere business arrangement.
The realization struck Drake with the force of certainty: he would rather have chaos with Katherine than order with anyone else.
The letter crumpled in his suddenly tightened grip. With deliberate movements, Drake tore it in half, then quarters, then smaller still, until Lady Westmore’s sensible proposition lay in fragments on his desk.
“Good heavens,” he murmured, staring at the scattered pieces with a strange sense of liberation. “I’ve completely lost my senses.”
Yet as he brushed the torn paper into the wastebasket, Drake felt more clear-headed than he had in weeks. The path forward was neither simple nor guaranteed, but it was the only one he could now contemplate with any satisfaction.
He would not marry Lady Westmore, however practical her proposition.
He would not surrender Greythorne to Captain Halston, however confident the naval officer might be.
And he would not allow Katherine to maintain the fiction that her interest in Greythorne was merely professional concern for an estate she had once managed.
What precisely this meant for his future—for their future—remained uncertain. But as Drake extinguished the candle and rose from his desk, one truth had become inescapable: some risks were worth taking, even for a man who had built his fortune on careful calculation.
And Katherine Halston was a risk he could no longer pretend he wasn’t willing to take.