Chapter Eighteen
Katherine stared out the carriage window as the countryside rolled past, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the fields.
The visit to Thornfield Park had not proceeded as James intended—a fact her brother was still struggling to accept, judging by his stiff posture on the opposite seat.
“I simply don’t understand,” he said, breaking the tense silence that had persisted since their departure. “Lord Clifton is everything one could desire in a suitor—respectable, wealthy, and genuinely interested in you. What possible objection could you have?”
“I’ve explained this, James,” Katherine replied, weariness seeping into her voice. “Lord Clifton is indeed a fine gentleman. My objection is not to him specifically, but to the entire notion that I require a husband at all.”
A half-truth, but easier than explaining the confusing tangle of emotions she felt for Drake Halston—emotions she had only recently admitted to herself.
Rosabel placed a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. “Perhaps we should respect Katherine’s decision. Lord Clifton himself seemed to take her refusal with admirable grace.”
Indeed, he had.
After their unexpectedly revealing conversation in the rose garden, Lord Clifton had accompanied Katherine back to the house where they had rejoined James and Rosabel.
With impeccable tact, he had made it clear to her brother that while he found Lady Katherine’s acquaintance delightful, they had mutually determined that further pursuit would not be advisable.
James had been visibly disappointed, though too well-bred to express it in front of their host. Now, safely ensconced in their carriage, his frustration was finding voice.
“It’s been nearly a year,” he persisted. “Surely, it’s time to consider your future. Willow Park is well enough, but a woman alone—”
“Is entirely capable of managing her affairs,” Katherine finished firmly. “As I have demonstrated consistently since Edmund’s death.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” Katherine met her brother’s gaze directly. “You believe I need the protection of a husband, despite all evidence that I am perfectly competent on my own.”
“I believe you deserve more than solitude,” James countered, his expression softening slightly. “Is it so wrong to wish for your happiness?”
The question caught Katherine off guard. Beneath her brother’s high-handed matchmaking attempts lay genuine concern, however misguided his methods might be.
“No,” she admitted quietly. “But you must understand that for me, happiness cannot be found in another conventional marriage. After Edmund...”
She trailed off, unwilling to elaborate further on the wounds her first marriage had inflicted—wounds that had only recently begun to heal, and only then because of her encounters with a very different sort of man than her brother would likely consider suitable.
Drake values my mind, she thought with unexpected clarity. Not just my connections or my comportment or what I can bring to his estate. He values me.
The realization sent a tremor through her that had nothing to do with the carriage’s motion over the rutted country lane.
“At least promise me you’ll try to open your mind to the possibility,” James said, misinterpreting her momentary distraction for consideration of his argument. “Not all gentlemen are like Edmund.”
“No,” Katherine agreed softly. “They’re not.”
Her thoughts returned to Drake—to their arguments over estate management, their shared concern for the tenants, the unexpected respect he had shown for her knowledge and abilities.
To the way his grey eyes darkened when they debated particularly contentious points, the rare smile that transformed his serious features when something genuinely amused him.
What would it be like to be married to a man who saw her as an equal partner rather than an ornament or a possession? The question surfaced unbidden, sending a flush of warmth to her cheeks that she hurriedly concealed by turning back to the window.
“I believe we’re nearly home,” she observed, deliberately changing the subject as Willow Park’s familiar gates came into view.
The remainder of the journey passed in less contentious conversation, with Rosabel skilfully redirecting James whenever he showed signs of revisiting the topic of Katherine’s matrimonial prospects. By the time they arrived at Willow Park, an uneasy truce had been established.
“Will you stay for dinner?” Katherine asked as the carriage drew to a halt before the house. “Mrs. Winters has likely prepared for your return.”
James shook his head. “We should return to London tonight. Parliamentary matters require my attention early tomorrow.”
The excuse was transparent—her brother was still displeased with her rejection of Lord Clifton—but Katherine chose not to challenge it. In truth, she welcomed the prospect of solitude to sort through the tumult of emotions the day had stirred.
“Of course,” she replied, accepting his assistance down from the carriage. “Thank you for the excursion, even if it didn’t produce the result you hoped for.”
James’s expression softened slightly. “I only want what’s best for you, Katherine.”
“I know.” She reached up to kiss his cheek. “And I’m grateful for your concern, truly. But you must allow me to determine my own path.”
After bidding farewell to Rosabel, Katherine watched the carriage depart with a mixture of relief and affection. For all his overbearing tendencies, James did love her. Perhaps one day he would understand that her happiness might look different from the conventional path he envisioned.
Her housekeeper, Mrs. Winters, greeted her at the door with a concerned expression that immediately put Katherine on alert.
“Is something amiss?” she asked as she removed her bonnet.
“Not amiss precisely, my lady,” Mrs. Winters replied, taking the bonnet and Katherine’s light shawl. “But there has been a caller in your absence. Lord Greythorne.”
Katherine’s heart gave a peculiar lurch. “Drake—Lord Greythorne was here? When?”
“This morning, my lady, not long after you departed with the duke. He seemed quite... determined to speak with you.”
“Did he leave a message?” Katherine asked, struggling to maintain a casual tone despite the sudden acceleration of her pulse.
“No, my lady. Though he did encounter Mr. Collins in the yard as he was leaving. They spoke briefly, but I couldn’t hear what was said.”
Something about Mrs. Winters’ manner suggested there was more to the story.
“And?” Katherine prompted.
The housekeeper hesitated. “Mr. Collins mentioned that his lordship rode off rather abruptly after their conversation. In the direction of Thornfield Park.”
Katherine felt the blood drain from her face. “Thornfield? Are you certain?”
“According to Mr. Collins, yes. Though I cannot verify it myself.”
A cold knot of dread formed in Katherine’s stomach.
If Drake had followed her to Thornfield Park, had he seen her with Lord Clifton?
Had he witnessed their walk through the rose garden, their seemingly intimate conversation?
From a distance, without context, it would have appeared exactly as James had intended—a courtship visit between a respectable widow and an eligible suitor.
“Is there anything else I should know?” Katherine asked, her voice sounding distant to her own ears.
Mrs. Winters glanced toward the small salver on the entry table. “A note arrived from Viscountess Eastwood shortly after midday. I placed it in your sitting room as it appeared to be of a personal nature.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Winters. I’ll take tea in my sitting room.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Katherine made her way upstairs, her thoughts in turmoil. Why had Drake come to Willow Park? What had been so urgent that he had tracked her to Thornfield? And what conclusions had he drawn from seeing her there with Lord Clifton?
Her sitting room, a sanctuary of feminine comfort overlooking the gardens, offered little solace today.
Katherine moved automatically to her writing desk where Hilaria’s note lay waiting.
Why would Rosabel’s sister be writing to her?
They usually exchanged contact through Rosabel or directly in person whenever their paths crossed.
Had Bel known her sister would be contacting her? Unease settled over Katherine before she’d even read the missive.
Breaking the seal, Katherine unfolded the single sheet of paper. Hilaria’s elegant but almost impatient handwriting covered barely half the page, but the few lines it contained struck Katherine with the force of a physical blow.
My dear Katherine,
I’m sorry to bear controversial news, but you know I have connections everywhere.
I’ve just received word that Lord Greythorne has prepared to offer for Lady Eleanor Thornhill.
The announcement is expected in the papers soon.
Knowing your attachment to Greythorne estate, I thought you should be prepared for this news before encountering it in society and I thought you might not hear since you were traveling with Bel and Wexford today.
With affection, Hilaria
“No,” Katherine whispered, the paper trembling in her suddenly unsteady hands. “No, it can’t be.”
But Hilaria would not have written if she weren’t certain. The viscountess had never been given to idle gossip or speculation.
Drake had accepted Lady Westmore’s proposal. He was to be married.
Katherine sank into the nearest chair, her legs no longer capable of supporting her. A curious numbness spread through her limbs as the implications of this news sank in.
Drake had chosen the practical solution after all.
The wealthy widow with her straightforward proposition, her lack of romantic expectations, her willingness to resolve the boundary dispute as a simple business transaction. Everything neat, orderly, resolved—exactly as a businessman would prefer.