Chapter Twenty-Three
“Lady Katherine is here,” his butler announced.
Drake Halston, Earl of Greythorne, froze in the act of buttoning his coat, his fingers suddenly clumsy against the fine wool. For a moment, he was certain he had misheard.
“I beg your pardon, Thompson?”
“Lady Katherine, my lord, your neighbour at Greythorne,” the butler repeated, his expression betraying the faintest hint of curiosity beneath his professional demeanor. “She is requesting a brief audience regarding estate matters. The Duchess of Wexford accompanies her but remains in the carriage.”
Drake stared at his butler, a thousand thoughts colliding in his mind. Katherine was here? Now, of all moments—when he was preparing to call on Lord Fairfield to break his engagement to Lady Eleanor?
“Did she mention what specific estate matters?” he asked, playing for time as he attempted to collect himself.
“Something regarding the western fields, my lord. A proposed joint management arrangement, I believe.”
The western fields. Their first point of contention, the dispute that had defined their initial relationship. That she would choose this particular pretext spoke volumes.
“Show her to the study,” Drake said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Offer refreshments, though I doubt she’ll accept them. I’ll join her in just a moment.”
As Thompson withdrew with a bow, Drake turned to the mirror above the fireplace, studying his reflection with critical eyes.
He looked exactly as he had a moment ago—dressed for a formal morning call in a perfectly tailored dark blue coat, ivory waistcoat, and immaculate cravat.
Yet he felt utterly transformed by the simple announcement of Katherine’s presence in his home.
What could have prompted this unprecedented visit?
In the three weeks since his engagement to Lady Eleanor had been announced, Katherine had been conspicuously absent from every social gathering he attended.
He had assumed she was avoiding him—an assumption that had contributed significantly to his growing certainty that he had made a terrible mistake.
Last night, after days of increasing doubt and overhearing Lady Eleanor’s cold assessment of their marriage to her friend, Drake had finally reached his decision.
He would call on Lord Fairfield this morning and request a private audience to break the engagement.
The scandal would be considerable, the damage to his reputation significant.
But the alternative—proceeding with a loveless marriage to a woman who viewed him merely as an advantageous match—had become unthinkable.
And now Katherine was here, in his study, waiting for him.
Drake finished buttoning his coat with deliberate precision, drawing a deep breath to steady himself. Whatever her reason for this unexpected visit, he would face her with the composure expected of a gentleman. Even if his heart was racing with possibilities he dared not entertain.
He made his way to the study with measured steps, aware of Thompson watching him with that same barely perceptible curiosity.
The entire household had noticed his increasing restlessness since the engagement announcement, the long hours he spent alone in his study, the abrupt changes in his plans.
They would certainly notice the unusual circumstance of Lady Katherine calling at his residence without her brother’s escort.
At the study door, Drake paused, gathering himself. Then, with a resolve born of weeks of internal conflict, he entered.
Katherine stood by the window, her figure silhouetted against the morning light that streamed through the glass.
She wore a walking dress of deep blue, elegantly cut but free of excessive ornamentation, her dark hair arranged in a simple style that emphasized the graceful line of her neck.
At his entrance, she turned, and Drake felt the impact of her gaze like a physical force.
“Lady Katherine,” he said, closing the door behind him. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Lord Greythorne.” Her voice was steady, though a slight flush colored her cheeks. “Forgive the intrusion. I wouldn’t have called without notice, but the matter seemed too important for delay.”
“No apology necessary,” Drake assured her, moving further into the room though still maintaining a proper distance. “Thompson mentioned something about the western fields?”
“Yes.” Katherine glanced down at the leather portfolio she held, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around its edges. “I’ve been developing a proposal for their joint management. A compromise that might satisfy both our interests.”
Drake studied her carefully. Though her words spoke of estate matters, her manner suggested deeper currents beneath this ostensible reason for her visit. There was a tension about her, a contained energy that reminded him of their most heated discussions about Greythorne’s management.
“A compromise,” he repeated. “After so many weeks of absence, I confess I’m surprised by your renewed interest in estate matters.”
A flash of something—pain? regret?—crossed her features before she composed herself once more. “My absence from Society has been due to personal matters, not lack of concern for Greythorne.”
“I see.” Drake moved to the side table where a decanter of water stood ready. “May I offer you refreshment? Water, perhaps, or tea could be arranged.”
“No, thank you.” Katherine drew a deep breath, as though gathering her courage. “In truth, Lord Greythorne... Drake... the western fields are not my primary reason for calling today.”
The use of his given name sent a jolt through him. They had occasionally used first names in their private discussions at Greythorne, but never in London, never in a context so fraught with potential impropriety.
“I suspected as much,” he replied quietly. “And I must admit, your timing is rather remarkable.”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “Remarkable? How so?”
Drake gestured toward his formal attire. “I was just preparing to call on Lord Fairfield when you arrived. A matter of some urgency required my attention.”
Katherine’s expression shifted subtly, a guardedness entering her eyes. “Regarding your wedding arrangements, I presume. I apologize if I’ve delayed you.”
“No,” Drake said quickly, decisively. “Not wedding arrangements. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
He watched as confusion replaced the guardedness in her gaze, followed by a dawning comprehension that she seemed almost afraid to trust. The portfolio in her hands was now clutched so tightly the leather was creasing under her grip.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Drake moved closer, still maintaining a respectable distance but near enough to observe the rapid pulse visible at her throat, the slight tremor in her hands that mirrored his own internal disquiet.
“I was going to break my engagement to Lady Eleanor,” he said simply, the words surprisingly easy to speak now that they were directed at Katherine rather than Lord Fairfield. “I’ve realized it would be a mistake to proceed with a marriage neither of us truly desires.”
Katherine’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet room. “Neither of you desires? But Lady Eleanor—”
“Views me as a means to an end,” Drake finished for her. “A title, a position in Society, a fulfillment of her family’s expectations. Just as I viewed her as a convenient solution to the entail’s requirements.”
He moved to the desk, resting his hands on its polished surface as he chose his next words carefully.
“I overheard her discussing our engagement at the Countess of Westwick’s ball.
The clinical way she described our arrangement—her biological capabilities in exchange for my title and fortune—made me realize what a terrible error I was making. ”
“I see,” Katherine said, her voice still carefully controlled despite the heightened color in her cheeks. “And Lord Fairfield? How will he receive this news?”
“With displeasure, certainly. Possibly outrage.” Drake smiled without humor. “The scandal will be considerable, the damage to my reputation significant. But I find I no longer care.”
Katherine set her portfolio on a nearby table, her movements deliberate, as though she needed the simple task to compose herself.
A charged silence filled the room, heavy with unspoken questions and possibilities.
Drake felt the weight of everything he wanted to say to her—how she had never been far from his thoughts, how his hasty engagement had been born of wounded pride and misunderstanding, how thoroughly she had upended his carefully ordered life.
But something in her expression—a vulnerability mingled with determination—gave him pause. She had come to him today for a purpose, had summoned the courage to call at his residence despite all propriety. Whatever had brought her here deserved to be heard before he unburdened his own heart.
“Why are you here, Katherine?” he asked softly. “What matter was important enough to bring you to my door this morning?”
She looked up at him, her composure visibly wavering for the first time since he’d entered the study. Her gloved hands, free now of the portfolio, twisted together in a gesture of uncharacteristic nervousness.
“I came because—” she began, then faltered, the words seeming to catch in her throat. She drew another deep breath and tried again. “I needed to speak with you before the wedding. Before it was too late.”
Drake’s heart quickened at her words, hope flaring despite his attempt to maintain caution. “Too late for what?”
Katherine moved away from the table, taking a few steps toward the small fireplace where embers still glowed from the morning fire. The warm light caught the subtle auburn highlights in her dark hair, illuminated the fine bones of her face as she turned back to him.
“For truth,” she said simply. “For words I should have spoken weeks ago, before you announced your engagement to Lady Eleanor.”
Drake remained by the desk, his fingers pressed against the polished wood as though the physical contact might anchor him against the sudden rush of emotion her words provoked.
He had dared not hope that Katherine’s purpose might align with his own intentions, had not allowed himself to believe she might harbor feelings similar to those that had tormented him these past weeks.
Yet there was something in her expression now, a mixture of resolve and vulnerability, that stirred dangerous optimism in his chest.
“What words would those be?” he asked, his voice lower than he’d intended, roughened by emotion he couldn’t fully suppress.
Katherine’s gaze met his, direct and unwavering despite the flush that colored her cheeks and the slight tremor in her hands.
“I should have said this sooner,” she whispered, her voice shaking but determined. “And now I fear it may be too late.”
The naked emotion in her voice, the unguarded pain in her eyes, sent a surge of protectiveness through Drake that nearly overwhelmed his resolve to let her speak first. He wanted to cross the room, to take her hands in his, to assure her that nothing was too late if only she would trust him with whatever burden she carried.
But Katherine Halston had never needed protection from difficult truths. What she deserved—what they both deserved—was the chance to speak honestly, without interruption or assumption.
So Drake remained where he stood, offering only his complete attention as Katherine gathered herself for whatever revelation had brought her to his door.
“Please,” he said softly. “Whatever you came to say, I’m listening.”
Katherine’s eyes never left his, determination gradually overtaking uncertainty in her gaze. The moment stretched between them, fraught with possibility and the weight of words yet unspoken.
“I came to ask you not to marry Lady Eleanor,” she said finally, the words emerging with quiet intensity. “Not for the western fields, not for Greythorne’s management, not for any practical consideration whatsoever.”
She paused, drawing a steadying breath before continuing, her voice gaining strength with each word.
“But because I cannot bear the thought of you binding yourself to another when I—when I—”
She faltered again, her courage seemingly deserting her at the critical moment. Drake waited, barely breathing, as she visibly struggled to find the words for what she clearly needed to express.
“When you what, Katherine?” he prompted gently when the silence had stretched nearly to breaking.
Katherine met his gaze, her eyes bright with unshed tears and a vulnerability he had never before witnessed in this strongest, most independent of women.
“When I have only just realized how much you have come to mean to me,” she whispered. “When I can no longer imagine Greythorne—or my life—without you in it.”
The simple admission, offered with such evident courage, struck Drake with the force of revelation. Katherine had come to him not with practical proposals or estate concerns, but with her heart laid bare—something she had likely not done since before her disastrous marriage to Edmund.
The magnitude of her trust humbled him, even as it kindled a fierce joy he dared not yet fully embrace.
“Katherine,” he said, her name a prayer and a promise on his lips.
But she shook her head slightly, denying his interruption with gentle firmness. “Please, let me finish. I’ve rehearsed this a dozen times, and if I don’t say it now, I may never find the courage again.”
Drake nodded, subsiding into attentive silence once more, though every fiber of his being urged him to close the distance between them, to take her in his arms and confirm that her feelings were not only welcomed but reciprocated beyond measure.
Katherine’s hands twisted around each other, her gloves crumpling under the pressure of her grasp as she visibly gathered her courage for what came next.
“I have more to say,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, even in the quiet room. “Much more. If you’ll hear it.”
Drake’s response was immediate and heartfelt, the only possible answer to such a request:
“I am yours to command, Katherine. Always.”