Chapter Twenty #3
“I want you to know what he looked like because what I am about to tell you will sound a bit… cruel, otherwise, and I do not want you to think too badly of the last duke. You see, Dulverton believed it was important that Gerrit understand that his awkward personality combined with his less than handsome appearance meant that he was not appealing to the opposite sex—” Mrs. St. Clare broke off at Katie’s huff of irritation, and she smiled.
This time, the expression reached her eyes.
“Do you disagree with that assessment, Your Grace?”
Katie did not want to share anything with this woman—who was Betje’s enemy—but this subject was too important for her to allow it to slide by unaddressed.
“It is true that Dulverton is not handsome by ton standards, but that does not mean he is not appealing. Indeed, it is difficult for a woman to look at any other man when he is in the vicinity.”
Mrs. St. Clare’s smile grew. “Is that so?”
Katie scowled, her face no doubt fiery. “Fine. It is difficult for me to look at anyone else. Go on with what you were saying before I interrupted,” she rudely ordered.
Still smiling, Mrs. Clare said, “Incidentally, I feel as you do about Gerrit. Unfortunately, Dulverton managed to convince Gerrit that he was too ugly and disagreeable to win any woman’s affection.
” Mrs. St. Clare gave Katie a pained and unhappy look.
“In short, he convinced Gerrit that he was unlovable.”
Katie could not help comparing Mrs. St. Clare’s words with what Betje had told her about Gerrit’s father. It seemed the old duke hadn’t been satisfied with condemning his own marriage to failure, he’d had to stifle any chance of happiness for his son, as well.
Again, she could not resist prying. “Was the last duke happy with you?”
Mrs. St. Clare opened her mouth, hesitated, and then said, “I believe he was.”
“If he could find happiness with a woman who cared for him then why didn’t he think his son could?” Katie persisted.
“That is an excellent question. And I’m ashamed to say I never thought to employ such an argument with Dulverton.
” She gave Katie a sheepish look. “The last duke was an intimidating man. I—I loved him, but there was a wall of reserve around him that even I was never allowed to breach.” She turned to look at her tightly clasped hands.
“I see now that in many ways I was a coward. Not once did I tell Dulverton that I loved him.”
Katie felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the other woman. If the old duke was even a fraction as intimidating as his son, she could understand why Mrs. St. Clare had been cowardly.
After a long moment of silence, Mrs. St. Clare looked up and met Katie’s gaze. “I’m afraid Gerrit’s first wife—and their awful marriage—only convinced him that his father had been right about his unlovable nature. And now there is you, Your Grace.”
“What about me?” Katie asked warily.
“I heard about you long before I met you.”
Katie arched a brow, refusing to look away in shame. “Anyone who cared to read a newspaper in the past few months has heard about me.”
“I’m not talking about newspaper gossips. I heard about you from Allison Kent.”
“Kent?” Katie could think of only one person with that name. “The housekeeper at Dulverton House?”
“Yes. Allison and I have been dear friends since we were girls. She is the only person who did not turn away from me when Dulverton moved me into this house. Allison Kent’s maiden name was St. Clare, and I was married to her older brother.
He was an officer in the navy and died after we had been married less than six months.
I was with child at the time and returned home to live with my father.
” She cleared her throat. “I lost the baby and afterward I remained with my father, keeping house for him, and assisting him with his work. That is how I met Dulverton. My father was something of an expert on fossils. By extension, I learned a great deal. When my father died, I continued to work for some of his associates, but—” She broke off and gave Katie a bitter look.
“The work of a woman, you see, is not as valuable as that of a man, regardless of the fact that I had nearly a decade of experience. Dulverton, unlike many others, continued to bring me work. Between what my husband and father left me I had enough money for a comfortable, if not luxurious, life.” Her cheeks darkened.
“I suppose that makes what happened between me and Dulverton all the more sinful. Most women who become mistresses are forced into that life. I chose it eagerly and willingly.”
Katie suspected her own face was a similar shade of red.
But as embarrassing as listening to such a story was, she was positively riveted.
The gently born, well-spoken, educated woman across from her was the last thing she would ever expect from a mistress.
Is this what her husband had found in Anna Wilson?
“Of course I knew Dulverton could never marry me,” Mrs. St. Clare went on.
“When he became betrothed to his second wife—Gerrit’s mother—I told him I could not, in good conscience, see him any longer.
” She gave Katie a wry look. “Clearly I changed my mind. His Grace could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it, and I missed him dreadfully after only a few months” She shrugged.
“Our arrangement lasted forty-three years.”
Katie was stunned. For some reason, she’d always believed men traded out their mistresses for younger, prettier ones every few years. What Mrs. St. Clare and the last duke had shared sounded like marriage. More like marriage than what poor Betje had been offered.
“But I have digressed,” Mrs. St. Clare said. “I was talking about Mrs. Kent. We have been correspondents for more than half a century. It was she who told me about you—and what she said made me optimistic for this marriage.”
Katie gave a surprised laugh. “I was only there a night; I cannot imagine what she might have said that would make you feel optimistic.”
Mrs. St. Clare smiled. “It does not take long to see that you are intelligent, curious, and full of life.”
“That is—that is kind,” she said, more uncomfortable with praise than she was with censure. And what did that say about her?
“Allison also said you were not afraid to challenge Gerrit.”
Katie gave an unladylike snort. “I feel compelled to point out that a month in Dulverton’s company has made me accept that his determination to get his way is far more formidable than mine.”
Mrs. St. Clare leaned forward so suddenly she jostled the tea service. “No, no, no! You must not give up, Your Grace.”
Katie felt scorched by the passionate, imploring fire in her eyes. “I—what are you saying? That I should bicker with him about where paintings are hung or insist my books remain as they are? I do not care enough about such matters to fight about them.”
“I do not mean that you should bicker about incidentals. What I mean is that Gerrit’s insistence on order obfuscates what he truly dreads.”
“You are saying that he does not really care about order and symmetry?”
“I believe that a certain degree of order is essential for Gerrit’s peace of mind, but for a long time Gerrit has used his requirements to keep his emotions—and any emotional attachments—at bay.
And now he is using them to keep you at bay.
Dulverton was wrong about Gerrit not being lovable and able to love.
Very wrong.” Mrs. St. Clare looked as if she was struggling with something.
“I have spent a great deal of time with both men over the years, and I know that Gerrit yearns for something Dulverton never wanted: a happy marriage.”
“That was not what he said to me when he proposed,” Katie blurted.
Rather than look shocked, Mrs. St. Clare merely nodded. “No, I’m sure he is still adhering to his father’s disastrous advice,” she murmured, more to herself. “Somehow you need to crack the shell he has so painstakingly built around himself—around his heart.”
Katie blinked at the other woman’s words. Words which were almost identical to the thoughts she had been having about herself earlier. She had held herself aloof from the world—from her friends and family, even—all because she had been hurt. Is that what Dulverton was doing?
“And you think I can do this how?” Katie asked.
“I do not know. Somehow, he needs to be shaken from his—his, I don’t know what to call it. A rut, perhaps? Although that seems so mundane. Whatever it is that keeps him imprisoned inside himself, he needs to be set free to love.”
“Love? He can scarcely tolerate the sight of me, Mrs. St. Clare. We spend as little time as possible in each other’s company—and that is not by my design but by his.
He disappears at dawn and is away until dinner.
He spends an hour or two sitting in the same room with me after the evening meal, not out of choice, but because his mother all but bludgeoned him into it.
When he spends a day at home he is sequestered with his steward, secretary, or bailiff.
In short, he avoids me as if I were a dunning agent.
He is merely biding his time with me until I am—am breeding and then he can set me aside and go on about his life. ” Her face flamed at her admission.
“That is the illusion he presents, but the reality is quite something else. Indeed, the horse you rode here today is proof of how he feels about you.”
“What?”
Mrs. St. Clare looked amused by her surprise. “Surely you have noticed all his other horses are black, my dear?”
Katie blinked. “Er—”
“The Dukes of Dulverton have only ever had black Friesians. Until now. Until you. He changed his ways because he knew how charming you would look mounted on a chestnut horse. He changed for you.”
Katie could only shake her head. “You are deluding yourself, Mrs. St. Clare.” She gave a confused half-laugh. “And you are not the only—” Guilt for almost betraying Betje made her stop.