Page 13 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke
Margaret hugged her, but with more restraint than Mary.
Then Eleanor hugged Katherine. ‘It is wonderful to see you. What do you think of our husbands?’ Her fingers touched Katherine’s arm.
‘They are both exceedingly handsome.’
‘We know.’ Eleanor laughed. ‘We will introduce you later. Oh, I cannot believe you are here. Now tell us what you have been up to?’
‘Nothing exciting.’
‘She is being modest,’ Phillip cut in. ‘She will not sing her own praises. Kate has set up a Sunday school at home, for the local children who can neither read nor write.’
It was hardly comparable. They would not be interested. These were glamorous women who fitted in here. Katherine did not.
‘I always said you were too virtuous. You are a saint, Kate,’ Eleanor stated.
Katherine felt her colour rise. ‘Hardly.’ She was false and fragile, and hiding it.
‘Phillip is right.’ Margaret smiled. ‘You should not feel embarrassed to admit good deeds.’
But Katherine did feel embarrassed. ‘Well, I have good reason to give something back, do I not?’ They all, possibly bar Mary, knew of her birth, but perhaps her tone had been a little too blunt, because the conversation dried.
Phillip’s arm came about her, his hand rested on Katherine’s waist and his fingers gently pulled her closer for a moment, then he let her go. No one broached the subject of her birth.
‘I teach the children because I enjoy it,’ she said to clear the air.
‘That is true,’ Phillip stated. ‘And they adore her, every last one of them.’
The conversation slipped into questions and answers as they caught up on the missed years of each other’s lives.
* * *
When John entered the state drawing room he felt exhausted. The days since his grandfather’s death had slipped past in a whirl of activity. First there had been the wider family to inform and the state acknowledgements to manage, then the funeral to prepare, and on top of it all getting to grips with all his grandfather’s business affairs. The mantel of a dukedom was lying heavy on his shoulders.
He sighed.
Richard had said several times this demanding way of life would feel normal eventually. John could not imagine it. Even though the house was straining at the seams with people today, he felt as isolated as he had been in Egypt, and incapable of relaxing. That was not due to the responsibility though, it was just who he was – like a partridge among peacocks.
He had returned to a world of farce. John doubted anyone in the room had really cared for the old duke. At least in Egypt people, his life, had contained no deceit.
A glass of red wine balanced in one hand, the stem dangling between his fingers, John joined another group of guests, acknowledging their presence, fulfilling his duty. But as he spoke he watched them, wondering why they were here, trusting no one.
He sighed out his breath, this was his life now, duty and falsehood. He missed Egypt – the adventure, peace and simplicity. He was already bored of people’s endless supplication. He could see beyond their spoken regrets, kind wishes and promises of prayers, they all wanted something from him, either his wealth or his power.
His grandfather had warned of this.
Now, John was seeking his family to escape it for a little while, particularly looking for Mary. He knew his vibrant sister would bring him back from the cold darkness engulfing him.
He had passed his mother and Edward in the hall, conversing with Richard and Penny, they had directed him here.
His gaze swept about the room, then stopped, not on Mary but on a young woman standing amid his family – a blonde beacon of light among his dark-haired black-clad cousins. She wore a pale mauve dress, and her golden hair was styled in a simple chignon. She had the look of an ancient goddess from this angle, with her head slightly turned away from him.
Lust gripped hard and firm in his stomach, an intense physical attraction. He had never experienced anything so instant before. But it was years since he had bedded a woman – far too long.
Her figure was a sublime balance of curves and narrow waist. Her spine had a beautiful arch as it curved into the point where her dress opened onto a full skirt.
She was speaking with animation, her hands moving.
He moved closer and as if she sensed his gaze the stranger turned and looked at him. A lightning need struck his groin, a sharp sudden pain. She was an English rose among orchids, the sort of woman he had seen nothing of abroad. Her skin was pale, and slightly freckled, with roses blooming in her cheeks, and her eyes were a vivid beautiful blue, like the bluebells which bloomed in spring in the woods at Pembroke Place.
