Page 71 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
It was Sebastian’s face so close to her own, however, his concern and love for her plain in his eyes, that snapped her out of the fog she’d been lost in.
“Katrina, do you want me to send him away? You don’t have to see him if you don’t wish to.”
His voice shook with his fury, but was gentle nonetheless. And it gave her strength as nothing else could. No matter what, Sebastian would support her decision with her brother. She could refuse to see him, and no one would condemn her for it. In actuality, she thought as she took a quick look about the small room, from the anger saturating every face surrounding her, including Lady Tesh’s, she rather thought they would be more than happy to see her set Mouse after Francis.
But she’d had the strength to confront the vicar, hadn’t she? Why should this be any different?
She looked to the butler, who was staring wide-eyed at the collection of fury before him. “Please show Sir Francis to the drawing room and tell him I will be with him momentarily.”
When Katrina had last seen her brother, he had been thin and wan, his skin waxen from loss of blood as he sat propped up in his bed. He had raged at her, his fury and fear plain, and had sent her from their London town house in shame. In the years since, she’d had trouble remembering the athletic, magnetic brother she’d looked up to, the image of him with hate in his eyes and close to death’s door having been seared into her brain until it was all she could recall.
Now, however, except for his empty sleeve pinned to his shoulder he could not look more different. He was no longer sickly, yet he did not resemble the devil-may-care rake of his youth, either. His features were stark and hard where they’d once been soft, his form stocky and strong where it had once been lanky and lean.
But it was his eyes that held the most difference. They’d once been filled to the brim with ennui, and Katrina had never felt as if he’d seen the person she was beyond his responsibility to her. Now, however, they were sharp as flint, and they took her in from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, as if peeling away the past four years to see everything that had happened to her since.
“Hello, Katrina,” he said, his voice rough.
“Hello, Francis.” She swallowed hard, focusing on Sebastian’s comforting presence behind her, desperately happy that she had asked that he accompany her. She motioned back to where he stood, not taking her eyes from Francis’s face for all it seemed a stranger’s to her. “You recall the Duke of Ramsleigh? Though you would have known him as Lord Marsten.”
Francis glanced over her shoulder, his slight start proof that he had not noticed Sebastian before now. He frowned, clearly confused by his presence before he dipped his head solemnly.
“Ramsleigh. I did not expect to see you here.”
“Denby,” Sebastian said in a voice devoid of inflection. “I could say the same about you.”
Francis acknowledged that with another head tilt, this one in wry acceptance, before returning his attention to Katrina. “I came here to discuss something important with you. Might we have a moment alone?”
“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Sebastian,” she said, instinctively reaching behind her. At once Sebastian was at her side, his hand sliding into hers, holding on tight.
Francis did not miss the show of solidarity. His gaze narrowed on their joined fingers before he looked to Sebastian. And to Katrina’s shock, there was fury in his eyes.
“How did you learn about it?” he demanded, striding forward until he was nose to nose with Sebastian.
As for Sebastian, he tensed beside her, his fingers tightening on hers as he maneuvered her behind him. “What the hell are you talking about, Denby?”
“The inheritance. Why else would you be here sniffing at her skirts?”
“What inheritance? Denby, you’d best explain things, immediately.”
“As if you don’t know,” her brother spat, his lip curling. “I tried to keep it quiet, to keep the news from leaking out. Yet here you are, the one man in London in need of funds more than any other. Bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
But something in Sebastian’s eyes must have finally burned through Francis’s anger. He stilled, his eyes narrowing.
“You must have known. Else why are you here?”
Katrina, her shock finally dissipated enough for her to react, stepped around Sebastian. He appeared agitated, his confusion plain on his face as he stared at Francis. The very same confusion that settled like a pit in her stomach and made her feel both hot and cold all at once. Looking to her brother, she said, “We don’t know what you’re talking about. What inheritance?”
Francis considered Katrina for a charged moment. “Perhaps you’d best sit down,” he said, his tone strangely devoid of inflection. Then, before either one of them could react, he made his way to the nearest settee and dropped like a stone.
Katrina followed beside Sebastian, her legs shaky. What was he talking about? Inheritance? She had not received an inheritance. And if she had, who would have left her money?
Clearing his throat, Francis began. “It seems, Katrina, that our aunt left you quite a tidy sum upon her death.”
Katrina blinked. “Our aunt?” He could not mean Aunt Willa. That woman had barely tolerated her while she had taken on the position of chaperone during Katrina’s one and only—and calamitous—London season. And then later, when Francis had exiled them to that small cottage after the scandal, Aunt Willa had treated her with such disdain. Surely he could not mean her.
“Yes,” Francis said, “Aunt Willa.” His lips twisted. “It seemed, unbeknownst to me, she was quite wealthy. Disgustingly so, in fact.”
“I… see,” she said. But in fact, she did not see. Not even remotely. The woman had lived on Francis’s beneficence while she had stayed with them, acting more like a surly servant than family. Even after they both escaped from that cottage, when Katrina had come to live as Lady Tesh’s companion, Aunt Willa had not lived a life of wealth. Indeed, she had been frighteningly frugal, more than happy to live off the largesse of others, staying with any friend who would take her in. Katrina had even gone so far as to send her whatever funds she had managed to make, a kind of apology for the terrible position she felt she had put the woman in.
