Page 19 of A Rogue to Resist
As they approached the house, Katherine’s steps slowed involuntarily. Greythorne Manor was undeniably impressive, its grand façade of mellow stone gleaming in the late morning sunlight. But to Katherine, it would always be associated with the loneliest years of her life.
Lord Greythorne waited for them at the entrance, his tall figure silhouetted against the ornate doorway. As they drew near, Katherine noticed a frown creasing his brow.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He gestured toward the roof. “Water damage. The north wing looks to have a significant leak, and from Thompson’s reaction when I inquired, it’s been an issue for some time.”
Katherine followed his gaze, noting the discoloured stone and evident signs of deterioration.
“Edmund was informed of the problem last winter,” she said. “He deemed repairs too costly and unnecessary, since that wing is rarely used.”
“Unnecessary?” Lord Greythorne repeated incredulously. “Doesn’t he—didn’t he understand that such neglect only leads to more extensive and expensive damage over time?”
“Edmund’s concerns were generally more immediate in nature,” Katherine replied carefully.
His grey eyes narrowed slightly, as if detecting the omissions in her statement. “You mean he preferred to spend money on things that brought him personal pleasure rather than maintaining his responsibilities.”
Katherine didn’t confirm or deny this assessment, though its accuracy startled her. For all his faults, Lord Greythorne seemed to grasp Edmund’s character with surprising clarity.
They were greeted in the entrance hall by Mrs. Finch, the housekeeper, whose face lit up at the sight of Katherine.
“My lady! What a joy to see you again.” She curtseyed deeply, then surprised Katherine by clasping her hands warmly. “The house has not been the same without you.”
Katherine returned the older woman’s greeting with genuine affection. Mrs. Finch had been one of the few bright spots during her time at Greythorne, offering quiet support and kindness when Edmund’s cruelty became too much to bear alone.
“It’s lovely to see you as well, Mrs. Finch. May I present my sister-in-law, the Duchess of Wexford?”
As the women exchanged pleasantries, Katherine noticed Lord Greythorne studying the grand staircase with a critical eye.
“The wood is rotting in places,” he murmured when she glanced at him questioningly. “And several balusters appear to be loose. Was the entire estate left to decay while my predecessor lived?”
There was no accusation in his tone, merely incredulity, which somehow made it worse. Katherine felt a flush of shame, as if she personally bore responsibility for Edmund’s neglect.
“Not everything,” she said defensively. “The tenant farms are generally well-maintained, and some of the village cottages were repaired just last year.”
“At your insistence, if I recall correctly,” Mrs. Finch interjected, having overheard their exchange. “The late earl would never have approved the expense if Lady Katherine hadn’t been so persuasive.”
Lord Greythorne raised an eyebrow. “Persuasive?”
Mrs. Finch seemed suddenly aware that she might have spoken out of turn.
“I only meant that my lady has always shown great concern for the welfare of the estate’s dependents,” she amended hastily.
“Indeed,” Lord Greythorne murmured, his gaze returning to Katherine with renewed interest. “How fortunate for them.”
Katherine felt distinctly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Mrs. Finch mentioned refreshments?”
“Yes, my lady. In the morning room, if you’ll follow me.”
As they proceeded through the house, Katherine noted Lord Greythorne’s growing consternation at each new sign of neglect they passed—peeling wallpaper in a corridor, a cracked window pane in the library, water stains marring the ceiling of the music room.
By the time they reached the morning room, his expression had darkened considerably.
“This is unconscionable,” he muttered, almost to himself. “How could anyone let a property of this significance fall into such disrepair?”
Katherine remained silent, unwilling to speak ill of Edmund, yet unable to defend his choices. The morning room, at least, was in relatively good condition, having been one of the few spaces she’d been permitted to maintain according to her own standards during her residence.
As they took their seats around a small table by the window, a footman entered with a tray of refreshments. Katherine noted with a pang that it was Richards, who had been a junior footman during her time as countess.
