Page 49 of A Rogue to Resist
“Has she?” Harrison asked innocently. “Or has she simply never been presented with an option that offered more advantages than her current independence?”
“Stop,” Drake warned, his patience wearing thin. “I will not discuss this further. Lady Katherine is not an option to be considered, and that’s final.”
Yet even as he spoke the words with conviction, Drake found his mind returning to Katherine as he had last seen her—standing in his study, offering practical advice about his predicament without judgment or mockery. The sunlight hadcaught in her dark hair, highlighting strands of deep auburn he hadn’t noticed before. Her blue eyes had held such depth of emotion when she had told him how “truly terrible” her marriage to Edmund had been.
Something had passed between them in that moment—a connection, an understanding—that Drake had been trying unsuccessfully to dismiss from his thoughts ever since.
“Very well,” Harrison sighed, interrupting Drake’s unwelcome reminiscence. “We’ll focus on the list of eligible strangers instead. The Westwick ball tomorrow should provide an opportunity to begin your search in earnest.”
Drake nodded absently, his attention still half-captured by memories of Katherine’s unexpected gentleness when dealing with tenants, her fierce intelligence when challenging his decisions, her rare but transformative smile when genuinely amused.
“Marriage is a trap,” he muttered, as much to himself as to Harrison. “A constraint on freedom and an invitation to disappointment.”
“For many, perhaps,” Harrison acknowledged. “But not inevitably so. With the right partner, it might be something else entirely.”
Drake made a noncommittal sound, unwilling to entertain such optimism.
Yet as he stared into his empty glass, he found himself wondering what Katherine might say to Harrison’s observation. Would she dismiss it outright, based on her experience with Edmund? Or would she, perhaps, allow for the possibility that not all marriages need be the prison hers had been?
It was a question he had no right to ask, and she had no reason to answer.
Yet it lingered in his mind as he contemplated the list of eligible young ladies, none of whom stirred even the faintest spark of interest compared to the widowed Countess of Greythorne—who was, ironically, the one woman in London he could not allow himself to pursue.
Chapter Twelve
“Ihave assembled some fine candidates,” James announced, his expression entirely too pleased with himself as he joined Katherine in the drawing room of Wexford House.
Katherine looked up from arranging the place cards for dinner, her brow furrowing. “Candidates? For what position are you hiring, brother?”
James chuckled, straightening his already immaculate cravat. “Not hiring, sister dear. I’m speaking of eligible ladies for Lord Greythorne’s consideration. Rosabel and I have invited several of the Season’s most promising young women to dinner tonight.”
Katherine’s hands stilled over the cards. “You’ve done what?”
“Come now, it’s hardly a state secret that the man must marry, and quickly.” James settled into a chair, utterly oblivious to Katherine’s suddenly rigid posture. “The Greythorne entail is growing rather infamous in legal circles. One year to wed and set about producing an heir, or the estate passes to the next male relative.”
“I’m aware of the provision,” Katherine said tightly, resuming her task with unnecessary precision. “But I fail tosee why you’ve taken it upon yourself to arrange a matrimonial display at your dinner table.”
“Not just for Greythorne,” James continued, warming to his subject. “I’ve invited several suitable gentlemen as well.”
Katherine’s head snapped up. “For what purpose?”
James had the grace to look slightly abashed. “For you, of course. It’s been nearly a year since Edmund’s death, Katherine. You can’t mean to spend the rest of your life in perpetual widowhood.”
“That is precisely what I mean to do,” Katherine replied, her voice sharp. “I thought I had made that abundantly clear.”
“Your first marriage was unfortunate,” James acknowledged, his expression softening. “But that doesn’t mean all marriages must be so. Rosabel and I—”
“Are the exception, not the rule,” Katherine interrupted. “And I have no desire to test my luck a second time.”
James sighed, studying his sister with a mixture of concern and determination. “At least make an effort tonight. Lord Barrington will be attending—a widower himself, with an impeccable reputation. And Sir William Harding—younger son, admittedly, but with a flourishing legal practice.”
Katherine pressed her lips together, restraining the sharp retort that threatened to escape. James meant well, she reminded herself. He couldn’t understand her visceral aversion to remarriage because she had never fully revealed the extent of Edmund’s cruelty.
“I will be polite,” she conceded finally. “But do not mistake civility for interest.”
“That’s all I ask,” James replied, clearly pleased to have won even this small concession. “Oh, and Lady Elizabeth Crawford has confirmed her attendance. Her father is the Earl of Montrose—excellent family, substantial dowry. She would make a most suitable countess for Greythorne.”
Katherine felt a peculiar twist in her stomach at the thought of Lady Elizabeth—widely acknowledged as one of the Season’s great beauties—being presented to Drake as a potential bride. It was a perfectly reasonable match, of course. The girl was young, well-connected, and reportedly sweet-tempered. Exactly the sort of woman who should become the next Countess of Greythorne.
