Page 65 of A Rogue to Resist
Katherine stiffened. “What precisely are people saying?”
James looked uncomfortable. “Nothing scandalous, as yet. But your frequent presence at Greythorne, your collaborative work with its new master—it’s unusual enough to draw notice. Some wonder if you’re finding it difficult to relinquish your former position.”
“That’s absurd,” Katherine replied, though the suggestion stung more than she cared to admit. “My interest is solely in the welfare of people I came to care for during my time there. Lord Greythorne has been gracious enough to value my knowledge of the estate and its needs.”
“Nevertheless,” James persisted, “once he marries—which must happen soon, given the entail’s conditions—your continued involvement would be inappropriate. His countess would naturally assume responsibility for matters you’ve been overseeing.”
The thought of another woman—whether Lady Westmore or someone else—taking her place at Greythorne sent a sharp pang through Katherine’s chest. Not because she coveted the title orposition, but because the estate and its people had become so intertwined with her sense of purpose over the years.
And if she were being honest with herself, because Greythorne now meant Drake—his unexpected respect for her opinions, his genuine concern for the tenants, the challenging conversations that left her feeling more alive than she had in years.
“Lord Clifton’s estate adjoins Willow Park to the south,” James continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “Should you two reach an understanding, it would create a most advantageous situation. Combined, the properties would form a substantial holding.”
“How practical,” Katherine murmured, turning back to the window. “A land merger with a marriage attached.”
In truth, she had always assumed that if James ever succeeded in persuading her to remarry, it would be to just such a practical arrangement—a respectable widower of appropriate age and fortune, seeking a suitable mistress for his household rather than a grand passion. Before meeting Drake, she might even have considered it eventually, once enough time had passed to dull the worst memories of her marriage to Edmund.
But now...
Now she found herself comparing every gentleman to Drake Halston and finding them all somehow lacking. None challenged her the way he did, none saw her capabilities rather than merely her social position, none made her feel that peculiar combination of exasperation and exhilaration that had become the hallmark of their interactions.
The carriage slowed as they approached Thornfield Park, a handsome estate with well-maintained grounds and a manor house of dignified proportions. Not as grand as Greythorne orWexford, but substantial and well-appointed—a testament to its owner’s prosperity and good taste.
Lord Clifton himself stood waiting to greet them at the entrance—a tall, distinguished man of perhaps fifty years, his dark hair liberally streaked with silver at the temples. He bowed with impeccable correctness as James handed Katherine down from the carriage.
“Your Grace, Lady Katherine, Duchess,” he greeted them, his manner formal but welcoming. “It’s an honour to receive you at Thornfield.”
“The honour is ours, Clifton,” James replied with equal formality. “My sister has been eager to see your famous rose gardens.”
Katherine managed not to roll her eyes at this fabrication, instead offering Lord Clifton a polite smile. “I understand they’re quite remarkable, my lord.”
“You’re most kind, Lady Katherine,” he replied, offering his arm to escort her inside. “They’re at their peak just now—a fortunate coincidence for your visit.”
The interior of Thornfield Park was as dignified as its exterior—handsomely furnished in a style that spoke of established wealth rather than fashionable excess. Everything was in perfect order, tasteful and proper, without a hint of ostentation or personality.
Rather like Lord Clifton himself, Katherine thought uncharitably as he guided them through to a sun-filled drawing room where refreshments awaited.
Over tea and pastries, Lord Clifton proved himself a conscientious host—attentive to their comfort, knowledgeable about current events, and possessed of opinions that were invariably moderate and sensible. He neither bored noroffended, neither charmed nor challenged. He was, in short, exactly what James had promised: steady and kind.
And Katherine felt absolutely nothing in his presence beyond a mild appreciation for his courtesy.
“Perhaps Lady Katherine would enjoy viewing the rose gardens now,” Lord Clifton suggested after an appropriate interval of indoor conversation. “The afternoon light shows them to best advantage.”
James and Rosabel exchanged a satisfied glance at this transparent attempt to secure a private conversation with Katherine.
“An excellent suggestion,” James agreed promptly. “Rosabel and I would be delighted to tour the picture gallery we’ve heard so much about, if you wouldn’t mind directing us.”
Lord Clifton rang for a footman, who was instructed to show the duke and duchess to the gallery. Then he turned to Katherine with a small bow.
“Shall we, Lady Katherine? I believe you’ll find our white roses particularly fine this season.”
Katherine rose, reminding herself to be fair-minded. Lord Clifton had given her no cause for the resistance she felt toward this entire situation. His interest appeared genuine, and his manner was unobjectionable. Perhaps if she allowed herself to know him better, some spark of connection might yet emerge.
The rose gardens were indeed impressive—a series of carefully designed beds showcasing varieties from the purest white to the deepest crimson, their fragrance perfuming the warm spring air. Under other circumstances, Katherine might have genuinely enjoyed exploring them. Today, she found herself making the expected appreciative comments while her thoughts remained stubbornly elsewhere.
“You seem preoccupied, Lady Katherine,” Lord Clifton observed as they paused beside a particularly fine display of damask roses. “I hope our humble offerings haven’t disappointed you.”
Katherine started, embarrassed to have been so transparent. “Not at all, my lord. The gardens are lovely, truly. I’m afraid I’m poor company today.”
