Page 77 of A Rogue to Resist
“Hmm.” Harrison studied him with the frankness of long acquaintance. “You know, it’s not too late to reconsider.”
Drake stiffened. “The announcement has been published. The settlements are being drawn up as we speak. Lady Eleanor has every expectation—”
“Lady Eleanor has known you for precisely twelve days,” Harrison interrupted bluntly. “And while I have no doubt she’s flattered by your attention, I suspect her primary attachment is to the title and position you offer, not to you personally.”
“You don’t know that,” Drake protested, though without much conviction.
“Don’t I? Have you seen her face light up when you enter a room? Has she challenged a single opinion you’ve expressed? Has she shown any interest in Greythorne or what you do there?”
The questions struck uncomfortably close to Drake’s own doubts. “Not every marriage need be a passionate affair. Many perfectly respectable unions are based on compatibility of position and temperament.”
“Indeed,” Harrison agreed. “But I never took you for a man who would settle for ‘perfectly respectable’ when something extraordinary was within reach.”
Drake’s fingers tightened around his glass.
“There was nothing within reach,” he said, his voice low and taut. “Katherine made her choice. Or so I believed.”
“And now?”
“Now it’s too late.” Drake gestured vaguely toward the roomful of gentlemen who had been toasting his engagement all evening. “The announcement is made. The settlements are being negotiated. To withdraw would cause a scandal that would damage Lady Eleanor’s reputation and cast doubt on my character and intentions.”
“Better a brief scandal than a lifetime of regret,” Harrison suggested quietly.
Drake had no answer for that. The prospect of returning to Greythorne with Lady Eleanor as his countess suddenly seemed unbearable.
How could he walk the estate with her, showing her the improvements he had implemented with Katherine’s guidance, without constantly comparing the two women? How could he introduce her to tenants who would inevitably measure her against the previous countess and find her wanting, not through any fault of her own but simply because she was not Katherine?
Most of all, how could he face Katherine herself, knowing that he had misunderstood what he witnessed at Thornfield Park? That he had acted in wounded pride rather than waiting to discover the truth? That he had, perhaps, sacrificed something precious for the sake of his inheritance and his pride?
“It’s done,” Drake said finally. “Lady Eleanor will make a suitable countess. Greythorne will have its mistress. The entail will be satisfied. That must be enough.”
“Must it?” Harrison countered but seemed to realize from Drake’s expression that he would get no further tonight. “Well, at least consider speaking with Lady Katherine before you returnto Greythorne. Clear the air regarding the estate matters, if nothing else.”
The thought of facing Katherine now, as an engaged man, sent a sharp pain through Drake’s chest.
What could he possibly say to her? That he had misunderstood what he saw at Thornfield Park? That despite his betrothal to Lady Eleanor, his thoughts remained stubbornly fixed on a widow who had made it clear from their first meeting that she had no interest in remarrying?
None of these admissions would serve any purpose beyond salving his own conscience at the expense of her peace of mind.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Drake said flatly. “Lady Katherine made her position regarding Greythorne—and marriage—abundantly clear from the beginning. Whatever... professional regard may have developed between us changes nothing.”
Harrison sighed, clearly unconvinced but recognizing the futility of further argument. “As you say. Though I suspect you do neither lady justice with such assumptions.”
The evening finally drew to a close near midnight, with many of the gentlemen considerably less steady than when they had arrived. Drake, despite the brandy he had consumed, remained all too clear-headed, his thoughts circling relentlessly around the revelation that Katherine had rejected Lord Clifton’s suit.
Had she truly refused him? And if so, why? Had her stated aversion to remarriage been genuine after all? Or had there been some other reason—some other consideration—that had influenced her decision?
Questions without answers tormented him as he made his way back to Greythorne House, where his valet waited to assist him despite the late hour.
“A successful evening, my lord?” the man inquired as he helped Drake out of his evening clothes.
“Tedious,” Drake replied shortly. “But necessary, I suppose.”
“Of course, my lord. The announcement of your engagement has been most enthusiastically received in Society. Lady Eleanor is widely considered a most appropriate choice for the next Countess of Greythorne.”
Appropriate. Suitable. Proper.
The words echoed in Drake’s mind as he dismissed his valet and prepared for bed. All the qualities Society valued in a match, with not a single mention of affection, respect, or genuine connection.
