Page 78 of A Rogue to Resist
Was this truly what he wanted? A lifetime with a woman chosen primarily for her family connections and docile temperament? A countess who would grace his arm at social functions but who might never challenge him, never match his intellect with her own, never make him feel truly seen as the man beneath the title?
Drake moved to the window, staring out at the darkened London street below. Somewhere across the city, Lady Eleanor Thornhill was presumably sleeping peacefully, secure in her new position as his betrothed. And somewhere in the countryside, at Willow Park, Katherine...
He cut the thought short before it could fully form.
Katherine was not his concern. Could not be his concern, not anymore.
He had made his choice—a choice that satisfied his obligations to Greythorne and secured his inheritance. A choice that would provide the heir the entail demanded. A choice that was, by every measure Society recognized, entirely appropriate.
He had won. Greythorne was secured. Captain Halston would not inherit. The estate repairs would continue. Thetenants would be protected. Everything he had worked toward since learning of his unexpected inheritance had been achieved.
Drake pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, closing his eyes against the emptiness that yawned within him.
“I made the right choice,” he whispered to the silent room.
But if that were true, why did it feel like he had lost everything that truly mattered?
Chapter Twenty
“Katherine, it’s time. You need a husband.”
James’s sigh preceded the words, a long-suffering exhalation that set Katherine’s teeth on edge even before his pronouncement. She sat across from her brother in the elegant morning room of Wexford House, ostensibly reviewing correspondence but in truth merely folding and unfolding the same letter—an invitation to Lady Pemberton’s midsummer ball that held no interest for her whatsoever.
“I thought we had exhausted this topic, James,” she replied, keeping her voice deliberately light as she smoothed the creased paper in her lap. “Lord Clifton was perfectly understanding about my refusal. I see no reason to revisit the matter.”
Her brother leaned forward in his chair, his expression a mixture of concern and determination that Katherine recognized all too well. It was the same look he had worn when negotiating her first marriage contract with Edmund—an unfortunate comparison that did nothing to improve her receptiveness to whatever argument he was about to present.
“Clifton was merely one possibility among many,” James said. “You’ve received three invitations this week alone—Lady Pemberton’s ball, Lord Harrington’s musical evening, the Countess of Westwick’s garden party. Society has noted yourreturn from mourning, and suitable gentlemen have expressed interest.”
Katherine suppressed a sigh of her own.
She had returned to London three days ago at her brother’s insistence, though she would have much preferred to remain at Willow Park. There, at least, she could lose herself in estate business rather than dwelling on the news that had hollowed out her chest like a physical wound: Drake Halston was to marry Lady Eleanor Thornhill.
The announcement had appeared in the paper the day after Hilaria’s note, exactly as her friend had warned, even if she had a detail or two wrong. Katherine had read it with a composure that had felt like a brittle shell around the ache within, the formal wording searing itself into her memory:
The Earl of Greythorne announces his betrothal to Lady Eleanor Thornhill, daughter of the Earl of Fairfield. The marriage is to take place in six weeks’ time at St. George’s, Hanover Square.
Six weeks. So soon. The haste only confirmed what Katherine had already surmised—Drake was moving with all possible speed to satisfy the entail’s conditions. Lady Eleanor, young and from an impeccable family, was the perfect choice for a man in his position.
“Katherine? Are you listening to me?” James’s voice broke through her painful reverie.
“Of course,” she lied, folding the invitation yet again. “You were enumerating social events I have no desire to attend.”
“Your avoidance of Society isn’t healthy,” James persisted. “Especially now.”
“Now?” Katherine repeated, her gaze sharpening. “What do you mean by that, precisely?”
James had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I only meant that with Lord Greythorne’s engagement announced, it might be beneficial to demonstrate your own social standing. People talk, Katherine. Your continued involvement with Greythorne estate, followed by this sudden withdrawal—it has not gone unremarked.”
The implication stung, though Katherine was careful not to let her reaction show. “I knew there was talk, but I hadn’t realized I was being portrayed as some sort of scheming widow interfering with his marriage prospects.”
“Everything is the subject of gossip in London,” James replied with weary certainty. “Including the possibility that you might have formed an attachment to Lord Greythorne during your collaboration.”
“That’s absurd,” Katherine said automatically, the denial feeling hollow even as she spoke it. “Our association was purely professional.”
“Was it?” James asked, his tone gentler than she had expected. “Because if it was purely professional, sister, I cannot account for your pallor these past days, nor for the way you stare into the fire each evening as though searching for the answer to life’s mysteries.”
Katherine’s fingers stilled on the letter, the paper suddenly seeming to weigh as much as lead in her lap. Her brother had never been particularly observant of her emotional state—had never noticed, for instance, the slow dimming of her spirit during her marriage to Edmund. That he had perceived her distress now spoke volumes about how poorly she had concealed it.
