Page 79 of A Rogue to Resist
“James—” she began, then stopped, uncertain what defence she could offer that wouldn’t sound like confirmation.
“It’s Lord Greythorne, isn’t it?” James pressed gently. “You’ve developed feelings for him.”
The direct question, asked with such unexpected perception, caught Katherine entirely off guard. For a moment, she considered maintaining the denial—insisting that her melancholy stemmed from something else entirely, that Drake Halston meant nothing more to her than any other acquaintance.
But she was so tired of pretending. Tired of the careful composure she had maintained for years, first as Edmund’s wife and then as his widow. Tired of denying the truth even to herself.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly, the single syllable both surrender and relief. “Though it hardly matters now.”
James looked stricken, as though he had not actually expected her to confirm his suspicion. “Katherine, I had no idea. When did this happen?”
“I’m not entirely certain,” she replied, her gaze dropping to the crumpled invitation in her hands. “It wasn’t immediate, despite what the gossips might suggest. We argued incessantly at first—about the western fields, about estate management, about practically everything.”
A faint smile touched her lips at the memory of those early encounters—Drake’s frustration when she challenged his decisions, his grudging respect when she proved her expertise, the gradual shift from antagonism to something more complex and compelling.
“But then?” James prompted, his expression caught between concern and curiosity.
Katherine sighed.
“Then I saw how he treated the tenants. How he listened to their concerns and addressed them promptly, withoutdismissing them as Edmund always did. How he valued their welfare above appearances or convention.”
She smoothed the wrinkled paper with deliberate precision. “He respected my knowledge of Greythorne, James. Not just tolerated it, but actively sought my input. Do you have any idea how novel that experience was?”
Her brother’s face reflected genuine regret. “I’m sorry, Katherine. I knew Edmund was not the husband I had hoped he would be, but I never realized the extent of his disregard.”
“I never told you,” Katherine acknowledged. “It seemed easier to endure in silence than to worry you with complaints you could do nothing about.” She paused, then added softly, “Drake is nothing like him. Nothing like what I expected a Halston man to be.”
“You call him Drake,” James observed, his tone neutral but his eyes keen.
Katherine felt heat rise to her cheeks. “We agreed to use given names in private conversations about estate matters. It was practical, nothing more.”
Even as she spoke the justification, she remembered the flutter in her chest the first time Drake had said her name without title or distance—the intimacy of it, the sense of connection it had created between them.
“I see,” James said, in a tone that suggested he saw far more than Katherine was comfortable revealing. “And were there many such private conversations?”
“That’s hardly relevant now,” Katherine replied, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “Lord Greythorne is engaged to Lady Eleanor. Whatever might have existed between us is immaterial.”
“Is it?” James challenged. “Because you’re still in love with him, engagement or no engagement.”
The word—love—hung in the air between them, both accusation and truth. Katherine had admitted her feelings to herself in the privacy of her sitting room at Willow Park, but hearing her brother state it so baldly made it suddenly, painfully real.
“What would you have me do?” she asked, an uncharacteristic helplessness creeping into her tone. “He has made his choice. Lady Eleanor is young, beautiful, from an excellent family—exactly the sort of bride an earl should select.”
“While you are a widow with a complicated history with his estate,” James finished for her, his expression thoughtful. “A widow who has stated repeatedly that she has no intention of remarrying.”
Katherine flinched at the reminder of her own oft-declared position.
“I didn’t think I wanted to remarry. After Edmund—” She broke off, struggling to articulate the transformation in her thinking. “I believed that happy marriages like yours and Rosabel’s were rare exceptions—that for most women, especially me, independence was preferable to risking such unhappiness again.”
“And now?” James asked gently.
“Now I understand there are different kinds of marriages. Different kinds of men.” Katherine stood abruptly, moving to the window that overlooked the garden where spring blooms were giving way to early summer verdancy. “But the realization comes too late. Drake is engaged to another woman, for reasons that have nothing to do with me.”
“Are you certain of that?” James’s question was carefully measured. “The timing of his engagement announcement—immediately following your visit to Thornfield Park—seems rather precipitous.”
Katherine turned back to face her brother, puzzled by the direction of his inquiry. “What are you suggesting?”
“Merely that Lord Greythorne may have drawn certain conclusions from your presence at Lord Clifton’s estate,” James replied. “Conclusions that might have influenced his hasty proposal to Lady Eleanor.”
