Page 85 of A Rogue to Resist
Two weeks had passed since Drake’s engagement announcement—two weeks of carefully avoiding any gathering where she might encounter the betrothed couple, of pleading headaches and prior commitments whenever James insisted she join him and Rosabel for more social events than she could rightly stomach.
Two weeks of pretending her heart wasn’t breaking a little more with each passing day.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Katherine replied, attempting a casual tone that sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Rosbel’s expression softened with sympathy but remained resolute. “The wedding is only a month away, Katherine. If you intend to do anything about your feelings for Lord Greythorne, it must be soon.”
They sat in Rosbel’s private parlour at Wexford House, a sunny room decorated in shades of blue and gold that usuallybrought Katherine comfort. Today, however, no amount of aesthetic pleasure could ease the tightness in her chest.
“There’s nothing to be done,” Katherine said, concentrating on pouring her tea without spilling it, her hands frustratingly unsteady. “Lord Greythorne has made his choice. Lady Eleanor will make him a perfectly suitable countess.”
“Will she?” Rosabel asked, her tone deceptively mild. “From what I observed at the Countess of Westwick’s ball last week, neither of them appears particularly enamoured with the match.”
Katherine’s gaze snapped up to meet her sister-in-law’s. “What do you mean?”
Rosabel took a delicate sip of her tea before answering. “Lady Eleanor spent most of the evening surrounded by her friends, with Lord Greythorne notably absent from her side. And when they did dance together, there was a certain... tension between them. Not the sort one expects between a newly engaged couple.”
“Perhaps they had a disagreement,” Katherine suggested, trying to ignore the flicker of hope that threatened to ignite in her chest. “It signifies nothing.”
“Perhaps,” Rosabel conceded. “But it wasn’t merely their manner toward each other that I found interesting. It was Lord Greythorne’s expression whenever your name was mentioned.”
Katherine set down her cup with more force than she intended, tea sloshing over the rim onto the saucer. “My name? Why would anyone be discussing me in their presence?”
“Because despite your best efforts to fade into the background these past weeks, you remain a subject of considerable interest to certain elements of Society.” Rosabel passed her a small napkin to blot the spilled tea. “Particularly those who observed your collaboration with Lord Greythorne atGreythorne Manor and who now find his hasty engagement to Lady Eleanor rather curious.”
“There’s nothing curious about it,” Katherine insisted, dabbing at the spilled liquid with uncharacteristic clumsiness. “The entail requires him to marry quickly. Lady Eleanor is young, well-connected, and perfectly appropriate as a future countess.”
“All true,” Rosabel agreed. “Yet when Lady Swansea made a particularly pointed reference to your management of Greythorne during the late earl’s lifetime, I watched Lord Greythorne’s face. He looked... pained, Katherine. Like a man who has made a decision he deeply regrets.”
Katherine’s hands stilled on the damp napkin. “You’re seeing what you wish to see, Bel. What you think might comfort me.”
“Am I?” Rosabel challenged gently. “Then how do you explain his absence from Lady Eleanor’s side for most of the evening? Or the lengthy conversation he had with Lady Beauford on the terrace, after which he appeared visibly disturbed? Or the way both he and Lady Eleanor seemed subdued after their private conversation?”
These details, offered with Rosbel’s customary precision, painted a picture Katherine could not easily dismiss. Yet she had spent too many years protecting herself from disappointment, from hope that inevitably led to heartbreak, to accept them at face value.
“Even if he has doubts,” she said carefully, “he has no reason to believe I would welcome his attention. Why would he risk everything for someone who’s shown no interest?”
“Society’s expectations didn’t prevent you from refusing Lord Clifton,” Rosabel pointed out. “Nor did they compel Lord Greythorne to propose to Lady Eleanor in the first place. Thesewere choices, Katherine. Just as what happens next is a choice—for both of you.”
Katherine rose from her chair, moving to the window that overlooked the garden where spring blooms had given way to early summer verdancy. The season was advancing, life continuing its inexorable progression despite her own suspended state of grief and uncertainty.
“What would you have me do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Declare myself to a man who is betrothed to another woman? Beg him to reconsider a match that serves his inheritance needs perfectly?”
“I would have you fight for what you want,” Rosabel replied simply. “For once in your life, Katherine, I would have you put your own happiness above duty, propriety, and fear.”
Katherine turned back to face her sister-in-law, startled by the unexpected vehemence in her typically serene voice. “This isn’t like you, Bel. You’ve always been the voice of proper behaviour, of patience and restraint.”
Rosbel’s expression softened into a sad smile. “Because that’s what has served me best in my circumstances. But you, Katherine—you’ve spent your entire life conforming to others’ expectations. First your father’s, and brother’s, then Edmund’s, now Society’s demands on you as a widow. When have you ever truly pursued what you wanted?”
The question struck Katherine with unexpected force.
When, indeed? She had acquiesced to her brother’s choice of Edmund as her husband, despite misgivings she had never voiced aloud. She had endured five years of a loveless marriage without complaint or rebellion. Even her management of Greythorne had been conducted within the narrow confines Edmund permitted, her influence exercised through carefullycalculated manoeuvres rather than direct assertion of her own wishes.
“I pursued the western fields,” she said finally, the response sounding weak even to her own ears. “I fought for them.”
“Yes,” Rosabel agreed. “The one thing you’ve been willing to fight for—and look how strenuously you defended it. Not for yourself, primarily, but for the tenants whose welfare you champion. For others, always for others.”
Katherine returned to her chair, sinking into it as Rosabel’s words stripped away the careful justifications she had constructed for her own passivity.
