For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 2) (9 page)

She closed the door, and turned the lock.

Katherine leaned against the door, and considered the letter in her hands. The Duke of Bainbridge did not strike her as the type of gentleman who penned words to young ladies. Her lips twitched with amusement. Quite the opposite. She rather suspected he’d rather send all females, wed and unwed, to the devil quite happily.

Katherine slid her finger under the seal and unfolded the note.

My Lady,

I understand you are not overly fond of my, as you put it, frowning countenance, however, I would be remiss if I failed to write and inform you that I am, grateful. Grateful to have rescued you, that is.

Katherine smiled, and continued reading.

Allow me to express my most humble appreciation to you for turning over the sole copy of Wordsworth’s latest work to my ownership. In spite of my frowning countenance that day, I was not displeased with your generosity. I too, am in fact, an ardent admirer of Wordsworth’s work.

I hope you will allow me to return the copy to your care upon my completion of the volume so that you might enjoy the pages, as they should be enjoyed.

Signed,

Bainbridge

Post Script

I understand by the words in your note that you did have a good deal of fun teasing me. You are forgiven.

A sharp bark of laughter burst from Katherine, and she stifled it with the tips of her fingers.

It would seem she’d learned something else about the Duke of Bainbridge—he did appear to have a sense of humor, after all.

Katherine folded up the note, and held it to her breast as she considered the implications of his words. If the duke were the cruel, heartless lout he’d presented since their first meeting, surely he’d be incapable of the words he’d written her. Nor, for that matter would a callous figure of a man deign to read poetry, or send along a note of gratitude, or tease her for her own words.

Katherine walked over to her vanity and pulled open the front drawer. She placed the duke’s note in the top and slid it closed. And then froze.

What foolishness was this? Keeping his note? It was not something a young lady kept, unless there was a reason in keeping it.

And there wasn’t. A reason to keep it, that was.

Except…

Katherine sighed, and slid into the delicate mahogany rose-inlaid chair.  She fetched a pen and parchment from her vanity drawer, and chewing her lip, studied the paper.

Your Grace,

I am so very honored…

An unladylike curse slipped past her lips. She wrinkled the parchment, and tossed it to the floor.

She dipped her pen into the ink, and made another attempt.

Your Grace,

I am eagerly awaiting the return of...

Katherine set back with a huff, and tossed aside her next weakly started letter.

Why was she struggling so greatly to find the words to write to him?

Katherine began again.

Your Grace,

I thank you for your unexpectedly kind words. I’m glad that you’re glad I did not perish in the Thames River.

She grimaced, but continued writing.

I must also thank you for the generous offer of Wordsworth’s book. I would be most grateful if once completed, you did, indeed share your volume with me.

With Deepest Appreciation,

Lady Katherine

Post Script

Though I do not care to hurry your efforts along, my family leaves in six days’ time to celebrate the Christmastide holiday in the country, and it would be appreciated if I had Wordsworth’s work for my long carriage ride.

Katherine read and re-read the contents of the note several times, and then carefully folded it.

A knock sounded at the door.

Katherine jumped to her feet. She quickly stuffed the note into the top drawer of her vanity.

Another knock.

She hurried across the wood floor, the tread of her slippers nearly silent.

Katherine unlocked the door and pulled it open. She shrieked and slapped a hand to her racing heart. “Anne, you frightened me.”

Her sister rushed inside. She closed the door behind them, and turned the lock.

“Mother wants you to make a match with cousin Bertrand,” she said without preamble.

Katherine’s heart froze, and then thudded painfully in her breast. She’d assumed Mother would allow the matter of Bertrand Ekstrom to rest for at least the Christmastide season. She’d hoped with the coming of a new Season, that Mother would set aside her rather low aspirations for Katherine, and allow her to make a match with…with…well, anyone other than cousin, Bertrand.

“You can’t wed him,” Anne said flatly. She began to pace. “Neither of us can wed him.”

“Mother wouldn’t dare wed you to Mr. Ekstrom,” Katherine said, unable to keep the bitter tinged resentment from her tone.

Her sister glanced at her. “Well, she daren’t wed you to him, either. There is simply no need. Benedict is the current earl, and Aldora’s husband has settled a grand sum upon us.” She shook her head. “No, no. Marriage to him will simply not do.” Anne stopped mid-stride, and pointed her finger at the air. “We shall simply have to find you a husband.”

A laugh escaped Katherine. “You speak of it as though we’re hunters in search of the local fowl.” Her sister was fanciful and hopeful, but a hopelessly dangerous romantic.

Anne wrinkled her nose. “That is a rather horrid comparison.” She shook her head. “It is settled. We will find you a husband.”

Katherine scoffed. “Oh, and where do you propose to find this unwed gentleman before the start of the next Season?”

Unbidden the Duke of Bainbridge’s harshly-angular cheeks, his firm lips, and tall, commanding form slipped into her mind. She gave her head a hard shake.

Anne’s brows snapped together into a single line. “What is it?” she asked with all the intuitiveness of a twin sister who’d recognized more in Katherine’s unspoken words.

I do not know what manner of games you play, madam. I do not appreciate your dogging my steps. I’ll not be trapped into marriage.

Those were not the words of a man who’d gladly wed her, nor were they the words of a gentleman she should like to wed. No, Katherine didn’t imagine she’d ever make a love match. She’d long ago accepted the cold practicality of an arrangement between her and a perfectly suitable, properly boring gentleman. That was the way of their world. But neither had she imagined herself wed to a coolly disdainful gentleman like the duke.

She shook her head. Mere desperation was what drove her fanciful musings.

“You have a gentleman whose captured your attention,” Anne said on a gasp.

Katherine felt a rush of heat climb up her neck, and flood her cheeks. She shook her head adamantly. “No. No. Not at all. There is not anyone. There isn’t,” she insisted when her sister continued to study her with a probing stare.

Anne tapped the tip of her finger against her lower lip in a contemplative manner. “We must simply find that pendant. If we find it, then you won’t have to bother with Mother’s efforts between you and that loathsome Mr. Ekstrom.”

A wave of guilt slammed into Katherine as she thought of the heart pendant contained within the reticule she’d lost at the Frost Fair. Even if she herself didn’t believe in the powers of the pendant, it did not mean her sister did not. Aldora believed it had led her to her true love, Michael Knightly, and now Anne believed it would guide her to her future husband.

Anne’s eyes lit with that mischievous glimmer Katherine had long ago learned promised trouble.

“No,” Katherine said firmly.

“I didn’t say anything,” Anne groused.

“You were going to say—”

“That we should return to the Frost Fair,” Anne finished for her.

Nausea churned in her belly at the mere thought of venturing out upon the Thames River. She fisted the fabric of her modest, sapphire blue skirts and gave her head a firm shake.

Anne gesticulated wildly. “We never were able to search more than a handful of tents for the pendant that will lead us to the heart of a duke.”

Katherine would require something a good deal more powerful than a silly talisman like the heart pendant to make a match. “No.”

“But…”

“I said, no, Anne.”

“Hmph,” Anne said with a flounce of her curls. “I’m merely trying to help you, Katherine.”

Katherine felt immediately contrite. Society saw Anne as one of the Incomparables, but little else beyond that. Katherine knew, for the world’s shallow perception of Anne, her sister was, in fact, good and loyal and would put her own siblings’ happiness before even her own.

Katherine glanced down at the toes of her slippers. “It’s unlikely I’ll make a match in the next fortnight before Christmas,” she murmured.

Again, the duke as he’d been yesterday morn, with his black cloak swirling about his long, well-muscled legs, came to mind.

Anne snorted. “You certainly won’t if you remain in your chambers reading poetry.”

Katherine managed a small smile for her sister. “Thank you, Anne.”

Her sister’s pretty blue eyes searched her face with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Katherine said. She detected the defensive note that threaded those three words.

“Very well, I want you to believe in love.”

Katherine fell silent, and averted her gaze. There had been a time when she’d believed in love. Now, she knew that love was just the silly dreams of naïve young ladies. The world they belonged to was one made of advantageous matches, and familial connections. It was not a world that put any value on emotions such as love.

Mother had desperately loved their father. He’d repaid her love by abandoning her in the countryside and taking himself off to London to take part in the depravity of the gaming tables. In the end, he’d squandered nearly all their familial possessions, the un-entailed landholdings, and risked their good names for his own shameful interests.

If that was love, then Katherine was quite content without it.

“Surely not all men are selfish beasts like Father,” Anne murmured.

Katherine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from disabusing Anne of her childlike notions. Anne had seemed blissfully ignorant of the direness of their circumstances, and Katherine could not very well share with her now, the terror that had gripped her during those uncertain years.

“Katherine?” Anne prodded.

Katherine shook her head. “Forgive me. I was wool-gathering.”

Her sister sighed. “Very well. I’ll not bother you further with the matter for now, but do not consider this conversation at an end.”

Katherine smiled, recognizing the determined glint in her sister’s eyes. If she knew her sister, she’d already composed a list of prospective bridegrooms for Katherine.

Why could Katherine only imagine one particular name upon that unwritten list?

~9~

My Lady,

I’ve nearly completed my reading of Wordsworth’s latest work. If you care to attain the copy prior to your departure for the Christmastide season, I shall have it during my daily walk in Hyde Park, alongside the Serpentine River Friday morn.

If you fail to make an appearance, I will consign the copy to a permanent place upon my bookshelf.

~B

Katherine stared down at the missive she’d received earlier that week, and then squinted off into the distance through the heavy snow falling from the white-grey morning sky. She trudged through the heavy snow. Though the London streets had been uncharacteristically empty, her carriage ride had been slowed by the violent storm. Now, she quickened her step, wondering if the Duke of Bainbridge had tired of waiting for her to appear and had even now left, or…

“My lady, it is sheer madness to be out in this weather,” her maid, Sara said, a faintly pleading note in her words.

Katherine slowed her stride a moment, and glanced back. Sara huddled inside her brown cloak, her teeth chattered loudly in the quiet of the winter storm.

Katherine adjusted her own cloak, pulling it closer to herself. “I’ll not be long. I merely am going to walk along the Serpentine. You may remain here. The park is empty, no harm will befall me,” she said when her maid opened her mouth to protest.

With that, Katherine turned on her heel, and trudged through the snow. Her serviceable black boots crunched noisily through the powdery softness that covered the ground. Sara was indeed correct—it was sheer madness to be out in such weather, and yet, Katherine desperately wanted the copy of Wordsworth’s latest book. She stopped beside the Serpentine, iced over from the winter cold, and stared out across its surface.

It wasn’t about her desire for the book.

Though she was looking forward to reading the volume.

For some inexplicable reason that defied logic and all good common-sense she prided herself upon—Katherine wished to see the Duke of Bainbridge. She tucked her gloved palms into the muffler and rubbed the cold digits in an attempt to bring warmth back into them.

He wasn’t here.

She snorted.

Whyever would he come out in such a storm?

She frowned. He could have had the decency to pen a note, informing her of his altered plans.

“Are you mad?”

Katherine shrieked, and spun around so quickly her boots skid along the snowy pavement, and she tumbled into the Duke of Bainbridge’s arms.

His arms closed over her in a seemingly reflexive manner, as he righted her.

Katherine swallowed, and glanced up, up, ever up his too-tall frame into his expressionless green eyes. Her breath caught. The green of his eyes put her in mind of the rolling hills and pastures in her family’s countryseat of Leeds.