It didn’t come.
Which in itself sucked the breath from his lungs. He gripped the edge of his desk.
Guilford glanced down, and said nothing for a long while. They stood locked in a silent, unspoken battle. His friend broke the silence. He gestured to the surface of Jasper’s desk. “I do know a gentleman does not pen notes to, how did you phrase it? Ladies that do not matter?”
Jasper opened his mouth to reply, but could not force words out.
Guilford bowed his head. “If you’ll excuse me.” He started for the door.
The hiss and pop of the blazing fire in the hearth filled the quiet. “I don’t want your help, Guilford,” Jasper barked after him.
His friend turned back to face him with a smile. “Fortunate for you, I don’t care, Bainbridge.” He closed the door behind him with a firm click.
Jasper stared at the door, long after Guilford had taken his leave. He reclaimed his seat, and stared blankly down at the note he’d penned. Guilford was his last remaining friend in the world, but oh, how he loathed the other man, just then. How dare Guilford force him to come London, and what’s more, force him to confront what, until this very moment, he’d denied—he, Jasper Waincourt, 8th Duke of Bainbridge was—lonely.
Jasper blinked down at the letter he’d written to Katherine. Guilford was correct. Gentlemen did not pen notes to ladies that did not matter.
He picked up the thick ivory velum and crushed it in his hands.
~8~
THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The words roused thoughts of the Duke of Bainbridge, as she considered the reality that they were not so very different after all. Life had altered them both in very profound ways.
A knock sounded at the door. She glanced up.
The butler cleared his throat. “You have a letter, my lady.”
Her mother and sister’s gazes swung to Katherine.
Anne set aside her embroidery frame and edged closer to Ollie. She craned her neck in an apparent attempt to identify the wax seal upon the missive.
With a frown, the servant pulled the silver tray bearing the missive closer.
Katherine’s heart warmed at his silent defense of her personal privacy.
Mother returned her attention to the embroidery frame stitched with a colorful peacock. “Who has written you, Katherine?”
Katherine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from pointing out that she surely could not yet know who’d written. “I’m not certain, Mother,” she murmured, and accepted the thick, ivory velum with a smile for Ollie. He gave an imperceptible nod, and ever so quickly, winked at her.
She looked down at the letter with a familiar seal. A crest that bore a lion rearing up on its legs. Her heart paused.
“Who is it from, Katherine?” her sister asked with a dogged interest.
“Benedict,” she replied instantly.
Anne frowned, and shot her a look that said she knew that Katherine lied.
Suddenly eager to escape her sister’s probing fascination, lest her mother shift her attention away from the embroidery she presently worked on, Katherine stood. “If you’ll excuse me. I find myself developing a megrim.”
Her sister made no effort to conceal the unladylike snort that escaped her.
Katherine hurried out of the room, and wound her way through the house, abovestairs to her own chambers. She glanced over her shoulder to ascertain whether her sister had followed, and then slipped inside.
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.