For Love of the Duke(24)
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.