“You love him,” Aldora said softly.
Katherine’s hand fell to her side. She swallowed hard, and looked away from the pity teeming in the brown irises of her sister’s kind-hearted eyes. “I…I…” Katherine buried her head in her hands and shook it back and forth. “I love him,” she breathed the word into existence. “It is the height of foolishness, and he is oftentimes boorish and rude.” But then there were the Shrewsbury cake and Wordsworth book moments when he showed him to be so very much more than the unyielding figure he presented to her and the world.
“But you love him regardless,” Aldora intoned, as only one who also loves truly can understand.
Katherine managed a jerky nod. She hugged her arms tight to her waist. “He can never love me, though,” she whispered.
“Of course he can,” Aldora said, with all the cocksure arrogance of an eldest sister.
Lydia’s smiling visage danced to the fore, yet again. Sadness filled Katherine’s being. She could not share the darkest, most pained secrets her husband harbored. “He can’t.” There would always be Lydia and the small babe he’d lost.
Aldora must have heard the truth in Katherine’s two-word utterance, for she passed a slow, searching gaze over Katherine’s face. Then, she crossed over and folded Katherine in her arms much the way she’d done when Katherine was a small girl who’d scraped her knee running through the hills of Hertfordshire.
Katherine accepted the warmth and support she’d so desperately missed since the day she’d wed and made the journey to Castle Blackwood.
Her sister raised her hand and stroked the back of her head. “Come, now. It is the eve of Christmas. There is no time for sadness on such a day.”
Katherine mustered her best attempt at a smile. “I should speak to Cook and see how the evening’s dinner plans are progressing.
Aldora bussed her on the cheek and returned to the sofa in which Lizzie still slumbered peacefully.
As Katherine made her way from the room she wondered if she’d ever been so blissfully innocent and untouched by the world’s hurts. She wound her way down the long stone corridors. The thin, red rug lining the hall muted the tread of her footsteps. She continued walking until she reached the recently decorated foyer.
Katherine paused to assess the completed work done by her, Wrinkleton, and the footmen. Lush, green boughs adorned with clusters of red holly berries and ivy sprigs brightened the cheerless space. Her gaze climbed up the high ceiling to the kissing bough she’d arranged with apples, papered flowers, and the small doll.
Before Aldora and her family left and returned to London, Katherine would instruct one of the servants to take down the arraignment and retrieve the small doll. Lizzie would love the tiny, little babe.
“Katherine,” a deep baritone drawled from beyond her shoulder.
She shrieked and spun around. An increasingly familiar heat flooded her cheeks. Her husband stood at the entrance of another corridor. “Forgive me, I didn’t hear you,” she murmured.
Jasper’s gloriously long legs closed the distance between them. He touched her chin. But otherwise remained as silent as the grave.
Her eyes slid closed. What game did he play with her? Could he not see his mere presence alone was destroying her? “What do you want, Jasper?” she asked, wearily. She did not want to carry on as they were, with his harsh outbursts and her fleeing like a naughty pup sent from the kitchens.
Jasper’s hand stilled, but he did not drop his arm back to his side. “It looks beautiful, Katherine.”
“What does?” she blurted.
With a sweeping gesture, he motioned to the holiday décor.
“Oh.” She fiddled with the fabric of her gown. “I didn’t believe you’d noticed, Jasper.”
I notice anything and everything where you’re concerned, Katherine.
Since that not too distant day ago when her high-pitched desperate cry reached his ears across the Thames River, he’d developed a keen sense of awareness of his wife.
Just as he’d known the harshly spoken words he’d hurled at her in the Portrait Room had wounded her.
Now, as she stood before him, with an uncharacteristic wariness in her usually cheer-filled eyes, he confronted the change their short marriage wrought upon his wife. He’d thought himself content to live a solitary life, buried away in his castle. Until Katherine, he’d not realized the truth; he’d not been content, but rather he’d been hiding, embracing his sorrow as a kind of penance.
In just a few days, she’d torn down those protective white coverings throughout the castle and restored a sense of joyfulness to the cold, dank walls of the castle.