Jasper picked up the pen on his desk and to give his fingers something to do he passed it back and forth between hands. That, or mount his horse, ride to London and use these same hands to bloody the faceless bastard senseless.
No, you gave her up. You let her go, a jeering voice taunted from deep within.
She’d given him her love, trusted him with her heart, and he couldn’t have been brave enough to give her the words she deserved, the words that lived inside him.
“Do you believe she’s taken him as a lover?” He grimaced. Even as he said the words, he dismissed them. Katherine possessed an honor and integrity not found in most gentlemen. She would not be capable of the deceit demonstrated by his parents.
Guilford lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I believe Stanhope’s determined. And she’s lonely.”
How could his friend be so nonchalant when Jasper hung on the edge of true madness?
That response did little to ease the tumultuous storm raging through Jasper. He wanted to flip his desk, storm from the room, and hunt down the Earl of Stanhope for daring to encroach on that which was Jasper’s.
“Have you,” he paused. “seen them together?”
Guilford looked away a moment. “I have,” he said at last.
The pen in Jasper’s hand snapped in two.
“I came upon them at Hyde Park,” Guilford went on.
Hyde Park belonged to Jasper and Katherine. It had been the place they’d gone in the quiet of the snow to share the Wordsworth volume. It had been the place Katherine had asked him to marry her and spoke of them having babes together with a shocking candidness.
And now, it was the place she visited with the Earl of Stanhope.
Guilford leaned back in his chair and hooked one ankle over the other. “What do you intend to do?”
Jasper’s jaw hardened. “I’m going to London.”
Stanhope and Katherine should be prepared…
The Mad Duke intended to fight for his wife.
~31~
London
Katherine stood with a glass of champagne between her fingers, enjoying one of the very small luxuries of being a married woman. She’d detested ratafia as much as she detested ivory and white satin.
“You do know you’ve scandalized Mother with your gown this evening,” a voice whispered close to her ear.
Katherine spun, to greet her sister Anne. A smile wreathed Anne’s cheeks; the faintest dimple indicated her pleasure. “Anne.”
Anne eyed her glass of champagne longingly. “I’d trade one of my hands to be rid of ratafia and free to indulge in champagne.”
Katherine snorted and deposited her champagne glass onto the tray of a servant. “Just be sure you don’t go and trade the hand you use for holding glasses, or it would certainly dull your pleasure.”#p#分页标题#e#
Anne sighed and took a final sip of her drink. She deposited the empty glass upon the same servant’s tray. “You do know Mother has been eyeing you with that stern frown upon her lips?”
Yes, Katherine had detected the signature frown worn by her mother since she’d entered Lord and Lady Harrison’s ball a short while ago.
Anne glanced around and then leaned close. “I think you look splendid, Kat.”
Katherine smiled. “As my twin sister, you have to say that.”
Her sister pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Hardly. Haven’t you learned I don’t do anything I’m supposed to do?” Yes, the years had certainly taught Katherine that very fact about her headstrong, if whimsical sister.
Anne glanced down forlornly at her ivory satin skirts with a lace, ruffled trim. “I’m entirely too old to be as ruffled as I am.”
Katherine studied her sister a moment. Whereas ivory and white fabrics had dulled Katherine’s drab brown locks, the colors only served to heighten Anne’s golden beauty. Anne epitomized the perfect English lady. “You’re beautiful,” she said with all sincerity and no trace of resentment. As twins, they shared a unique, unbreakable bond. She could not envy Anne her beauty. Never Anne.
Anne tugged at her skirts and feigned a short curtsy. “Perfect, proper, English miss, no?” She sighed. “I’d trade even the forbidden champagne for your sapphire skirts.”
She glanced down momentarily at the gown designed by Madame LeBlanc, the most sought after French modiste in London and smoothed her palms over the front of her sapphire blue satin gown with its crisp plaiting.
When she had taken her leave of Castle Blackwood, Katherine had arrived at a staggering, if saddening, realization. She would not have her children. And she would not have the husband to sit reading poetry with around the hearthside. But she would have her sapphire blue gown.