Page 84 of Kathryn

“My husband does not confide anything in me. If there is something you want me to know, you will have to do the telling.”

The other woman looked genuinely torn. “I—I do not wish to be indelicate—”

Katie gave a bitter laugh. “It is rather late for that, Mrs. St. Clare.”

Anger flashed in the woman’s cool gray eyes, and Katie thought Mrs. St. Clare might ask her to leave. But after a moment, she said, “When he was ten Gerrit walked in on his mother and her lover.”

Katie’s jaw sagged. Here was a part of the story that Betje had never told her. “Where was this?”

“Spenwood.”

Katie could scarcely believe her ears. The dowager had brought her lover under the same roof as her son? Suddenly the old duke’s behavior—keeping Mrs. St. Clare in the Briarly dower house—did not seem so egregious.

“Gerrit ran away from Spenwood and made his way all the way to Briarly on his own,” Mrs. St. Clare went on.

“Good Lord! That is hundreds and hundreds of miles.”

“Yes, it took him almost a month to get here and by then the duchess had come to Briarly and both she and the duke were frantic. His Grace sent Runners and a dozen servants to comb all possible routes.” Mrs. St. Clare’s lips twitched. “Only when Gerrit finally arrived did we learn what happened. He’d climbed into a wagon full of vegetable marrows and fallen asleep, not waking until the carter went to unload. The man knew by Gerrit’s clothing he was not an impoverished urchin and tried to get the truth out of him, but Gerrit would not reveal his identity. Instead, he demanded to be put to work for his passage.” Mrs. St. Clare chuckled fondly. “And so that is what the carter did, expecting Gerrit to capitulate after the first hour of hard labor. It actually took more than a week.”

Katie felt a reluctant twinge of amusement. Why wasn’t she surprised that he’d been stubborn even at such a tender age. “What finally convinced him to confess his identity?”

“He read in a newspaper that the Duke of Dulverton’s excavation had ceased due to a family emergency. Clever boy that he was, he knew why and promptly told the carter who he was. The poor man could hardly spirit him to Briarly fast enough.” Her smile faded. “When Gerrit arrived, he took his punishment like the stoic he is. But when it came to returning to his mother, he told Dulverton he would run away again. He was emphatic that he would not go back to Spenwood.” Mrs. St. Clare sighed. “And so, he did not see his mother for seven years.”

“Seven years! That is dreadful.”

“I agree. I pleaded with Dulverton to bring about a rapprochement between Gerrit and the duchess. To his credit, he tried to convince Gerrit to forgive his mother, but the few efforts he made ended in disaster and so he made fewer attempts as the years went by. Gerrit voluntarily went to Spenwood when he began to learn estate management from his father, but he was already a man by then—ten-and-seven—and the breach appeared unbridgeable.”

“How could Dulverton forgive his father but not his mother?” she asked before she could consider to whom she was speaking.

Mrs. St. Clare’s jaw flexed, and her face once again flushed. “It does not seem fair, does it?” she asked, a faintly mocking expression on her face.

Katie’s question might have been crass, but that did not make it any less true and she refused to apologize. Not only had her husband forgiven his father for his infidelity, but he also seemed to have embraced Mrs. St. Clare as a mother figure. Or at least he cared for her enough to confide in her and visit her.

“Dulverton and I only disagreed six times in all the years we were together, and Gerrit was the subject of our disputes four of those times. Dulverton gave me a fair hearing, but he was unshakeable in some of his beliefs.” She stopped and cocked her head, “Have you seen the portrait of him at Briarly—one that was painted when he was a very young man?”

“I have seen it,” Katie said. Like his son, the last duke had not been a handsome man. Her husband had inherited his father’s Vikingesque features and pale eyes, but—based on the portrait—Gerrit was much taller than his sire. “But why do you ask?”

“I want you to know what he looked like because what I am about to tell you will sound a bit… cruel, otherwise, and I do not want you to think too badly of the last duke. You see, Dulverton believed it was important that Gerrit understand that his awkward personality combined with his less than handsome appearance meant that he was not appealing to the opposite sex—” Mrs. St. Clare broke off at Katie’s huff of irritation, and she smiled. This time, the expression reached her eyes. “Do you disagree with that assessment, Your Grace?”

Katie did not want to share anything with this woman—who was Betje’s enemy—but this subject was too important for her to allow it to slide by unaddressed. “It is true that Dulverton is not handsome by ton standards, but that does not mean he is not appealing. Indeed, it is difficult for a woman to look at any other man when he is in the vicinity.”

Mrs. St. Clare’s smile grew. “Is that so?”

Katie scowled, her face no doubt fiery. “Fine. It is difficult for me to look at anyone else. Go on with what you were saying before I interrupted,” she rudely ordered.

Still smiling, Mrs. Clare said, “Incidentally, I feel as you do about Gerrit. Unfortunately, Dulverton managed to convince Gerrit that he was too ugly and disagreeable to win any woman’s affection.” Mrs. St. Clare gave Katie a pained and unhappy look. “In short, he convinced Gerrit that he was unlovable.”

Katie could not help comparing Mrs. St. Clare’s words with what Betje had told her about Gerrit’s father. It seemed the old duke hadn’t been satisfied with condemning his own marriage to failure, he’d had to stifle any chance of happiness for his son, as well.

Again, she could not resist prying. “Was the last duke happy with you?”

Mrs. St. Clare opened her mouth, hesitated, and then said, “I believe he was.”

“If he could find happiness with a woman who cared for him then why didn’t he think his son could?” Katie persisted.

“That is an excellent question. And I’m ashamed to say I never thought to employ such an argument with Dulverton.” She gave Katie a sheepish look. “The last duke was an intimidating man. I—I loved him, but there was a wall of reserve around him that even I was never allowed to breach.” She turned to look at her tightly clasped hands. “I see now that in many ways I was a coward. Not once did I tell Dulverton that I loved him.”

Katie felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the other woman. If the old duke was even a fraction as intimidating as his son, she could understand why Mrs. St. Clare had been cowardly.