Page 86 of Kathryn

Katie blinked. “Er—”

“The Dukes of Dulverton have only ever had black Friesians. Until now. Until you. He changed his ways because he knew how charming you would look mounted on a chestnut horse. He changed for you.”

Katie could only shake her head. “You are deluding yourself, Mrs. St. Clare.” She gave a confused half-laugh. “And you are not the only—” Guilt for almost betraying Betje made her stop.

“Yes?” Mrs. St. Clare said.

“And you are not the only one,” Katie finally said, deciding the subject was too important to keep such information to herself. “The dowager labors under a similar misapprehension.”

Mrs. St. Clare looked pleased. “It does not surprise me in the least that the dowager believes as I do. I knew when she arrived here that she must have a plan in mind.”

“Yes, well her plan has not worked, so both of you are wrong. She is determined that if we are thrown together enough, we will magically fall into each other’s arms. To that end, she has done everything in her power to put us in the same room at the same time. It has come to naught.”

Suddenly Mrs. St. Clare fluffed up like an angry hen. “Have you made any effort to scaling the walls he has built around himself?”

“I tried to converse with him—to become acquainted—and he slapped down my every effort.”

“When was this?”

“During the early days of our marriage.”

“Oh, you tried for days.”

Katie bristled at her derision. “Just how long do you think I should keep putting myself forward only to be ignored or scolded or shoved away?”

“You are married. Marriage is for life, Your Grace. Surely a few months of effort—yes, and swallowing some rejection—is not too much to ask for a future with your husband?”

Katie’s face heated. “You have no idea what—”

“Do you know about his first wife?”

She blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Er, you mean how she eloped?”

“I can see you have heard the stories.”

“A few.”

“I did not mean the elopement so much as the behavior leading up to it. Gerrit had no chance with Christina. They were doomed before they ever wed for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that Christina was an extremely frivolous woman who was interested in nothing but balls and parties and society. But you are different.”

“I don’t see why you think—”

“What do you have to lose if you try and fail, Your Grace?”

“What?” Katie asked rudely, confused by the zigging and zagging in the conversation.

“What do you have to lose if you try to salvage your marriage—if you continue to try and get to know Gerrit? Is it your pride you are worried about?”

“It is more than just pride, it’s—”

“What could be more important than not only your own future happiness, but that of your husband and—one day—your children?”

Dulverton’s icy gray gaze rose up in her mind’s eye. The same look he had given her every single time they had been anywhere but in bed, a sort of irritated weariness, as if she were nothing but a ninny and a bore and a trial.

“Allison said one other thing about you in her letter,” Mrs. St. Clare went on when Katie did not answer her question. “She said she caught a glimpse of something on your face, something simmering beneath your smooth sophistication. She saw pain.”

“That is hardly surprising as everyone in the world has experienced pain at some point.”

“She said this was no ordinary pain.”