An Unsuitable Duchess (22 page)

Why the hell had he started this conversation with her?

‘Well?’ She was not letting the matter rest.

He needed her to know what kind of man he was. He needed her to see that he was a man who honoured his vows. ‘I’ve already been married and, although the union was arranged by my father, I was faithful.’

It came out in a rush, and he turned his head away from her. He rarely spoke of Emma. It was difficult to take a steady breath.

Katrina fell back against the plush upholstery, her properly erect posture forgotten. ‘You were married?’ It came out as a whisper. ‘We spent all that time together and you never told me.’

‘I assumed you knew. Everyone in London is aware that I was married.’

‘Well, no one told
me
.’ She appeared to wait for him to continue.

He never intentionally discussed Emma. The subject of her death was too personal and much too painful. He tried to scrub the image of her lying dead out of his mind. It had haunted him most nights—at least until he’d met Katrina. That hadn’t occurred to him until now.

He looked into her expectant eyes. An unwelcome lump was forming in his throat. ‘My wife’s name was Emma. She was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Beaumont. Our fathers arranged our marriage while I was away at Cambridge. She died while giving birth to our stillborn son.’

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. It was easier to move away from Katrina than to continue to look into her eyes.

‘To this day I am sorry for her loss and the loss of my child.’
But his regret would never bring them back.

She brushed the hair by his temple in a comforting gesture. ‘I am sorry for your loss too.’

Not knowing what else to say, Julian gave a quick nod.

Katrina continued to stroke his temple. ‘My mother died shortly after giving birth to me. My father feels her loss even to this day.’

Julian squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed his hand across his face. There was comfort in the closed confines of the gently rocking carriage and muted light. It felt...safe.

‘I never held him.’ The statement left his lips before the thought had fully formed in his head.

The soft pressure of her hand on his back was an unexpected gesture. ‘Did anyone ask if you wanted to?’

He shook his head and bit his lip. The lump in his throat was making it difficult to swallow. ‘They only asked if I wanted to see him.’

‘Did you?’

He nodded as tears that had never been shed rimmed his eyes. The physician and Emma’s maid had been so focused on tending to her, they hadn’t had time to clean his son. He’d been so small—and so still.

‘I should have held him. No one held him.’

She rested her head lightly against his shoulder and a hot tear began to trickle down his face.

‘A father should hold his son,’ he choked out, ‘even if just once. I named him John, after Emma’s brother. They had been close, and it seemed only right. I had them buried together. My mother tried to insist John should have his own coffin in the family crypt, but I thought it best for them to be together. She said it was unseemly and that she was certain my father would have felt the same.’ He finally looked over at Katrina and saw the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. ‘What would you have done?’

She slid her fingers through his. ‘I think Emma would have wanted to be with John.’

He’d thought so too. The crushing weight of indecision that had plagued him since her burial eased for the first time. He had needed to know he had made the right decision in honouring their memories. He’d needed someone he respected to say it to him. It had eaten away at his conscience for too long. And he knew Katrina would always be honest with him.

She rested her head on his shoulder again. ‘I believe deep down we know what the right course of action is. We just need to listen to what our heart tells us. I’m sorry to have caused you to relive such painful memories. I should have realised.’

He kissed the top of her head and took a deep breath. The lump in his throat was dissolving. ‘Do not apologise. I needed to hear that you believe they were laid to rest in a proper fashion.’

A comforting silence stretched between them as the carriage rocked them gently through the streets of London. The distant sound of voices and the rolling of the carriage wheels on cobblestones felt oddly comforting.

‘I’m certain you’re grateful you accepted my invitation today,’ he said dryly after some time.

She lifted her head up and offered him a reassuring smile. ‘There is no place I would rather be.’ She tugged off a white kidskin glove and wiped the wetness from his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

His heart gave an odd flip.

‘It’s never easy to lose someone we love,’ she said, running her thumb along his forehead.

It took him a few moments before he realised she was referring to Emma. ‘I did not love her,’ he said. ‘I liked her enough, but I didn’t love her.’

Love was something he knew nothing of. He had not been born to fall in love. He wasn’t even certain he would know what love felt like. And yet... How would he define his feelings for the woman next to him? It wasn’t love, but what was it?

‘I believe I have taken you on a melancholy journey away from our original conversation.’

‘I’ve forgotten what we were discussing,’ she said, sitting up.

‘We were discussing fidelity. And I think for all your notions about people prejudging you because you are American you are no better.’

‘How so?’ she asked indignantly.

‘You’ve tarred and feathered the entire male population of the
ton
, accusing us all of infidelity. You believe my title leaves me incapable of devoting myself to one woman. I am informing you that you are wrong in your assessment of me.’

She crossed her arms over those enticing breasts.

‘Do not look chastised.’ He sat back and rested his head on the cushion behind them. Their conversation today had been far too grim. ‘Have I told you how much I have come to appreciate the smell of lemons?’ he commented casually.

Even in the muted light of the carriage he could see her faint smile. ‘You might have mentioned it a time or two.’

The smile fell from his lips. ‘I fear one day I will miss that smell.’

Silence stretched between them, and his heart sank in his chest.

Chapter Nineteen

K
atrina was in excellent spirits when Sarah and Mrs Forrester asked her to join them on their shopping excursion along Bond Street two days later. The sun was out and the temperature pleasant, making it an ideal day to meander through the shops. Turning a corner, they noticed a small crowd gathered around the large mullioned window of one particular building. Ever the curious one, Sarah tugged Katrina along to see what was so interesting.

‘Oh, it’s a print shop,’ Sarah said, eyeing the cartoons in each pane of the large window.

‘Perhaps we will see someone we know,’ Katrina mused as she studied a caricature of the Prince Regent attempting to squeeze his rather large body into a very small corset.

Next to her, an amused Sarah methodically studied each print one by one, letting out a giggle at a few in particular. Suddenly she gave a quick gasp and pulled Katrina out through the crowd. Dragging Katrina to the milliner next door, Sarah pulled Katrina to a stop next to where Mrs Forrester was waiting for them.

‘We have a problem,’ she announced rather breathlessly.

Mrs Forrester turned a questioning eye to her daughter. ‘The two of you have been away from me for only a few moments. What could possibly have happened in such a brief time?’

Katrina caught the look of pity in Sarah’s eyes.

Taking Katrina’s gloved hand in her own, Sarah leaned closer. ‘There is a caricature of you and Lyonsdale in a carriage,’ she whispered.

Ice crept up Katrina’s spine.
Their secret was out
. It felt as if all the people around them were whispering about her, even though their eyes were still on the prints in the window.

At Mrs Forrester’s suggestion they made their way directly to Katrina’s home with a stack of the scandalous prints. They had tried to acquire the printing plate, but had been told someone else had purchased it a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until they had entered Katrina’s drawing room that she was finally able to study the image.

The illustration showed a carriage with the Lyonsdale crest emblazoned on the door and an American flag flying above, driving through London. Visible through the window was the head of a blonde woman wearing an Indian headdress. Her head was back and her eyes were closed. On top of her was a brown-haired man in his shirtsleeves with his hand on her bare leg, pushing up her skirt. The caption below read
Minding the Savages
.

For the first time in her life Katrina truly thought she might cast up her accounts in front of other people. She dropped down on the settee and let her head fall into her hands. ‘How can I show my face in Town after this?’

Crouching down beside her, Mrs Forrester stroked Katrina’s back. ‘Do not worry, my dear. Anyone who has encountered you thus far has seen you comport yourself as a lady. I am certain this will be forgotten when some new bit of gossip has the tongues wagging.’

The woman was trying to reassure her, but Katrina did not miss the concern in her voice.

‘Katrina, I do have to ask—
did
you go for a carriage ride with a titled Englishman?’

She looked into the gentle eyes of the woman who had kindly offered to chaperon her. How could she say she had been secretly seeing Lyonsdale? The woman would never look at her the same way again.

Needing to put distance between them, Katrina jumped up and headed towards the window. It was time to confess everything.

‘Mother, it was all my fault,’ Sarah blurted out. She looked regretfully at Katrina. ‘Please forgive me. I never thought this would happen.’

What was Sarah saying?

Mrs Forrester stared at her daughter with trepidation. ‘What did you do?’

‘Do you recall when Katrina and I went on that picnic? Well, two gentlemen we are acquainted with happened upon us, and I asked them if they would care for refreshment. They sat with us for a time and then went on their way. It was all very innocent, but our footman or coachman must have told a tale.’

Mrs Forrester rubbed her eyes, as if she could wipe the image of the caricature from her mind. Katrina had already tried that. It didn’t work.

The woman took both of Sarah’s hands and looked her in the eye. ‘Who were the gentlemen?’

‘The Duke of Lyonsdale and the Earl of Hartwick.’

Mrs Forrester’s loud groan filled the room. ‘Sarah, you
didn’t
?’

Sarah’s hands fisted at her sides as she tried to defend her action. ‘The hour was very early. I was certain no one would see.’

But this image clearly showed an exaggerated version of what had occurred as Katrina drove through Mayfair with Julian. This was not a depiction of the picnic.

She began to tremble, and drops of cold sweat dusted her skin. ‘What will I tell my father?’

Mrs Forrester quickly took her by the arm and gently lowered her to the settee. ‘Have no fear. I will talk with him first. There might be a way we can avoid a scandal. I doubt the Duke of Lyonsdale has any desire to enter into one.’

Julian’s reputation meant everything to him. If his family name suffered because of the implications of the caricature he would hate her for ever.

Her stomach dipped and flipped. Running to the potted palm in the corner of the room, Katrina reached it just in time.

* * *

Later that afternoon, in the Palace of Westminster, Julian was taken aback when he entered the Chamber of the House of Lords and a hush fell over the stately room. Appraising faces turned his way, and for the first time in his life he was confronted with critical stares from many of his peers. He had been up late last night and home all morning, finalising the speech he was about to give. What could he have possibly done to warrant such a reaction?

The white-haired Duke of Skeffington toddled up to him. His bloodshot eyes studied Julian over his wire-framed glasses. He was the oldest duke in the chamber, and liked to remind everyone of the deferential treatment he should be given because of it.

He rapped his cane on the floor, narrowly missing Julian’s foot. ‘Well, boy? Explain yourself.’

They were frequently on opposing sides in this room. His eagerness to hear what Julian had to say was unusual, but it could perhaps be attributed to the man’s recent bouts of narcolepsy.

‘I will explain myself when it’s my turn to address the chamber,’ Julian said, ready to push past him.

‘I don’t give a fig about your speech. I am speaking of you and the American.’

Julian’s blood ran cold and every muscle in his body locked. He could not possibly have heard the man correctly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You have ancestors who were killed by their hands in their war for independence, and now you engage in behaviour such as this? It’s disgraceful,’ he spat out. ‘Your father would have been appalled by your actions.’

He tapped the handle of his cane into Julian’s chest before he walked away, unconcerned with a reply.

Julian broke out into a cold sweat. How did Skeffington know about Katrina? He had been so careful. His thoughts turned to their drive through Town. They had been in an unmarked carriage with the curtains drawn. Surely no one had seen them?

More eyes were upon him, and heat crept up his neck. The Duke of Winterbourne came to stand beside him, carrying himself with his usual commanding air. It was a relief to see a friendly face.

‘That was quite an entrance you made,’ said Winter, casually adjusting his cuff under his robe. ‘I imagine Skeffington was gracious enough to offer his opinion on the matter?’

‘He was his usual charming self,’ Julian managed to say through his bewilderment.

‘You surely must have realised that when word got out it would be remarked upon. Both Ardsley and Brendel lost their youngest in our last skirmish with the Americans. Lockwood’s two brothers died in America’s war for independence. And those are just the men around us. Many men in this room lost family members there, and they place the blame on the colonials. But I do not need to remind you of that.’