Page 73 of Distracting the Duke

“Kate.”

“Clara.”

How Kate had changed in the last few years! The plump curves of her youth were gone, replaced by bony limbs and a slender body, with a thin face…currently wearing a look of great consternation.

Of course, Kate would also have dreaded this meeting. She knew Clara’s feelings toward her, how she’d found it impossible to forgive, or to reply to the numerous letters, or to pay a visit.

Clara’s body suddenly felt not her own, and she trembled. At once, Marcus’s hands were on her shoulders, his fingers rubbing gently, his lips by her ear urging her to go forward and meet her nephew.

Like an automaton, she turned her head slowly to look at the small, towheaded boy arranging decorated wooden blocks on the Axminster carpet. She blinked at him, and he blinked back, then shoved three fat fingers into his mouth and sucked on them.

“Say hello to your Aunt Clara,” Kate told him.

Oh, it had been such a long time since she’d heard that voice! What a strange emptiness there had been in her life when her younger sister was taken out of it.

Suddenly, a flurry of colorful memories flitted like butterflies through her mind, memories of childhood things shared, played with, experienced together.

The child trotted up to her, made a brief bow, and looked past her toward Marcus.

The duke said, “What say we go and feed the ducks now, Master Georgie? You know, quack quacks.”

“Quack quacks!”

Marcus grinned at Georgie and swung the child up easily onto his hip.

Nodding at Clara, he said, “We’ll give you some time to yourselves. I’ll arrange for more tea to be sent up. So, young Georgie, can you remember where we go to get the stale bread?”

“We go to the kitchen!” exclaimed the child excitedly.

Then the door closed behind them, and Clara was left facing the one person who, next to Simon, she thought she hated most in the entire world.

Kate stood, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes devouring Clara’s face. How odd it was to see that she was no monster. Clara had imagined her proud, triumphant to have borne a child when Clara had none, congratulating herself on being able to please Lord Tinniswood when his wife couldn’t.

The lines of worry on Kate’s face, the moistness in her eyes, told a different story. Kate had never been beautiful, not even at seventeen when that fateful liaison with Simon had occurred. Her nose was too long, her large round eyes too close together, and the very necessary pince-nez always perched on her nose made her look like a great owl. These oddities of feature had grown harsher with the passing of time, and her clothes were ill-fitting.

Looking at the wretched spectacle of her disgraced sister, waiting hopefully for a single word of kindness from her, Clara was flooded with remorse. How could she have blamed Kate so long and so cruelly, when so much of the fault would have been her husband’s?

Kate gave a little gulping sob, and the next second Clara’s arms were full of her younger sister, and Kate was squeezing her mercilessly and sobbing incoherent apologies.

Clara held back no more than a fleeting moment, then flung her arms about Kate and hugged her for all she was worth.

Clara broke the contact first and felt about in her reticule for a handkerchief. Kate fished a square of linen out of a basket containing toys and other infant paraphernalia and blew her nose loudly. So busy had they been with tears and hugs, she hadn’t heard the footman enter to place a fresh tray of tea things on the table.

Soon the sisters were seated side by side, with cups of tea trembling slightly in their fingers, staring into each other’s faces.

“Please, let me speak first,” said Kate tremulously. At Clara’s silent nod, she said, “I never meant anything to happen. I never intended to take Simon away from you. Please believe that. Knowing how much I hurt you has made my life a living hell.”

Clara placed her cup carefully back on its saucer. Realization struck her like a physical thing. Her sister’s life had been a living hell, and so had her own. They should have pulled together to defeat Simon, not allowed the family to break asunder because of his evil ways.

But she’d been so hurt at the time, so mortified…

“I’ve not been happy, either, Kate,” she quietly confessed.

“I’m so sorry. I thought, once Simon drank himself into an early grave, you would forgive me and welcome me back. But I realized Georgie stood between us and couldn’t easily be explained away. But he doesn’t look at all like Simon. No one would know your shame. They would know only mine.”

“I just want to know why, Kate. How could you let him take advantage of you like that?”

“I’m so, so sorry. I was young and silly, and so ugly and uninteresting. He flattered me, he fooled me, he told me dreadful lies, promised me wonderful things, convinced me to feel no guilt, persuaded me that what we were doing was not sinful and would have no consequences. Oh, how naive I was!”