Page 23 of Kathryn

And so would Katie, because she had taken away her own choices, too.

When Dulverton asked her, she would have to say yes. She owed him that much, at least.

But first you must tell him the truth.

Katie squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, God. She could justify not confessing her festering shame to her sister but she would have to tell Dulverton. She owed him that much before he yoked himself to her for the rest of their lives.

She gave a watery, miserable laugh. How appropriate was it that she would have to bare her soul—and her greatest humiliation—to a man whose life she had ruined?

A proper punishment, indeed.

***

“Would you care for something to drink, Dulverton?” The Duke of Chatham gestured to a collection of decanters on a small round table.

Gerrit was more tempted to drink than he had been in years. Decades, even. But he had a laughably low tolerance for spirits and behaved like an idiot after just one glass. He suspected he could behave like a fool all on his own today.

“No, thank you,” he said abruptly. The meeting with his uncle and Lady Palmer had been ghastly. It had also been expensive. Regardless of the fact that Lady Mariska’s emotions were engaged elsewhere, Gerrit had claimed the decision to end their betrothal was his. Jilting a woman was outrageous, but he could weather the storm of familial disapproval far better than poor Lady Mariska.

Not only had he needed to offer recompense to Lady Mariska’s family for reneging on the contract, but both van Renesse and Lady Palmer had wanted their palms generously greased before he could get them out of his house.

It was a meeting Gerrit never wanted to relive, and yet here was another miserable encounter even worse than seven-years transportation because the outcome would be a life sentence.

Good God. Would this day never end?

“I wanted to talk to you about Kathryn before you see her,” Chatham said.

Gerrit was immediately wary. “Talk about what?”

“My sister-in-law is an impulsive young woman but—”

“Not so young, I think.”

Chatham’s eyebrows rose at his comment.

“What?” Gerrit demanded.

The other man looked annoyed, but said, “She is no schoolroom chit and will be three-and-twenty on her next birthday.”

Gerrit grunted, somewhat surprised she was so young. Despite her immature behavior and youthful appearance, her world-weary expression had been the sort he associated with an older woman.

“I know this is a mess of Kathryn’s making, but I refuse to condemn her to an unhappy marriage simply because of one thoughtless act,” Chatham said.

Gerrit bristled. “Condemn her? Are you saying you oppose an offer from me?” He felt both offended and hopeful. Perhaps he might leave here today without being betrothed to that red-headed hellion.

“I’m not saying that at all,” Chatham replied, crushing Gerrit’s fragile hope.

He gave an irritable huff. “I would have plain speaking, Chatham. I am not a man who appreciates subtlety.” Or understands it, for that matter.

Chatham’s mouth twitched. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Gerrit squinted. Was the man smiling? God only knew what he found amusing in this situation, because Gerrit saw nothing to laugh about, but then he’d frequently been accused of possessing no sense of humor. Not so surprising for a man who’d been stigmatized the Duke of Dullness by his contemporaries, a name that had caused him agony when he’d been a boy. But his boyhood was far behind him, and it had been decades since he’d been ashamed of who and what he was. If others saw his inability to chatter like a magpie in social situations as amusing or dull that was their concern.

“Here it is in plain speaking, then,” Chatham said. “I know it is a longstanding tradition that the Dukes of Dulverton marry women of Dutch descent.”

“Correct.” It was hardly a secret.

“Marrying Kathryn will break that tradition.”