Page 57 of Kathryn

“Her Grace takes a tray in her room, Your Grace.”

Katie was amused by the sheer number of your graces around. What a recipe for confusion.

She was relieved that she would not need to face Betje first thing in the morning. She liked the sweet, garrulous woman, but a little of her chatter went a long way—especially before Katie had ingested the requisite amount of coffee.

She took a little from each of the various chafing dishes and sat at the table, telling herself that she was glad Dulverton was not there. After all, it wasn’t as if they would have anything to say to one another. And if he did say anything it would be to find fault with something she was doing. Or where she was sitting or what she was wearing or—

Katie gritted her teeth against the flood of resentment and pushed her eggs around on her plate. She was not really hungry but was in no hurry to leave the room and get on with her day. After all, what on earth was she supposed to do at Briarly? The house ran like clockwork and Katie would likely muck everything up if she interfered.

She could ask Dulverton about her duties—aside from the obvious one, of course—but her husband had evidently fled at dawn. Doubtless Betje would have some suggestions, but did she really want to listen to a woman who got on Dulverton’s nerves so badly?

Katie chewed and stared moodily out the window at the beautiful garden, mulling over the matter and dawdling over her breakfast for a quarter of an hour before she could stand the tedium no longer.

The footman she’d spoken to earlier hastened toward the door when she stood.

“What is your name?” Katie asked.

“Thomas, Your Grace.”

“Where is the library, Thomas?”

“The first set of carved double doors to the right of the stairs, Your Grace.”

Katie passed at least four housemaids on her way to the library. Each one dropped a low curtsey and then quickly scuttled away. Given how early Dulverton had left the house they were probably not accustomed to seeing their employers wandering about at this time of day.

Her mother would have thrown a tantrum if her eyes had been blighted by the sight of a servant working. The Countess of Addiscombe was not alone in that opinion; many aristocrats felt servants should neither be seen nor heard unless one summoned them.

She hoped Dulverton did not live by the countess’s code. She could accept his need for order and symmetry—although it was annoying—but she refused to behave as if servants were dumb animals or pieces of furniture. And she would give Dulverton her opinion in no uncertain terms if he thought to impose such behavior on her.

Katie was so caught up in mentally drafting the dressing down she would deliver to her husband that she almost passed the library. She reached for the handle but then paused and rapped her knuckles on the slick surface, just in case.

When no sound came from within, she opened the door and sucked in a breath. The library in London had been grand, but this was truly magnificent and rose up two stories with a mezzanine level that wrapped all the way around the capacious room.

Just like the rest of the house, there were two of everything, except… Katie squinted across to where four identical tables sat, two chairs at each. Even from this distance she could see there were chess sets on them. Or chess games, rather, as the pieces were not set up in the starting position.

The usual mix of nostalgia and revulsion flooded her at the sight of the familiar pieces. Normally, she would bolt in the opposite direction to avoid being dragooned into a game. But she was alone, so she allowed her curiosity to draw her closer, interested despite herself.

Katie’s family had been as poor as church mice when she’d been a girl and they’d had to make their own entertainment, which had meant lots of chess, draughts, charades, dictionary, and a dozen other games—everything but cards, which her mother did not allow in her house.

In a family filled with talented, clever sisters, Katie had excelled at only two things: needlework and chess.

When one of her sisters wanted pretty embroidery on a gown or help sewing a new dress, they had come to Katie.

As for chess, Katie had often pitted herself against all four sisters—and Doddy, too, when he was old enough to play—at once. And she always won.

Until she met Jasper.

As Katie stared at the chessboards, memories of that summer with Jasper flooded her. Her aunt had been so delighted that Katie received so many invitations to the Marquess of Lindhurst’s—Jasper’s father—house. Not just for the small, informal dances the marchioness gave every two weeks for her unmarried twin daughters—Jasper’s youngest siblings—but also several times a week to take tea with the girls, who were the same age as Katie.

What Aunt Agnes hadn’t known was that Katie spent part of every visit alone in Lord Jasper’s company. She’d been terribly flattered that he’d singled her out on those magical afternoons, walking with her in the gardens, always choosing her for charades, and then one fateful afternoon when rain had kept them all inside playing three games of chess with her in the magnificent library.

During the first game he had surreptitiously caressed her hand while smiling warmly into her eyes.

After she’d won, he’d laughingly chided her for distracting him and demanded a chance to redeem himself.

There’d been no caresses during the second game.

And by the time Katie had won the third game, his eyes, usually a bright sky blue, had taken on an arctic edge.