Duke’s eyebrows rose. ‘He has not.’
Katherine giggled, despite the tension she was under. ‘He was wonderful. He climbed out of the carriage, told them he was Black Jack Standon and showed off the marks of the noose on his neck. He thinks so fast and has such courage.’ She hesitated. ‘I saw him on the scaffold in the moments before the trap dropped. No one there knew who he was: but he did. He knew he was a Lydgate, and he knew how a Lydgate faced death. And he learned that at your knee.’
The Duke suddenly dropped his face into his hands and Katherine, without thinking, fell to her knees beside his chair and put her arms around him. ‘Oh, sir, you are both so proud—please do not let that separate you from your son.’
After a moment he looked up at her and she saw his eyes were wet with tears. ‘Thank you for that, my dear. I imagine I am not an easy person to approach in such a way, am I?’
That, if ever she had heard one, was an understatement.
‘No, sir.’
‘I rather think your courage is a fitting match for my son’s. I will do as you ask, I promise. Perhaps, when he does bestir himself, you would be very kind and ask him to join me here. There is no need to tell him why. And Katherine,’ he added as she reached the door, ‘you have heard the expression, The pot calling the kettle black?’
‘Yes, your Grace.’ She regarded him, puzzled.
‘Might I humbly suggest you apply it to yourself?’
Even more puzzled, she walked back slowly into the Long Gallery. What could the Duke mean? She was so absorbed in speculation that when she bumped into her husband she spoke to him without the slightest self-consciousness.
‘Oh, there you are, Nick. Your father asked me when I saw you to request that you join him in the library.’
‘Yes, of course. Kat, are you …?’
‘Go on, he is waiting.’ She pushed him firmly in the direction she had come from and walked on until she found her favourite window seat and curled up in it.
She had had the temerity to chide the Duke for letting his pride stand between him and the son he loved. Was that what he meant? That she was letting her own pride stand between herself and Nick? It was a chastening thought. All the time she had been fighting his pride, the honour that she felt must be driving him to maintain this marriage, and all the time it was her own pride that was opposing him.
To see her motives in such a light was not very comfortable. And if the Duke was encouraging her to examine her feelings, did that mean he was not opposed to the match? What other way could she read it?
And if the Duke was not opposed, and Nick was doing everything in his power to stop the annulment—Why am I fighting? I love him. He cares for me. To turn from him cuts at his sense of honour and what is right. I might not be the bride he would have chosen, but … Her thoughts baulked for a moment, then continued. I can make him happy and, one day, he might grow to love me.
Dizzy with a sort of terrified happiness, Katherine got to her feet and ran down the Gallery. She would wait outside the library, close enough to see when Nick came out. And then she would tell him that she would agree to let the marriage stand if he still wanted it.
There was a seat just past the library door that would be ideal. She slowed to a decorous walk and came level with the library door, which stood ajar.
Nick’s voice came clearly through the opening, then faded. He was obviously walking up and down.
‘… honour bound to marry her. How could I do anything else? … trapped … make the best of it …’ She froze, uncaring that she was eavesdropping.
The voices within dropped to a murmur. It seemed both men were pacing. Then the Duke’s voice came to her.
‘A nice enough girl … but in no way fitted for the role of your wife. Such a marriage … disastrous, and I think you knew it … from the beginning, but once … your honour would not let you turn away from her … ‘
Katherine walked blindly on down the corridor. The Duke had spoken of her with pity but also with a finality that made any idea of giving in to Nick’s persuasions quite ineligible. Under no circumstances was she going to be the cause of a new estrangement from his father. How could she have so misinterpreted the Duke’s parting words to her? Perhaps they had simply been a subtly worded rebuke.
‘My lady?’ It was Heron, a salver balanced on his white gloved hand.
‘Heron, I am sorry, I did not see you.’ She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and forced a smile.
‘This note has just arrived for you, my lady. The lad from the Durham Ox delivered it.’
Curious despite her distress, Katherine lifted the proffered note, then froze as she saw the direction—it was unmistakably Philip’s handwriting. All other thought fled. Thank goodness, at least he was alive and in England. Oblivious of Heron’s presence, she broke the seal and scanned the single sheet.
Katy, I am here at the Durham Ox, please come, I badly need to see you, Your loving brother, Philip.
He was back in England! Was that good news, or bad? Part of her hoped he had come to his senses and decided to return and reform his life, but bitter experience and the desperate scrawl of the writing made her fear the worst. How did he know where to find her? Arthur, she supposed. She had asked him to keep it a secret, but presumably he considered she could not have meant to hide from her own brother.
‘Heron, I need a gig and a groom to drive me to this inn directly.’
‘My lady, his lordship—’
‘My lord is with his Grace and must not be disturbed. My bro … there is someone whom I need to see at once.’
‘Very well, my lady.’
Katherine did not trouble to ring for Jenny. Her bonnet was on its block, her pelisse and gloves were laid out on the bed and it was a matter of minutes to make ready. Katherine scooped up her reticule and hesitated; the stocking purse within had just a few coins in it after her extravagances for the ball. With a grimace she reached into the dressing table drawer and withdrew the last of the money Mr Wilkinson had given her. It would be a miracle if Philip were not short of funds.
Heron was hovering in the hall when she got there. ‘The gig is outside, my lady, but are you sure you should not wait for his lordship?’
‘Quite certain, thank you, Heron,’ Katherine said with a confidence she was far from feeling. She wanted to see her brother again; no day had passed without her worrying about him and how he was faring, but this unannounced arrival did not bode well.
‘Very well, my lady. Durren, drive her ladyship to the Durham Ox. And wait inside for her,’ he added with some emphasis.
Her first glimpse of the hostelry explained much about Heron’s concern. It was the antithesis of the inn they had stayed at on the last night of their journey from London. This place was stark, shabby and, to Katherine’s anxious eye, sinister.
Durren handed her down from the gig with an air that spoke clearly of his own feelings about the place.
