“There are still some of Whyte’s clothes up in the master bedchamber dressing room,” Katherine said. “You’re welcome to take whatever will fit you.”
“Much appreciated,” he murmured, not bothering to hide his expression of pain.
It was Katherine’s turn to wince between bites of roast beef and gravy when Jackson finally managed to free the duke’s feet from the boots and the two pairs of woolen stockings he wore. “Could you bring a tub of warm water so he can soak his feet?”
“Right away, ma’am.”
Jackson hurried out of the room as Thomas finally let out a curse of frustration. He was attempting to wiggle his toes, but the sensation of pins and needles was almost too much to bear.
“Would you like some dinner?” she asked, holding out the plate Jackson had delivered.
“I thought you were never going to ask,” he replied, taking the fork and plate from her.
Katherine gave him a look of surprise when he was able to hold both. “I see your fingers have recovered.”
He grimaced. “My hands, yes.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I may have frostbite,” he whispered. “I can’t feel my feet.”
Setting aside her fork, Katherine knelt before him and took one of his bare feet between her hands.
“Tickling me is not going to help,” he warned.
She gave him a quelling glance as she began to rub his skin. Her hands were warm against his chilled flesh, and after a few minutes of discomfort, he began to appreciate what she was doing.
“Careful, or I’m going to want you to do that more often.”
Lifting the other foot, she repeated her ministrations as he groaned and hissed and took exaggerated breaths. “You sound like you’re trying to give birth,” she accused.
He chuckled, the first hint of humor he had displayed the entire evening. “You probably didn’t make a sound when Whyte’s whelp was born, did you?”
Katherine scoffed. “I might be a duchess, but that did not prevent me from screaming and yelling and cursing at the top of my lungs,” she countered. “I suppose you weren’t even at home when your duchess gave birth to your heir.”
His eyes rounded at the implied insult. “I was, too,” he claimed. “I wasn’t allowed upstairs, though. Paced in my study for what seemed like hours.”
“Probably because it was.”
“For both of them,” he murmured. “I have two sons.” He sobered and swallowed hard.
Giving up her hold on his foot, she sat back on her heels and regarded him with a sad expression. “Do you miss her? Lydia was the perfect choice for you,” she said in a quiet voice. The Duchess of Pendleton had died of a fever in 1812, the cause of which hadn’t been determined.
Thomas took a deep breath. “I did. For awhile. I liked her. Very much,” he murmured. “I don’t think she liked me as much, though.”
Katherine scoffed. “She loved you, you idiot,” she stated, hiding her annoyance when Jackson reappeared with a tub of water while Barker followed with bath linens. She managed to stand with the duke’s help, surprised at the strength he displayed in doing so.
Unwilling to carry on the conversation with the servants present, Thomas sat back and placed his feet in the warm water. “This is perfect. I won’t require your services the rest of the night.”
Jackson’s gaze darted to his mistress. “Your Grace?”
“What bedchamber did Mrs. Hutchins prepare for His Grace?”
“The master bedchamber, ma’am. There’s a good fire going in there now, and hot bricks at the end of the bed.”
Katherine resisted the urge to question the choice. She had requested Thomas be given the best bedchamber, though, and she supposed it was the finest in the house. “Very good. I’ll escort His Grace there when he’s ready to retire.”
“Will His Grace require assistance climbing the stairs?”
