Page 38 of Kathryn

“I suppose you are the authority.”

“Correct.”

Katie’s vision blurred, not with tears, but with outraged frustration. “So, now we come to the crux of the matter. You are domineering, controlling, and overbearing and I will have no choice in—in anything having to do with my own life.”

“If by domineering, controlling, and overbearing you mean there is only one master in this marriage and I am he, then yes, you are correct. You can either accept the way it will be, or you can futilely rail against my authority. Rest assured that I will win in the end.”

Katie didn’t open her mouth, not because she feared him—which made her an even bigger fool—but because she would rant and rave which would only make her look like a child having a tantrum. The infuriating truth was that the rage boiling inside her like an overfull pot was all her doing. Her last act of free will had been swearing to honor and obey him. The moment the vicar had declared them man and wife, Katie became Dulverton’s chattel, just like his houses, his bloody fossils, and every other possession. Becky had been right; Katie had made her bed and now she would have to lie in it.

Thwarted, she sat back in her chair, her hands shaking so badly she hid them on her lap.

He regarded her sternly for a long moment, as if to assure himself that she had submitted to his bullying, and then said, “I daresay you have noticed that I have what are considered odd humors?” Katie did not trust herself to open her mouth, so she just glared. Either he didn’t really expect an answer or took her hostile look as a yes, because he continued. “I require structure in my life if I am to function efficiently and see to my myriad duties. Capricious actions that upset the order I have imposed on my home and surroundings are not acceptable. Do you understand what I am saying, Kathryn?”

She flinched under the weight of his opaque gaze but refused to look away. “I am not sure I do, Your Grace. You had better explain precisely what you mean so I do not run afoul of your expectations again.”

Dulverton nodded without hesitation and Katie suspected he’d not noticed the heavy sarcasm in her tone. “Very well. I am talking about any disorderly behavior. Dinner is at eight. And that means eight. Not four minutes after eight. Eight. Numerous servants have worked diligently to prepare and deliver a meal precisely at that time. Common courtesy compels one to respect that and arrive—”

“Common courtesy?” Katie laughed.

“Why is that so amusing?”

“You bark at your servants as if they were medieval serfs. Of course, you barked at Chatham the same way and he is a duke, so at least you do not discriminate on the basis of social standing. In any event, getting a lecture from you about common courtesy is the height of irony.”

He leaned forward in his chair, and Katie flinched back in hers. “I lack a honeyed tongue, is that what you are saying?”

“I am saying you have a tongue like a thistle bush.”

He nodded slowly, the gesture oddly menacing. “Many people believe a honeyed speech is courtesy. Those same people—often the men and women of our class—frequently prey on those weaker than them, their servants for example. But as long as they keep a pleasant tone and smile sweetly, they are dubbed courteous.”

Katie face heated at the accusatory glitter in his eyes; even an idiot would understand the point he was making. Namely, that a woman who’d bedded a family servant was in no position to talk about courtesy. Not for the first time did Katie regret that she’d begun their marriage on a lie. Especially given how that lie robbed her of the right to defend herself.

When she did not speak, he continued. “I believe actions are almost always more important than words. My servants, tenants, and others who rely on me need never be concerned that I will dishonor their daughters, nor will I sack them without cause or force them to live and labor in squalor or dangerous conditions. I offer generous compensation and a decent, healthy environment in which to work. That, Kathryn, is what I consider courtesy.”

“I could not agree more with most of what you said, Your Grace. But I fail to see how it applies to me.” She eyed him sourly. “Unless you consider me just another of your servants.”

“I certainly do not.”

“I am relieved to—”

“My servants fulfill their obligations without engaging in endless conflict merely for conflict’s sake.”

Katie’s mouth snapped shut.

“As my wife and my duchess, you occupy a singular role and have unique duties. One of those is to not publicly embarrass me or yourself. It is also your duty to not undermine my authority in front of my subordinates. If you wish to dispute a matter with me, Kathryn, I ask that you do so in private.”

Katie hated him in that moment. Not just for his lofty, autocratic manner, but because she had behaved badly in front of their servants. She’d hurled his Christian name at him—without ever having his leave to use it in the first place—in front of their housekeeper, and she’d deliberately come late to dinner. There was no doubt in her mind that her arguments and childish tantrums and rebellion were providing grist for the thriving below stairs rumor mill.

And she knew, not too deep down, that she had overstepped by accusing him of discourtesy. Yes, he was abrupt—even rude—but Dulverton was right about one thing: Jasper had been as honey-tongued as a man could be and he had been rotten to the core.

As she held Dulverton’s cold gaze, she resolved to pay more attention to his actions and less to his awkward manner, no matter how much it might irk her to do so.

“I agree that arriving late for dinner is not just discourteous to you, but those who labored over it. But do you not extend latitude for events beyond one’s control that might account for tardiness?”

“Are you saying that is why you were late tonight? Due to circumstances beyond your control.”

Instead of lying or arguing, she said, “And that is all? I should not argue with you in front of servants or be late for meals?”

He gave her a pained look.