Page 79 of Kathryn

Betje’s huge blue eyes flickered toward where Dulverton sat silently working on whatever it was that kept him so busy every night. She lowered her voice. “One of the servants who came with me from home—from Utrecht, that is—has fallen ill at Spenwood and I must return immediately.”

“Of course you must. I am so very sorry.” In more ways than one. Without her mother-in-law at Briarly, life would be lonely. And grim. “I—I will miss you greatly.”

Betje patted her hand. “And I you. I regret that I won’t be here when the Countess of Grimsby finally returns from the Continent.”

Katie stiffened at the sound of Jasper’s grandmother’s name.

“The woman is a tartar, but her society is impossible to ignore,” Betje went on. “Elm Hall is one of her smaller estates and she does not come here often, but I gather she has decided to—” she broke off and waved a dismissive hand. “But why am I am babbling about that right now? I just wanted you to know that I regret I won’t be by your side to offer support when you finally meet the dragon.”

The last thing Katie wanted to think about just then was Jasper’s grandmother. “I will miss your company, Mama,” she said, meaning it.

The dowager cut a glance at Dulverton before leaning close and whispering, “I should have made better use of our time, my dear.”

Katie stole a look at Dulverton, as well. But his head was bent, and his brow was furrowed in thought. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Betje admitted. “I just wish I had tried… something. But I want you to remember that you are mistress here, Katie. If you stand aside now, you will always be on the edges of Gerrit’s life. Always.”

Katie jabbed her needle into linen, her eyes blurring slightly. She’d thought about riding out to the Morris farm during one of her daily rides—the only way she could think of to stake her claim as duchess—but every day she’d come up with a reason not to. Because she was a coward. “Sometimes…sometimes a person has no choice in the matter,” Katie whispered. “Sometimes a person is pushed aside.”

Betje set her small hand on Katie’s forearm. “Fight for your marriage,” she hissed in a voice throbbing with intensity. “You must be the one to push. And keep pushing until you get what you want. And what both of you need.”

But Katie had no response because she did not want to lie to the other woman. Pushing for what she wanted was not something she knew how to do. At least not with a man who could not wait until she was gone from his life. Not for the first time did she see Anna Wilson’s beautiful face—and those of her lovely children—in her mind’s eye.

When she didn’t answer Betje said, “There is love in my son, Katie. And I believe you are the one who can bring it out of him.”

Like the coward she was, Katie reached into her needlework basket and took out the card wrapped with shades of floss. “Help me choose the pink you want for the new peony, Mama.”

***

Gerrit paused on the threshold to his wife’s bedchamber and squinted into the darkness. Had Court misunderstood Kathryn’s maid message? Why was the room in complete—

“I am awake. Come in.” Her voice floated toward him like a chill wind portending an ice storm.

“Why is the room in darkness?” he asked, making his way slowly toward her bed, which was nothing but a huge shadow in the faint light from the half-moon shining through a gap in the drapes.

“Because I prefer it that way.”

He opened his mouth to remind her that he most certainly did not prefer it this way.

But she was not finished. “I would rather we commenced this part of our life the way we mean to go on.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying there is no point in us behaving like lovers when we are nothing more than… associates.”

“Associates.” Gerrit could honestly say he had not been so flummoxed since…well, since that night in the garden when a beautiful stranger had kissed him. “What do you mean?” He wanted to kick himself for sounding like a damned imbecile. It was perfectly obvious what she meant. But Gerrit wanted to hear her say the words.

“I agreed to bear your children. I did not agree to s-service you in the bedchamber the way a mistress would do.”

Gerrit was grateful it was dark because he was certain the expression on his face was not one he wanted to share. He heard the rustling of sheets.

“I am ready.”

Bitter, vicious fury spread through his body.

Not to mention the stabbing pain of rejection, an unwanted mental voice chimed in.

Bloody unbelievable. The one thing Gerrit had to offer his wife—his skill in the bedchamber—she did not want.