by Syrie James
His talk with Kathryn would just have to wait a bit longer.
Kathryn hummed as she tucked her blouse into her lavender linen skirt.
Her mind was full of all that had happened the night before. The hours she had spent in Lance’s arms felt so magical and unreal it almost seemed as if she had dreamt it all.
Was she, in fact, truly engaged to marry the Duke of Darcy? Had he truly said he loved her? And given his blessing to her working, even while being his duchess?
Yes! She was. He had. It was all true.
Kathryn felt giddy with excitement. Her sisters would be thrilled when they heard the news. She could hear Lexie’s voice in her mind already: I told you he was besotted with you.
Her sisters were right, too, about the duke being forward-thinking. Her future seemed to stretch before her like a golden road, full of possibilities. They would live in London part of the time, and part of the time they’d live here. She’d be an architect and she’d also do duchess-y things. It was all going to work out perfectly.
Happiness thrummed through her as she dashed down the stairs, eager to talk to Lance. On the way to the breakfast room, she decided to check his study, just in case he was there.
As she made her way down the corridor, Kathryn heard voices coming from the study. Lance was talking to his solicitor, Mr. Megowan.
“Now I’ll have all the money I need to pay off the debts,” Lance was saying.
Debts? What debts? Kathryn wondered as she approached.
“When will the marriage take place?” asked Mr. Megowan.
Kathryn ground to a halt a few feet from the door to the study. Were they talking about her marriage to Lance? She knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but her feet wouldn’t move.
“I don’t know,” Lance replied. “It depends on how quickly I can get Kathryn to agree to hold the ceremony. It would be convenient for us both to have it here at the Mount, since her sisters live in Cornwall. But she might insist on New York. Either way, I presume she’ll want to have her parents involved. That will take time. Hopefully, I can get it done in the next month or two. Which still gives me some leeway to move the funds to my bank before the loan is due in December.”
Kathryn’s blood turned to ice in her veins. What loan?
It seemed that Lance was in debt with an outstanding loan. A fact he had failed to mention.
“Will you get hold of her entire fortune at once, do you think?” Mr. Megowan asked.
“I’ll make it clear to her father that, at the very least, I require £68,000 up front.”
Kathryn could hardly breathe. Sixty-eight thousand pounds? That’s how much he owes? Why? To whom?
Was it a debt he’d piled up during his years in the Navy? Or a debt he’d inherited? Or both? Did it matter, really?
“She’s agreed, then, to the way her fortune will be spent?” Mr. Megowan asked.
“I haven’t brought that up yet. But I will.”
Mr. Megowan chuckled. “You see? I told you that when push came to shove, she’d give up this absurd notion of a career in favor of becoming a duchess.”
“She might still be able to take on a job here or there, Megowan. At least I told her as much. I’m sure I can persuade someone to let her draw something once in a while.”
Kathryn felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She wanted to throw up. She felt as if her heart had just been torn, alive and beating, from her chest.
The hallway began to spin. She spun around with it and traipsed back the way she had come, her mind in a whirl.
All the kisses they’d shared. Their night of passionate lovemaking. All that talk about letting her pursue her career. About loving her. About wanting to spend the rest of his life with her. They were just words. Words he had employed to get her to agree to marry him.
It had all been a ruse. And she had fallen for it—fallen for him—hook, line, and sinker.
He had never intended for her to work at all. And he didn’t care about her one whit.
All this time, he’d just wanted her for her money.
Kathryn found Hammett and told him she was leaving that morning and returning to London.
“Would you be so good as to send a man up to my room in half an hour to collect my trunk, and have it sent to the train station in Rosquay?” she asked.
“Very well, miss,” Hammett replied.
It took twenty minutes to pack her clothes and other belongings. The tide was out, which meant she could walk across the causeway and catch the next train.
Hurrying back downstairs, Kathryn paused at the door to the conservatory. The dowager duchess was asleep on the chaise longue. A good thing; Kathryn wasn’t up for the conversation that would inevitably follow. She tiptoed in and propped up the thank-you note she had hastily penned.
Then she headed for the study, where she found Lance working at his desk, this time alone.
“Kathryn!” His face lit up and he stood. “How beautiful you look this morning.”
“Don’t waste your time on flattery, Your Grace,” Kathryn replied stonily, stopping just inside the door, a roll of drawings in her arms. “It won’t work anymore.”
“I beg your pardon?” He stared at her. “Why are we back to formal address? What’s wrong?”
A pang of sadness stabbed through her chest, an emotion so unwelcome she forced herself to ignore it, focusing instead on the anger that fueled her. “I overheard you and your guest chatting a few minutes ago.”
His face flushed beet red. He seemed to be at a loss for words. “Oh,” was all he managed.
“I can see why you zeroed in on me. With a £68,000 debt hanging over your head, you couldn’t marry just any old heiress. You needed a million-dollar heiress.”
“Kathryn. I was going to tell you.”
“Were you? When? After we were married? When it would be too late for me to object, because you had control over my money?”
“I intended to tell you—and to propose to you again—the last time I walked into the parlor, when you passed out cold on the floor. We haven’t had a moment alone since then. And last night . . . it didn’t seem the time nor the place to bring it up.”
“You should have told me the first time you asked me to marry you! And you’ve had plenty of opportunities since then.”
“You’re right. I’m—”
“What I don’t understand,” Kathryn interjected heatedly, “is why your brother sent for an architect in the first place, when he obviously didn’t have the funds to remodel this castle.”
“He . . . must have intended to borrow the money. I think he was hoping that some improvements would increase castle’s value, if he had to sell,” Lance admitted.
“I see,” Kathryn snapped. “But you figured you’d never need to sell, didn’t you? You’d marry me and my fortune would take care of everything.”
“Kathryn,” he pleaded, his face still scarlet. “I—”
“It was all a grand seduction, wasn’t it? I have to give you credit, Your Grace. You’re a good actor. You played the violin for me, you brought me potted orchids. You had me in the palm of your hand, believing that you loved me. Insisting that you didn’t mind if I worked. But it was all a lie. All you ever wanted was my money.”
“That’s not true.” There was a note of desperation in his voice. “It may have started out that way. But, Kathryn: I genuinely fell in love with you.”
“How can I believe anything you’re saying? When I first came here, you told me you didn’t have any financial issues. When I asked about it again, you stuck to that story. Both times, you lied to my face.”
“I’m sorry. That was . . . a mistake. Please, let me explain. About the loan, about the problems that I—”
“I heard all I needed to hear, standing in that corridor.” Kathryn blinked back the tears that threatened behind her eyes, steeling herself to remain strong. Crossing the room, she plunked the roll of drawings onto his desk. “Here are the plans I drew up. I’m sure there are
plenty of other heiresses with generous dowries who’d be happy to become your duchess. With a little luck, you’ll land one before that loan is due, and have enough money left over to fix up the castle. Everything can go ahead just as you planned. It just won’t involve me.”
With that, she turned for the door.
“Wait!” he called out. “Where are you going?”
“Back to London. Where I belong.” Kathryn threw the comment over her shoulder as she flung herself from the room.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kathryn sank down onto the sofa, hot tears pricking her eyes. The train journey from Cornwall to London had been exhausting.
She’d considered stopping to visit Maddie and Lexie on the way north, but had rejected the idea. She needed time alone to deal with her anger and grief. Instead, she’d written them each a long letter on the train, which she’d posted from Victoria Station.
With a sorrowful sigh, Kathryn took in the room in which she sat. Charles and Maddie’s town house on Grosvenor Street had been her London home for several years now. This drawing room had always felt so warm and welcoming.
Tonight, it felt cold and empty. Other than the servants who kept the house running, Kathryn was the only resident. The rooms, all beautifully decorated in the modern style, had once seemed charming. Now they just reminded her of how much more charming she’d found the rooms of the ancient castle at St. Gabriel’s Mount.
And how much she had loved its resident duke.
Loved, past tense, being the operative word. Was it possible to hate someone with whom one had just, that same morning, been deeply in love? If so, that was the emotion she was feeling now. Hate mixed with fury and a deep, throbbing ache that permeated her soul.
A tear slid down Kathryn’s cheek, then a sob tore from her throat. She gave in to the anguish and allowed herself a good, long cry.
How could she have been so blind? How could she have not realized that he was just after her money? There had been several red flags. His concerns about hiring her for renovations in the first place. The somewhat dilapidated state of the castle. The community in obvious need of repairs. The fact that he never had said a word about her fortune, except when she’d brought it up.
All the other men who had asked for her hand had been up front about it. They had offered her what they’d considered to be a good life in exchange for that million-dollar prize. Lance, on the other hand, had avoided the topic entirely. After lying about it. Which made him so much worse than the others. He had deliberately set out to seduce her to acquire her fortune.
Lance had won her by stealth.
He had succeeded all too well. He’d stolen her heart.
And then had broken it.
The sobs wracking Kathryn’s body continued for some minutes longer. When at last they subsided, she grabbed her handkerchief, dried her eyes, and blew her nose.
Well, she thought grimly, her heart might be broken. But she wouldn’t let it defeat her. She would pick up the pieces and get back to work.
At least she still had work. And it was work that she loved.
Lance sat on the hard wooden bench in the chapel at St. Gabriel’s Mount, every molecule of his body tense with frustration.
Kathryn had only been gone a day, and already the hallways of the castle rang hollow without her.
He had rarely ever visited this chapel. It was a place for prayer and penance. It was too late now for prayer, but he had a lot of penance to do, and he knew it.
The door opened and his grandmother ventured in. She made her way down the aisle, then sat down beside him. “What happened?” she asked.
He told her. About the financial mess he’d inherited. How close they were to losing the castle. The reasons why he had kept it from her. What had occurred with Kathryn—everything except the lovemaking part. He admitted, though, that he’d fallen in love with her. And he explained why she had left.
His grandmother listened with a grim expression, only issuing the occasional question or remark.
When he’d finished, she nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, my boy, that all of this has fallen on your shoulders. And sorry you felt you couldn’t share it. But I understand why you were reluctant to say anything. And why Hayward couldn’t bring himself to tell me, either.”
“Do you?”
“You were both trying to protect me. I had an inkling, though, even if Hayward would never admit to it. Any more than he would admit to his other great secret.”
Lance glanced at her. “What other great secret?” he asked carefully.
She paused. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Should he say anything? It seemed that she knew already. “Are you referring to him and Woodston?”
Her white eyebrows lifted. “What do you know about him and Woodston?”
“I know they had a secret room on the fourth floor.”
She smiled. “Yes, they did.”
“How long have you known?”
“About Hayward? Darling, I’ve suspected since he was five years old. And I’ve been certain for decades.”
“But you never let on?”
“Some things,” his grandmother replied, “are better off left unsaid.”
They sat in silence for a while. At length, she heaved a heavy sigh. “About St. Gabriel’s Mount: don’t worry about me, Lancelot. Whatever happens, I shall survive.” She turned to him then, her pale blue eyes flashing. “Regarding Miss Atherton, however. I hope you realize that you have behaved like a complete and utter idiot.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “I know.”
“You should have told her about your debts at the start.”
“I know,” he said again. “I handled everything wrong.”
“You certainly did, you foolish boy.”
Lance cursed inwardly. “For years, I’ve been telling myself that love only brings pain. It has proven so again. This time, though, I have no one but myself to blame. This pain is my own damn fault.”
His grandmother gave him a hard stare. “So you really do love her?”
“I do.” He probably had loved Kathryn, he realized, since that first night when he’d almost ravished her on the billiards table. Before he knew she had a penny to her name.
“Do you still want her?”
“Of course I still want her. But it’s too late. I’ve ruined any chance I might have had with her.”
“Have you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean: is it really too late?”
“She’s gone, Grandmother. She left.”
“Then go get her back.”
He shook his head. “She won’t have me now. She thinks I only wanted her for her money.”
“But you don’t?”
“No! All debts aside, forget about the fate of the castle, even if Kathryn didn’t have a farthing, I’d still want her. But I lied to her. She doesn’t trust me. And I don’t blame her.”
“Trust, when broken, isn’t easy to repair. But it can be done.”
“How?”
“I cannot tell you how. You’re a very intelligent man, Lance. I’m sure you can figure it out.” She patted his knee, then stood. “I will leave you with this thought: if you truly love her, and you think there is a chance that she still loves you, then it would be a disservice to you both to give up now. Go to her, Lance. Mend what you have broken.”
With that, she left the chapel.
Lance sat in silence for a long while, brooding over the mess he’d made of everything, his grandmother’s words playing over and over in his mind.
Go to her, Lance. Mend what you have broken.
Was there a chance his grandmother was right? Was it possible that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late?
He loved Kathryn. As of yesterday morning, he knew that she’d been in love with him. There must be a way to make up for what he’d done. To let Kathryn know how sorry he was. To try to fix it somehow.
He didn’t know how he
would achieve it yet, but he’d be damned if he was going to sit here feeling sorry for himself a second longer. He had always prided himself on being a man of action. He had to do something.
Time, he felt, was of the essence.
Go to her, Lance.
That’s exactly what he would do. He would go to London. Without delay.
“This just arrived for you in the morning post, Miss Atherton,” the butler said, entering the breakfast room with a letter on a silver salver.
Kathryn thanked him and set down her coffee cup. Her pulse jumped as she noted the return address on the envelope. It was from the Royal Institute of British Architects. It must be about the RIBA exam she’d taken so many weeks ago.
Tearing open the envelope, Kathryn found two pieces of paper inside. She read the first page.
Dear Miss Atherton,
Enclosed please find your results on the recent RIBA examination.
Although you passed the exam, we regret to inform you that the Royal Institute of British Architects is and always has been an all-male organization, and it is against institute policy to grant a license to a woman.
We thank you for your interest in the Royal Institute of British Architects, and wish you all the best in your future endeavours.
Sincerely,
H. G. Atwater
Acting RIBA Secretary
Kathryn stared at the letter in shock. She read it through again, then a third time.
Against institute policy to grant a license to a woman?
Couldn’t they have told her that up front, before she went to all the months and months of effort studying for the exam, and then taking it?
Flipping to the second page of the letter, she noted that it was a breakdown of her marks on the various parts of the exam. A quick perusal confirmed that she had done very well. Her total score, printed at the bottom of the page, was 98%.
Kathryn dropped the missive onto the breakfast table as if it were a hot potato. Ninety-eight percent! And yet still, they were denying her a license to practice architecture. Reserving that right exclusively for men.