Chapter 17

"That was my late husband." The Dowager Duchess stopped before one of the large oil portraits that lined the walls in the assembly room at Newden Estate, gazing at it critically. "I must confess, I have forgotten how handsome he was when we first met."

Catherine gazed at the portrait. The fifth Duke of Newden had been a handsome man. The current Duke looked uncannily like his grandfather. They shared the same muscular, commanding physique, broad shoulders, dark hair, and even the exact shade of blue-green eyes.

A flash of memory assailed her. The Duke emerging from the lake that day, striding to the edge, the water glistening on his firm chest, flicking his hair so that water droplets fell through the air. Her stomach clenched tightly.

Catherine coughed into her hand. "Very handsome indeed, Duchess."

The Dowager had sent a note to her this morning in her room, requesting her company. The old lady wanted to take her on a tour of the house. Just the two of them.

Catherine had no choice but to agree, but she was on edge about being alone with her after the interrogation the previous day. Was the Dowager going to start on again about when Catherine was going to conceive an heir?

"I did not want to marry him, you know," the Dowager Duchess continued thoughtfully, leaning on her stick. "My father had to drag me to the altar by the hair, kicking and screaming."

"Really?" Catherine looked at her, smiling slightly. She could just imagine the spirited young lady she had once been. "But why?"

The old lady shrugged. "I told myself I wished to remain independent," she replied, with a chuckle. "I had grand plans about writing a novel in an attic in those days. Or perhaps running away to the Continent. I wanted to be free."

Catherine's heart lurched. "There is nothing wrong with wishing for freedom."

The Dowager Duchess chuckled again. "Ah, yes, but that was not the entire reason," she mused, turning to her. "I told myself that, but deep down, I was afraid."

"Afraid?" Catherine tilted her head to the side, gazing at the old lady, unable to imagine her afraid of anything. "What were you afraid of?"

"Losing myself," the Dowager Duchess stated with a small smile. "I was terribly attracted to Ralph, you see. I was fighting it, scared that I would lose myself if I submitted to it, that I would change into a person I no longer recognized. That in loving him I would transform into someone I did not wish to be."

Catherine blinked rapidly. "How peculiar."

The Dowager Duchess gazed at her steadily. "Yes. The foolishness of youth. But we are only young once. Shall we continue?"

They kept walking. The Dowager Duchess kept talking, pointing her walking stick at each portrait in turn, telling her about the person, an endless litany that Catherine was having a hard time keeping up with. She was certain she would never remember half of them or which one had fought in which battle or died of smallpox.

"Ah." The Dowager Duchess stopped, leaning on her stick and gazing at the portrait of a beautiful golden-haired woman with soft gray eyes. "That is Letitia. She was the last Duchess of Newden before you, my dear."

Catherine started. "This was my husband's mother?"

Catherine's heart flipped. She took a step closer, gazing at the portrait keenly. The Duke's mother was wearing a voluminous blue ball gown in the style of the previous century with a wide white lace collar. Long golden ringlets framed her face. She looked serene and meditative with a small, curved smile that reminded Catherine of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

"What was she like?" Her heart flipped again.

The Dowager Duchess sighed heavily. "The artist did not capture her true spirit," she said, shaking her head. "He has made her look dreamy and content when she was anything but that." She hesitated. "Letitia was a restless, eternally dissatisfied woman. My son was sick with love for her, but she never returned the sentiment. She had him wrapped around her little finger."

"I see," Catherine mumbled.

"Do you?" The Dowager Duchess's voice was sharp. "I do not know if you understand how destructive love can be. Or how quickly it can turn into hate."

"Actually, I do," Catherine retorted, her cheeks flaming. "I watched my own mother slowly disintegrate through yearning for a love that could never be."

The Dowager Duchess raised her eyebrows. "Ah, yes. I knew your parents briefly. Your father did like the ladies… and your mother could never accept it. She kept trying to change him, did she not?"

Catherine's stomach flipped again. "My mother let my father destroy her," she murmured. "She died a bitter woman."

"Thomas has a reputation with the ladies," the Dowager Duchess said, raising her eyebrows. "But he was only sowing his wild oats. I believe that when he finally gives his heart, it will be for life. He is fiercely loyal, you know."

Catherine tried to laugh. "Is he? I hardly know."

The Dowager Duchess frowned. "I have talked with Mrs. Gray," she revealed, leaning on her stick and gazing at her. "She informed me that you and my grandson do not share chambers and never have since you arrived here on your wedding day. The servants talk amongst themselves, you know. They see everything."

Catherine reddened, glaring at the old lady. "That is personal…"

"You told me that you wished for a family," the Dowager Duchess interjected, her frown deepening. "Was that a lie?"

Catherine stiffened, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest. She didn't have to justify herself—or her marriage—to this prickly old lady. As the Duke had told his grandmother, it was none of her business.

"What is the problem?" The Dowager Duchess stared at her. "I can see that you and my grandson are attracted to one another. He looks at you as if he is dying of thirst, and yet you both circle each other like skittish cats."

"He looks at any woman as if he is dying of thirst," Catherine huffed, unable to help herself. "Your grandson is a rake, Duchess. And once he tires of me, he will swiftly move on to the next lady that catches his eye. That is the way of rakes."

"So that is why you resist?" The Dowager Duchess snorted. "Silly girl! He has sown his oats and is ready to lay his heart at your feet, and you have the power to do it if you were not so obstinate."

Abruptly, Catherine turned away, walking along to the next portrait in an effort to stop the conversation. Her heart flipped again. There he was, gazing out at her, slightly smirking, his blue-green eyes holding a challenge, his dark hair tousled, as if he had just risen from bed. A bed that he had undoubtedly shared with a breathlessly willing lady.

Her husband. The rake.

"I do not adhere to the belief that a leopard can change its spots," she mused aloud, tilting her head to the side as she studied the portrait. "I believe that a person's nature is manifest and cannot change."

The Dowager Duchess stopped beside her. Her face twisted in amusement.

"You are young," she began, arching her eyebrows. "I used to believe such a thing as well in my younger days." She cleared her throat. "But people can change, Catherine. Some people are just waiting for the right person…" she trailed off, looking over Catherine's shoulder.

Catherine turned around. The gentleman himself was standing there, next to his portrait.

"There you are," the Duke said, frowning slightly. "I was wondering where the two of you were."

"I was just showing Catherine the family," the Dowager Duchess declared in an imperious voice. "She needs to understand the proud lineage you come from, Thomas." Her eyes widened. "And where the portraits of your children will one day hang as well. The wall is waiting for them, my dears." She chuckled, moving away from them.

"She knows," Catherine hissed.

The Duke raised his eyebrows, looking amused. "What does she know?"

"She knows that we are not trying for an heir," Catherine whispered. "The housekeeper tattled."

The Duke shook his head incredulously. "I must hand it to her," he said, glancing at his grandmother. "She is determined. There is nothing she cannot find out if she really wants to know."

"She is impossible." Catherine frowned. "How can we get her to desist? All she talks about to me is having babies! It is driving me to distraction."

The Duke sighed. "She is old, Catherine. She wants to see the next generation before she shuffles off this mortal coil. She wants the continuation of the line. Just humor her."

Catherine's frown deepened. "Humoring her is not enough. I can see her always scheming. She has something up her sleeve. I just know it."

"Probably," he relented, smiling wryly. "But that does not mean she is going to get her way, does it?" He took a step closer to her, gazing down at her. "After all, we are both committed to the path we agreed to follow. She cannot force us to produce an heir."

Catherine swallowed hard. Why did her nervous system always go haywire when he stepped just a little too close to her? She didn't like it at all. Why couldn't she stop reacting to him in this way?

It does not matter. Ignore it. It has worked, so far. Eventually, it will go away.

"I am sorry for snapping at you yesterday," he continued in a softer tone. "Can we be friends?"

Catherine stared at him cautiously. "Just friends? That is all you want?"

He laughed ruefully. "I am sorry I have been pressing you for more. A momentary madness." He hesitated. "It would be better if we could be friends and not at each other's throats. At the very least, it will get my grandmother off our backs."

Catherine gazed at him warily. "I suppose so. We can try."

"Why are you whispering?" The Dowager Duchess was back, gazing at them expectantly. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?"

The Duke laughed. "No, Grandmother. Nothing at all."

She nodded. "Well, that concludes the tour of the house," she said, smiling slightly. "I must get to the kitchen to talk with Mrs. Gray. There is a lot to organize."

The Duke frowned. "What do you mean? What are you organizing?"

The Dowager Duchess smiled. "Oh, did I forget to tell you? I am hosting a garden party here the day after tomorrow." Her smile widened. "We may as well take advantage of this glorious summer weather while it lasts. Do you not agree?"

Catherine sighed. The Duke didn't look happy.

"A garden party?" He frowned. "But why?"

The Dowager Duchess shrugged. "Just because I wish to do it." She sailed away, followed by yapping dogs clamoring at her heels. "Come along, Mimi. You are waddling already, you wanton hussy!"

The Duke turned to Catherine. "I am sorry, I guess we will have to go through with it."

Catherine sighed again. "It is only a garden party." She looked thoughtful. "Perhaps I can invite Oliver and Beatrice. And Patrick and his wife if they are able to come."

The Duke shrugged. "Invite anyone you like. My grandmother will commandeer the guest list as it is. I might invite some friends of my own as well." He smiled.

Catherine's heart flipped. Was he going to invite a certain fair-haired lady he had spoken to in the village the other day? And why had that thought suddenly lodged into her mind like an arrow, refusing to budge?