Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The afternoon sky was partially overcast, the grey a fitting setting for Henry's mood as the carriage bumped over the drive leading up to the Brisby estate.

As much as he didn't want to be doing what he was doing, he couldn't help looking out the window in curiosity. In the entirety of the time he and Martha had been married or even courting, he hadn't ever visited the Brisbys' country home. He hadn't ever thought it odd, either, until just when it occurred to him along the drive over to it.

It was a large manor, though certainly not more so than his own. The grounds were well-kept, nothing sticking out to him as too far out of the ordinary even as they pulled to a stop and his footman hurried to open the door for him.

There was no one waiting to greet him. Not that he had expected there to be. He wasn't expected. He hadn't written to announce his visit, a decision he had grappled with over breakfast that morning.

Warning Catherine was the last thing he had wanted to do in the end.

Despite his lack of forewarning, the door was quick to open as he approached, a thin, well-dressed butler greeting him with a sharp look.

"Uh … The Duke of Wallburshare to see Lord and Lady Brisby," Henry muttered, finding himself at odds with how unrecognizable he seemed to be.

"Are the Lord and Lady expecting you, Your Grace?" the butler asked blandly, seemingly unimpressed with Henry's greeting.

Henry fought a wince. "No, I don't believe they are."

Would it matter? What was he to do if they had absconded back to London since she'd confronted Josephine?

The butler eyed him for a moment, his grey eyes sweeping behind him to his carriage before he nodded and stepped back. "If you'll follow me, Your Grace."

So still in attendance then.

Henry breathed a silent sigh of relief, following the butler into the home.

And that sigh of relief turned into a quick inhale of surprise as he took in his surroundings.

Gold and brocade items seemed to cover every square inch of the manor, fine silks on display even just in the entryway along with decorations that seemed more suitable for a palace than a country estate. It was opulent and lavish, and Henry felt suddenly under-dressed following their butler through the hall towards a room sitting off to one side.

"Can I get you anything before I announce you, Your Grace?" the butler asked, a note of disinterest stealing into his words as he half-bowed in the doorway as Henry walked uncertainty into the sitting room he'd been shown.

"Ah, no, thank you," Henry muttered, already looking around once more in awe.

The sitting room was even more lavish than the entryway and hall had been. Henry knew for a fact that the paintings on the wall cost more than his produce bills for a month, if not three.

How did John afford such a lifestyle?

He was titled, to be sure – but Henry didn't recall his family having acquired any sudden fortune that he had heard of. And he knew for a fact that it hadn't been through Catherine's family.

He paused before a large crystal vase, his eyebrows lifting to see the intricate detail inlaid into the object.

"I see you're admiring my latest acquisition," a familiar voice greeted him after a moment.

Henry turned in surprise as Catherine stole into the room, shutting the door after her and smiling wide and warmly at him.

"I was," Henry admitted, clearing his throat and glancing to the short door with no small measure of apprehension.

"Showing up with no notice," Catherine teased, a pleased look filling her features as she crossed the room to stand in front of Henry with no apparent sign of knowing why he had come. "I am very glad to see you though, Henry, however unexpected."

Her words weren't inappropriate in the slightest, though the way she spoke them was enough to send a sliver of discomfort down Henry's spine. She looked up at him coquettishly, her smile growing with each word, her voice dropping in places that changed the tone of what she said entirely.

As if he had come to visit her led by passion.

"I do apologize for the lack of notice," Henry murmured somewhat more stiffly than he would have liked. "I had been hoping to see you and John …"

Catherine's pleased expression flickered, her eyes narrowing slightly before her smile was pasted almost immediately back in place. "John prefers London, Henry. I just told you that the other day. My husband and his preferences." Her laugh was short and bitter, her fingers flicking as if to dismiss the topic entirely.

"Ah, yes. Well–"

"His mistresses," Catherine continued frankly, finally saying aloud what she had been alluding to since last they met. "They're always in London, you know. And his preference for them is the entire reason I've remained so barren."

Henry was struck mute.

He didn't know what to say in the face of her candour about such a subject, the bluntness of her words catching him off guard and momentarily making him forget why he had come in the first place.

She sounded bitter talking about John's mistresses. More than bitter. She sounded … barren just like she had said. And Henry suddenly realized that maybe more than just one grief had driven her to her recent actions. And maybe that combined grief could explain how over the top and opulent her country home was.

"Have I offended you, Henry?" Catherine almost looked apologetic, her smile softening as she gestured to the loveseat in front of the window. "That wasn't my intention."

Henry cleared his throat, following her and sitting carefully after she did.

"You didn't offend me," he told her honestly. "Surprised, rather."

"By talking so freely of John's exploits? Or by mentioning my lack of children again?"

"Both." Henry felt himself relaxing infinitesimally with the frankness of their conversation. She wasn't batting her eyelashes at him or selling herself like some sow on a shelf for him to pay for. She was just speaking to him, laying out her scars like one might do with a friend.

And that was so much easier for him to handle.

Grief was a heavy burden.

"After our meeting the other day, I gave our conversation more thought," she admitted. "I realized that maybe we could understand one another better than I had expected."

Henry didn't know how to take that. Not with how she had approached their last two meetings.

"Wanting an heir and being unable to have one is a hard thing," Catherine said softly, a look passing over her features that Henry equally didn't understand before she looked down to where her hands were clasped in her lap.

Henry felt his sympathy deepen.

Catherine had known more loss than almost anyone he knew. Her parents, Martha, her loveless marriage. And the loss of her dream to be a mother as well? He reached out without thinking about it, placing his hand atop hers.

"You could have talked to me about this any time, Catherine. I'm sorry if I made you feel as if you couldn't. After Martha …" he hesitated, his throat tight. "I was so consumed by my own grief I'm afraid I did you a disservice by not being there for you more."

Catherine didn't look up, what looked like tears gathering in her eyes as she turned her hand over to grip his with obviously strong emotion.

"You were grieving," Catherine murmured, finally looking up with a look of such compassion that Henry was almost staggered by it. "We were grieving," she corrected. "Let us agree not to hold it against one another, shall we?"

Relief filled Henry as he nodded. To have her be so understanding and have come to her senses all on her own without his ever having to have discussed it with her was so much more than he could have hoped for.

"Grief makes us do crazy things," he agreed, forgiving her already as he squeezed her hand.

"I told myself that after meeting Lady Josephine." Catherine half-laughed. "I never imagined …"

"No, no," Henry held up a hand, stopping her from having to apologize again. "Give that no more thought, Catherine."

Her eyes shone as she smiled at him, her body shifting as she leaned forward.

"I know I already said as much, but I am really terribly glad you came by," she breathed, her eyes misting again.

Henry could only squeeze her hand. At least until she let his go.

Without a word, she scooted closer on the loveseat, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him to her in a hug.

It was unexpected. And uncomfortable, but Henry wrapped his arms around her all the same, hoping to provide the comfort and reassurance she had so obviously needed that he had failed to provide previously.

He couldn't help thinking that maybe if he had, the whole disastrous situation might never have happened beyond just that one scene at Martha's grave.

"I really can't tell you how much it means to me," Catherine whispered, hugging him tighter as she buried her face in his neck.

Henry patted her back awkwardly, trying to find a way to scoot back without offending her.

"I should have been there for you before, Catherine. I can only attempt to make up for that error by being there now–" he cut off as something warm pressed against his neck, his whole body stiffening as Catherine wormed her way further into his arms.

Her lips.

She was kissing his neck!

"Catherine!"

He didn't bother with trying to extricate himself gently then, jumping up from where he had been sitting and stepping several steps back in quick succession as he quickly put as much distance as he could between them.

"Henry, you just said–"

"You are married, Catherine!"

Her expression shifted, the hurt and surprise morphing into something ugly and fierce. Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flaring as she huffed. "And?" she demanded angrily. "So is he? Does that stop him from having his dalliances and indulging his desires?"

Henry didn't have an answer for that.

He knew far too many couples among the ton chose to turn a blind eye to such things.

"I am engaged," he reminded her tartly, trying to curtail his anger before it could overtake him.

"And we just discussed that," Catherine snapped. "You told me to think of it no longer!"

"I told you that you didn't need to feel guilty concerning it any longer," Henry argued, confusion filling him. "When you went to apologize–"

"Apologize?" Catherine laughed. "Ah, the girl complained to you, did she? I wasn't going to apologize. You were the one who was apologizing!"

Henry took a quick step back as Catherine stood, wary of her in a way he had never imagined possible.

"What would I have to apologize for, Catherine?"

"Becoming engaged to that Josephine girl," Catherine murmured, her mask of frailty and charm falling back into place once more. "Henry, please. Surely you realize that I would be a better match for you?"

"You're married," Henry reminded her again, coming up short of anything else to dissuade her. "There is no match to be made with a married woman."

That seemed to stop her, her expression growing thoughtful as she moved slowly forward. "A mistress then," Catherine whispered. "People do it all the time, Henry. You and I– our connection transcends mortal laws and convention. Marry that Josephine girl. I'll stay in my marriage. But we can still be together. I can still carry your children and–"

"Catherine!"

Henry back-pedalled as she moved forward again, a sultry sway of her hips making her intentions clear.

"I don't know what gave you any indication that I would be party to such a thing," he said stiffly, opening the sitting room door with a flourish as he backed up to it so as to remove any pretence of privacy. Or at least try to. "I can appreciate your grief. I can appreciate your situation. But I cannot stand for you insulting both me and my future wife. Josephine is to be my bride. You will not approach her again. You will not threaten her."

Catherine's mask almost slipped again, her lips thinning out as she stared at Henry as if she couldn't grasp what he was saying.

"Henry," she tried plaintively again, reaching out as if to pull him back to her.

He didn't back away that time, but nor did he move towards her, his feet stuck to the floor as her face fell upon realizing that he wouldn't be cajoled back into closeness.

She moved quicker than he anticipated, throwing herself at him again as if she meant to wrap herself around him, and Henry sidestepped her just a moment before she might have succeeded.

"Catherine," he snapped, his patience coming to an end as he took her by both shoulders and moved her to the side. "I am not going to betray Josephine."

He could see her readiness to argue, her expression determined, but he pushed forward regardless.

"Martha would be ashamed of you," he ground out, hating how low a blow it was but knowing it needed to be said.

But Catherine didn't flinch at the words.

She barely looked bothered at all.

It wasn't until he pried her hands from his wrists and stepped out of the sitting room to leave that the fight finally bled out of her.

It was like watching all the wine leak out of a wineskin.

She fell to her knees as he turned, tears falling from the corners of her eyes as he turned fully from her.

"Henry," she begged, hiccupping over his name.

He didn't turn. He couldn't. As angry as he was, she was still Martha's sister. The only thing that saved her from him having said worse.

"Henry!" she screamed, her voice breaking over his name as he rushed from the estate as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Her scream echoed in his head even as he climbed back into his carriage, his thoughts a jumbled mess from everything that had transpired over the last half hour.

He had expected difficulty, but not that.

There was no hope of reconciliation left. No possibility of whatever familial bond there once might have been being reclaimed.

As his carriage carried him away from the Brisby estate, he knew he was closing the final chapter on that part of his life. The last living line to Martha.

And he didn't know whether to be more disappointed or relieved that he was doing so after everything Catherine had done.