Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

C atherine sat on the window ledge in her room, staring out at the busy streets of London unseeingly.

For the better part of the week, she had been fixated on what happened that night over a week ago, on how she had seen a very different side of Richard—a very angry side.

She had known that Richard carried serious trauma from his mother's abandonment and love scandal, which had plagued him most of his life, but she had not really comprehended the depth of his pain and how deeply it had eaten at him and shaped him into the man he was today—a strong, kind gentleman who believed women were not to be trusted and had a strong aversion to commitment.

After he had lashed out at her and left with Emmy, she had stood there for quite a while, shocked by the events of the last hour, how she had gone from just helping a friend to becoming the villain, even though a part of her recognized that he had lashed out at her in a bid to ease some of his pain. She saw how his eyes flashed and his body trembled with barely contained rage, and in some part of her heart, she felt pity and compassion for him because no matter her parents' fault, they had not managed to cause such damage as to turn their children into giant balls of fury, irrevocably changing them.

She also believed that the woman sitting on the ground, weeping, deserved very little pity from her because she had managed to break a whole family in her selfish pursuit of pleasure.

Now that Catherine thought about it, the Dowager Duchess had indirectly contributed to her emotional turmoil because her actions had turned an innocent, trusting child into a distrustful young man, and for that, Catherine did not truly believe that there was much the Dowager Duchess could do to make up for that. So she had left, walking until she found a hackney to take her home so she could process her thoughts.

Catherine looked up when her mother stepped into the room. The pointed look her mother gave the covered plate still sitting on the table in the center of the room reminded her that she had not eaten her breakfast since her maid brought it up.

"Mother, I will eat the food now. I just had something to do. I will eat now, you don't need to worry," she said, getting up and moving to the table.

She had hoped her mother would leave her alone after that. Instead, her mother closed the door behind her, walked to the bed, sat on it, and motioned for her to sit beside her.

Catherine hesitated but went over to sit beside her, and then turned slightly and gave her an expectant look. It was a rare occurrence for her mother to call her to sit for a discussion, so her hackles were a little raised, but she tried to keep an open mind.

"Is there any problem, Mother?" Catherine asked expectantly.

"Yes, there is. You, my darling, have been withdrawn lately. You hardly join us downstairs for breakfast or dinner, and the few times I check on you, I find you lost in thought, forgetting to eat sometimes. I know something is wrong, and I would be grateful if you could tell me what it is. Two heads are truly better than one sometimes," the Viscountess said with an encouraging smile.

"Nothing is wrong, Mother. I just have been slightly unwell, but I am recovering. Do not worry," Catherine replied dismissively.

Her mother gave her a droll look that told her she did not believe her. "Catherine Burlow, you seem to forget that I am your mother, and while I am aware we might not have the closest relationship, I do know when you are not being completely honest with me. Something is up, and I would wager it has something to do with matters of the heart." She fixed her with a pointed look that dared her to deny her statement.

"There is someone," Catherine started haltingly, but the encouraging smile on her mother's face pushed her to continue. "I met him in one of the balls. He is kind, tall, and if I do say so… handsome." Her face flushed with embarrassment.

"That is excellent! You seem to have developed a tendre for this mysterious gentleman, so I fail to see the problem. Does he not reciprocate your feelings?"

"I believe he does, but he is not interested in marriage, and frankly, I am not looking for a love match. I would prefer a sensible match with a respectable and responsible gentleman."

"Who says you cannot have it both? A responsible man who you have feelings for. Besides, if my guess is correct, I would venture to say that your mysterious gentleman is none other than the Duke of St. George."

At the mention of that name, Catherine's head jerked upwards with a shock that she fought to conceal with outrage.

"Why would you think I have developed feelings for Richard? It is a widely known fact that he is a rake of the highest order."

At that, her mother just gave her an amused smile. "Child," she said, taking her hands in her own. "You and I both know that his status as a rake has no bearing on your feelings for him because the heart, my dear, chooses who it wants no matter how we fight it."

"And," she added when Catherine shook her head in denial, "don't bother to deny that the Duke is the topic of this discussion because I am your mother, and beyond that, I am sure half of the ton must have guessed your relationship, going by the calf-eyed looks you exchange when you are convinced no one is looking."

"You love this man," she continued in a mellow voice. "I fail to see why you would want a sensible, loveless marriage when you can have a lovely one with a person you genuinely love and respect."

"Unfortunately, Mother, I do not desire a love match. I want a peaceful home, devoid of conflict, with a calm partner who is not overwrought by emotions that result from being in love," Catherine said drily.

Silence fell over them, and Catherine could guess that her veiled reference to her parents' marriage did not fly over her mother's head. Jemima Burlow might be impetuous and hot-headed, but one thing she was not was stupid.

"Darling," she murmured, "look at me."

When Catherine raised her head to look into her mother's eyes, she did not notice any sign of censorship in them.

"I am sorry," the Viscountess continued. "I am immensely mortified that our spats have given you a bad view of marriage. Even when you were much younger, you had always been so strong, surviving and thriving on your own while we were distracted. I realize now that it was not fair to you to force you to raise yourself and your siblings. I know that the damage has been done, but, darling, love is beautiful. At the beginning of our marriage, your father and I were so happy—we were inseparable." Her eyes took on a dreamy look, and a reminiscing smile touched her lips.

"Over time—and I am ashamed to say this—we soon realized that we were two different people with very strong opinions about everything. While that fact did not diminish our love for each other, we quarreled like children just out of the schoolroom. It soon became a game to know who apologized first, and I must admit I loved those games." Her smile faded to be replaced by a sober look.

"But I realized we neglected you and your siblings in favor of remaining eternal newlyweds with no responsibilities, and it has made you skeptical about love. But it is worth it. I bet my life on it."

"Mother, I love you, and I know that your and Father's love is rare, but what I feel for Richard… it is dangerous." Catherine forced a smile. "Besides, I already have a good suitor. Lord Livingston is the perfect gentleman, and if he proposes to me, I will wholeheartedly accept. He is kind, good-looking, cool-headed, and most importantly, he cares for me. He would make a good father."

"Yes, he might make a good father, but is he the right husband for you?"

With that cryptic question, her mother stood up, patted her shoulder, and then headed out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click, leaving her to her thoughts.

Richard looked up from the ledger he had been scrutinizing for the better part of an hour when he heard a knock on his study door.

"You may come in," he called out, closing the ledger. He might as well put it away, seeing as he had spent the better part of the last hour staring at the same column of numbers without any hope of comprehending it.

The door opened to admit the butler.

"What is it, James?" he asked expectantly.

"You have a guest, Your Grace," the butler announced.

"Inform them that I am not home. I am in no state of mind to receive guests at this time," Richard said dismissively, turning back to open the ledger.

He waited for the sound of the butler leaving, but when it did not come, he looked up to see that the butler was still standing in the doorway, staring at him with a flustered expression.

"What is it?" he asked, feeling slightly annoyed.

"The guest is actually a woman, Your Grace, and she is veiled," the butler answered.

The mention of a veil intrigued Richard, and he did not care to examine that feeling because a part of him hoped that she might be Catherine. He blamed his numerous daydreams for that thought.

Making sure to keep his expression neutral, he said, "Send her in."

Several moments later, a tall, veiled figure stepped into the study. The figure was obviously a woman's, going by the curves and the satin, but the height was wrong, and Richard could see a strand of blonde hair that escaped the veil. The sight of that familiar color sent a shiver down his spine.

His hunch was proved right when the woman removed the veil to reveal a weathered face surrounded by blonde curls. It was the Dowager Duchess, the woman also known as his mother.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, feeling the familiar rage rise in his chest. "You really must be fearless to come here, considering the warning I gave you the last time we met, Madam," he sneered.

A slight gasp was the only reaction that indicated his mother had heard him, but she remained standing in the middle of his study, her head held high, daring him to continue. He must admit that he admired her confidence and bravery, but that did not mean he did not still harbor great anger towards her.

"Madam, for my sanity and yours, I would request that you leave."

"Richie, Son—" the Dowager Duchess started.

Richard raised a hand, interrupting her. "It is ‘Duke' to you, Madam. I hardly think we are acquainted enough for us to be on a first-name basis. For the preservation of your dignity and mine, I ask that you leave. I would hate to order the footmen to forcibly remove you from these premises, Duchess or not."

At that moment, the door opened to admit Emmy.

"Brother, what is all this commotion about?" she asked. But when she noticed their mother standing there, her expression warmed. "You are already here, Mother. Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable," she said, indicating the sofa.

"Emmy," Richard interjected, "I don't think that would be necessary. The Dowager Duchess was just about to leave, seeing as her presence here is not needed."

"Well, she cannot leave," Emmy scoffed, her voice brimming with defiance. "She is my guest, so I have the right to entertain her however I want to. She had not accomplished what she had come here for, so she cannot leave."

"I am the head of this household!" Richard thundered. "I decide who stays and who goes, and this woman"—he pointed an accusatory finger at his mother—"cannot be here. I forbid it!"

"Richard, could you calm down and listen? We could just give her the benefit of the doubt. I don't know about you, but I have lived in bitterness long enough to decide that I no longer want to be part of it. This might be our only chance to pursue happiness. Would you really throw it all away simply because of anger?"

"I am not interested in pursuing any peace that might mean this woman would live under my roof. She has to leave."

"Well, you leave me no choice, Brother. If she leaves, I leave as well. I would love to see you thrive with no family surrounding you," Emmy said, folding her arms over her chest.

Her posture reminded him of the younger version of her when she wanted to throw a tantrum. It just lacked the stomping of her feet.

Seeing the defiant look on her face seemed to cool his decade-old anger until he felt exhausted. He had carried this hatred in his heart for years and had watched it destroy him and his family. It was fast on its way to destroying his bond with Emmy, the person he cared about most in the world. This fact made him wonder if it was worth it to hold on to that poison while its source led a better, happier life.

Maybe a talk with the Dowager Duchess might be a step in the right direction towards healing for both himself and his beloved sister. He was going to borrow a page from his sister's book and give his mother the benefit of the doubt.

He owed his sister that, at least.