Page 12 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke (The Marlow Family Secrets #6)

Her hands hovered as though she wished to reach out and take the parcels back, but he would not allow it.

‘Katherine, is something wrong?’

Her eyes widened. ‘No.’

‘And you and the reverend, what—’ He could not leave it alone.

‘Please, Your Grace, John, do not…’

Her lack of an answer told him there was something to be said. Yet if that were so, why had she let him kiss her, and kissed him back? ‘Do not what, Kate?’ Her company gave John peace, and peace was much coveted in his current life, he was not willing to relinquish it.

His question was answered by a chiming bell. ‘Hello, Your Grace.’ Her mother had chosen that moment to leave the shop and set the bell above the door ringing

John had never liked Phillip’s mother.

‘Good day, Your Grace.’

Nor his youngest sister.

Both women lowered into deep but brief curtsies.

John’s innards hardened to stone at their fawning. Based on the smile she gave him, while her mother had lowered her head, Kate’s sister had become a money-grabbing, scheming female. He did not see that in Kate.

‘Katherine, you should have called us,’ her mother said as she rose from her curtsy.

Conveniently, John’s groom arrived. Ignoring the women, John instructed him, ‘Take these parcels to the Spencers’ groom at the livery.’

John’s groom took the packages, bowed and turned away. ‘There is another here.’ Mrs Spencer stopped him.

John felt a rush of irritation. She was taking his assistance for granted, as if it was her right to have his help.

It was not. But then this is what came of showing a preference when you were a duke.

He had favoured her son in the past and she thought even then it entitled her to invitations and preference with his grandfather. He had tolerated her. John would not.

‘Your Grace, you have not met Jennifer since she was young.’

His eyes turned to the younger of Phillip’s sisters. Like John’s siblings, Jenny was much younger.

‘Your Grace,’ Jenny stated again, offering her hand as though he would want to take it.

He accepted it, only because she was Katherine’s and Phillip’s little sister, held it for a moment then let go.

‘Are you in town for long, Your Grace?’ the girl asked as if she knew him.

‘We are on our way to the inn for refreshments if you would care to join us?’ Mrs Spencer added.

He did not care to. Had it been Katherine alone… But she stood mute beside him, staring at the pavement, her face largely hidden by the broad rim of her bonnet.

‘I am afraid I am busy.’

‘That is a shame, Your Grace, but you must come to Jenny’s party. It is her coming out ball, here, at the assembly rooms, two weeks today. Shall I send an invitation? Will you attend, Your Grace?’

‘Mama,’ Katherine warned quietly. ‘John is in mourning.’ She had used his given name.

‘I had not forgotten,’ Mrs Spencer snapped back. ‘It will do no harm if he does not dance.’

How presumptuous! Anger struck him again. It was none of her business what he chose to do and not do during mourning.

‘Phillip will be there,’ she said.

Phillip could go hang, but John would attend for Katherine. It would give him the opportunity to enjoy an hour or so in her company.

‘I shall come. Send the invitation. But now I must be getting on.’ He bowed slightly to Katherine’s mother. ‘Mrs Spencer.’

She curtsied.

‘Miss Jennifer.’ He nodded as the girl dropped another deep curtsy, trying to please.

Then he looked at Katherine. ‘Katherine.’ She curtsied, but he caught her hand before she dropped too deep and lifted it to his lips. His kiss pressed onto the same pair of kid leather gloves she had worn at the funeral and in the road the other day.

Her skin coloured up again.

‘Good day, ladies.’ He let Katherine’s hand go.

‘Your Grace,’ her mother and sister replied in unison.

‘Goodbye, John,’ she said.

He returned to the millinery shop an hour later, frustration niggling after none of his suppliers had expressed any inkling of error in Wareham’s work – and did what he should not do.

He had seen the longing in her eyes before he had interrupted her day dream, and he could simply not resist the urge.

* * *

‘Miss, this came an hour ago.’ Hetty, the housemaid, bustled into Katherine’s bedchamber, carrying a large round box, unable to contain her excitement.

‘Mr Castle put it in the scullery and forgot to bring it up. I said to him, how could you forget it when t’is for Miss Katherine, she never gets nothin, do you, miss? ’

Katherine’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Are you certain it is not for Jenny? She and Mama ordered all sorts in Maidstone yesterday.’

‘No, miss, t’is addressed to Miss Katherine Spencer, clear as day.’

Katherine put down the wool stocking she was darning and rose from her chair by the window.

Her mother and sister were not at home. They were calling on those they were inviting to the ball, handing out the invitations personally. Katherine had not been asked to join them.

‘Leave it on the bed, Hetty, and bring the tea up to my room as no one else is in.’

Katherine’s gaze fell to the box when Hetty put it down. Perhaps Phillip had sent her something?

‘I’ll fetch your tea now, miss.’

Hetty left and Katherine walked over to the parcel.

It was tied with string. She pulled the knot loose, excited despite her melancholy mood. Hetty had been right, Katherine was rarely given anything new.

When she lifted the lid her heart leapt. It was the bonnet she had admired in Maidstone the day before.

She lifted it out with shaking fingers. It was beautiful but it could not be from Phillip.

There was a card beneath it.

I saw you staring at this and wish to give you what you desire.

J

He had not! No! He could not have done. How could he? He was so arrogant!

She furiously stuffed the bonnet back into the box. She may be provincial, but she knew a woman should not accept gifts from a man.

If her mother had seen it…

If her father had!

Was his intent to buy her favours? A payment in kind for kisses.

He had risked her reputation by sending this.

Oh, the arrogant, selfish man.

She turned to her small travelling desk, withdrew a quill and paper and sat down to write.

No, thank you, Your Grace. On all accounts, I do not accept.

K

* * *

John stared at the rows of facts and figures in annoyance. There were no anomalies in the ledgers. He could find nothing wrong. Yet something did not stack up. Something must be wrong somewhere; something that would explain the loan and then there was Wareham’s recent behaviour.

This morning the man had come to John with a taunting smile on his face, as if he wished to know if anything had been found in the books and then had gloated over the fact it had not.

He had asked John if he would like to ride along one of the estate’s boundaries.

John had accepted and so endured Wareham’s insolent company for three hours.

After that, John had decided to ask Harvey to employ an investigator and track the loan Wareham had made from the other end, to find out why it had been given.

A light knock hit the sitting room door.

‘Come in,’ John called, glad of the interruption.

‘Your Grace.’ Finch’s deep tone stretched into the room, as a footman entered, bearing a parcel.

John’s brow furrowed and he rose as the footman put the box down.

When the door closed behind the footman and Finch, John undid the string and lifted the lid. It was the bonnet he had sent to Katherine, carelessly thrown atop its wrapping with a scrawled note cast on top of it.

He laughed when he read her words.

No, indeed… The girl amused him. She had not said no to his kisses, and he was not inclined to accept it now. She had liked the bonnet. He wished her to have it. He wanted her to favour him over her reverend.

‘Finch!’ John called.

‘Your Grace?’ The door opened again.

‘I am going out. Have my curricle made ready.’

Half an hour later John drew his curricle to a halt before the Spencers’ small manor house, then looked back at the groom who had accompanied him. The man jumped down from the perch at the rear of the carriage and ran forward to hold the horses’ heads.

John climbed down and lifted the hatbox from the seat.

His heels crunched on the gravel as he crossed the drive to the door.

He felt light-hearted. This amused him.

The door opened immediately and Castle, their butler, greeted John with recognition. ‘Your Grace?’ He bowed. ‘I am afraid Mr and Mrs Spencer are not at home.’

Excellent . John smiled. ‘I have come to call on Miss Katherine Spencer, Castle. Is she home?’

The man’s eyebrows lifted as he looked at the box John carried. Of course, he had probably seen it before.

Well, let the man speculate. Katherine was Phillip’s sister, the gift could be explained away.

‘Will you wait in the parlour, Your Grace?’

John walked along the hall, glancing up the stairs. If she was not in the parlour, she must be up there. He would much rather be going to her chamber to visit her. A sudden image of Katherine, hair tussled, half asleep and languid-eyed, came into his mind.

The butler left John in the small receiving room at the back of the house, with a look of disapproval as he went to fetch Katherine.

John set the hatbox down in an armchair, took off his hat and gloves and left them on top of the box.

The room was decorated in light blue and cream, and was probably the size of Wareham’s office.

A large portrait hung on one wall, Phillip in his wig. John smiled and then looked at the miniatures on another wall, Jennifer, Phillip and Katherine’s parents. There was a later miniature of Jennifer too, probably painted recently. There were no portraits of Katherine.

John walked across the room, his hands settling behind his back and looked through the French door out into the garden.

He felt uncharacteristically nervous.

After a few moments he heard her footsteps on the stairs and then in the hall.

He turned as she entered the room.