Page 165 of Kathryn

“I received a letter from my mother this morning. She wrote to tell me that he is not at death’s door as he was when she arrived to care for him.”

Katie gave a sigh of relief.

Gerrit laced their fingers together. “I must go to Spenwood and repair what I can, Kathryn.”

“Of course you must!”

He kissed the back of her hand. “And I must apologize to both my mother and—and my father for what I have done and hope they will forgive me.”

Katie suspected neither of his parents needed an apology, but she knew her husband needed to give one. “Of course we must go—immediately.”

“I do not feel right asking you to embroil yourself in this sordid matter.”

She squeezed his big fingers so hard she felt her own bones grinding painfully. “You mean after you stood by me during my sordid matter? Besides, you did nothing wrong, Gerrit. Nothing. All this”—she gestured to the letters— “happened before you were even born. It is time to leave the past behind and mend your relationships with both your mother and father. You cared greatly for him at one time.”

“I cared greatly for both of them.” He grimaced. “I know my mother’s nature is frivolous, but I cannot deny she loves me. As for Helmut…. He spent hours teaching me everything he knew. He is the reason I can shoot and fence and box. My father”—he pulled a pained face. “Lord. How bloody confusing. The duke was not interested in such physical pursuits. He could shoot adequately and handle a sword as well as any gentleman, of course, but he took no pleasure in either activity. It was Helmut who saw that I was able to defend myself against bullies at Eton. Helmut, my mother, and I spent so much time together we were just like a real family, I realize now. He accompanied us when we went riding or when we had picnics or went fishing.” He smiled faintly. “My mother loves to fish—at least she used to—but could never bring herself to bait a hook. Helmut told me that was a man’s job.” His smile faded. “After I caught them together so many of my childhood memories became tainted and ruined.”

“I cannot imagine any child wishes to see such a thing, so it is not to be wondered at.” Katie did not add what she was thinking—that the old duke’s behavior had callously destroyed what must have been a very close mother-son relationship, not to mention Gerrit’s love for his real father.

Gerrit stared at her without speaking, his face the inscrutable mask it often was. Would she ever be able to read him more clearly or know what he was feeling?

And then he opened his mouth and said the last thing she would have expected. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Kathryn.”

Katie’s jaw sagged and she had to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I—you—” she sputtered and then gave a watery chuckle and tried again. “Even better than excavating the largest intact belemnite?”

He gave a startled laugh. “Yes, Kathryn, even better than that.” He released her hand and then, with strength that delighted and aroused her, lifted her bodily onto his lap.

Katie smiled down at him and draped an arm around his shoulders before lightly kissing the tip of his beaky and much beloved nose. “When do we leave for Spenwood, my love?”

Epilogue

Spenwood

Three Months Later

Katie quietly closed the book she’d been reading aloud and set it on the table next to Helmut Berg’s large, overstuffed wingchair. She tiptoed from his private sitting room and closed the door noiselessly behind her. She’d just turned toward the stairs when her mother-in-law’s voice came from behind her.

“Katie!” the older woman chirped. “I was just coming to relieve you.”

Katie raised a finger to her lips. “He is asleep,” she whispered, leading the dowager away from the door before speaking in a normal tone. “He seems much better today, but I thought it best to let him rest whenever he needs it.”

Betje nodded vigorously enough to set the pink bows in her hair—which matched her pink gown—dancing. “That is wise. I’m afraid my reading voice is not nearly so restful as yours.”

It wasn’t the tone of the older woman’s voice that kept poor Helmut’s eyes open but her non-stop chatter; not that he didn’t love it. “Your presence is always a balm to him,” Katie said, which was no more than the truth.

“Oh, you are so kind, my dear. Were you looking for Gerrit? He is in the library with Mr. Turner but should be free within the hour.” Betje looped her arm through Katie’s. “Come and walk with me inside as we cannot enjoy our usual walk in the garden today.” She pulled a face as they strolled past a window that showed a snowy, blustery day outside. “I hate the winters here. I always have.” She smiled. “I am a frivolous creature of spring and summer.”

“Then you should come to Wych House with us when we leave tomorrow—it is not too late to change your mind,” Katie said, issuing the invitation not for the first, or even fifth, time. “Although I cannot guarantee it will not snow there, too,” she added.

“No, no. I could not do that—although I appreciate your invitation to spend Christmas at your family home.” She sighed and gave Katie a beatific smile. “I never even imagined that Helmut and I could go anywhere together as guests rather than mistress and servant.”

“You would both be welcome at any of my sisters’ or brother’s gatherings.” Indeed, several of the Bellamy sisters had some rather unconventional friendships with their husband’s ex-lovers and had invited them to Christmases in the past. None of her siblings or their spouses would judge Betje and Helmut for their love.

“Perhaps next year, if Helmut continues to mend as he has,” Betje said. And then her eyes widened. “Oh, I almost forgot. You will never believe what the vicar said to Mr. Benson!” The dowager proceeded to regale Katie with gossip about her neighbors, most of whom Katie had met over the past three months.

They strolled companionably through the corridors of Spenwood as Betje chattered, but when they entered the gallery, the older woman’s feet stopped in front of the portrait of the last Duke of Dulverton. She wore a fond but sad smile as she regarded her long-dead husband. “They are so alike—all three of them.”

That was an understatement. Katie had seen a painting of the last duke at Briarly, of course, but he had been quite old in that one. This one had been painted when Boon was Gerrit’s age and the resemblance between the two was startling. She’d also seen a miniature of Helmut that Betje kept in her chambers. It had been painted not long after Gerrit was born, when Helmut was five-and-thirty. He bore an almost eerie resemblance to his half-brother and, as Gerrit had said, everyone who saw him would know he was related to the old duke.