Cathy’s quill stopped moving.
“What kiss?” she said, after a beat that was precisely one beat too long.
“You have been like this since the morning after the wedding breakfast,” Madeline said gently. “I know you, Cathy. I have known you my entire life. You are not merely worried about wheat tithes. I can tell that something happened between you.”
Cathy set her quill down. She pressed her ink-stained fingers flat against the table and looked at her sister for a long moment. Madeline’s face was open and warm and utterly without judgment, which was somehow the most difficult thing to face.
“I told him I felt nothing,” she said at last.
Madeline blinked. “Was that true?”
“It was practical,” Cathy said.
“That is not what I asked.”
Cathy stood, her height filling the small room. She began organizing her papers. “It does not matter what I felt. What matters is what I know. And what I know is this: men like Tristan are only satisfied with the thrill of the chase. The moment the pursuit ends, so does the interest. I have watched Papa chase the bottom of a bottle his entire life. I have watched him pursue one bad decision after another with great enthusiasm and no follow-through whatsoever. I will not be another thing a man picks up and puts down when it no longer amuses him.”
“The Duke is not Papa,” Madeline said quietly.
“No,” Cathy agreed, stacking the last of her ledgers. “He is more charming, which makes him considerably more—”
The door swung open. Lady Marlow swept in, her cane striking the floor in its familiar rhythm. Lord Marlow shuffled in behind her, Napoleon draped across his arms, his ear trumpet dangling from his coat pocket.
“I could hear that name from the hallway,” Lady Marlow announced, settling herself into the nearest chair as if she had always intended to be there. “I will not have it in my drawing room. I have had quite enough of Harleigh Quinten to last several lifetimes, and I intend to spend whatever years remain to me in blissful ignorance of his whereabouts and activities.”
“We were not speaking of Papa, Grandmama,” Madeline offered carefully.
Lady Marlow’s eyes swept the room and landed on Cathy’s ink-stained fingers, the untouched tea, and the too-composed expression on her face.
“Who are we speaking of, then?” Lord Marlow asked pleasantly, settling into the armchair by the window. Napoleon immediately made himself comfortable and began to purr with great self-importance. “Did someone say something about cake? I would not say no to a slice.”
“Nobody said cake, Norman,” Lady Marlow said into his trumpet.
“Lake?” He brightened considerably. “Splendid idea. A bit cold for it, but I have bathed in worse conditions. There was a river in Portugal in December of ought-two that would have—”
“Grandpapa,” Cathy interrupted gently. “We were speaking of the Duke.”
“The cook?” Lord Marlow looked delighted. “Excellent fellow. Does something remarkable with a pheasant. You are a lucky girl, Cathy.”
“The Duke,” Lady Marlow repeated loudly into the trumpet. “Her husband. The Duke of Baxter.”
“Ah.” Lord Marlow nodded sagely. “Is he giving you grief, my dear?”
“No, Grandpapa,” Cathy said. “Everything is perfectly fine.”
“Napoleon also says everything is perfectly fine when he has done something terrible,” he observed mildly. “Usually just before we discover what it was.”
Lady Marlow made a sound that might, in a less composed woman, have been a snort.
“What your grandfather means,” she said, smoothing her skirts, “is that you may tell us it is fine as many times as you wish. We are old, not foolish. Though I am not sure I can say that for your grandfather.” She met Cathy’s eyes. “You chose duty over everything else for your entire life. There is no shame in occasionally choosing something else.”
“I am choosing duty now,” Cathy said quietly.
“Yes,” her grandmother agreed. “So I see.”
Silence settled over the room. Even Portia had given up the pretense of reading.
Cathy kissed her grandfather on his weathered cheek, then her grandmother’s, then Madeline’s forehead. She gathered herledgers, tucked them under her arm, and made for the door.