LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Ten

      The next morning Katrina was still not fully awake as she sat in the dining room, having breakfast with her father. She took a bite of her toast, and her eyes alighted upon a few sentences in the Morning Chronicle.

      The crunchy bread got stuck in her throat and she began to cough.

      There was an account of an ‘eligible Duke’ dancing with a ‘foreign lady’ at Almack’s. Speculation was that the ‘eligible Duke’ was looking for a bride, and the ‘foreign lady’ was attempting to gain a title.

      Her father handed her his napkin. ‘I was wondering when you would see it. All the newspapers have something to say about your dance. Apparently London has been eagerly awaiting any indication that Lyonsdale is interested in marriage, and if an eligible man attends Almack’s it’s assumed he is in search of a bride. One newspaper speculates that there might be a romance forming between you.’

      ‘But he was there to escort his mother and his grandmother.’

      ‘I doubt he would tell you if he was looking for a bride.’

      Katrina pushed the paper away, feeling unsettled by the attention. ‘Then why dance with me? Obviously I cannot be under consideration.’

      ‘That didn’t stop the rumours that you are searching for a title.’

      ‘I’ve danced with a number of titled gentlemen while we’ve been here. He is not the first one.’

      ‘Yes, but you have not danced with an unattached man of his rank. A duke who never dances the waltz and suddenly does so with you will cause people to speculate.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Why do you think he asked you?’

      That very question had kept her up most of the night, and she still had no answer. She would eventually return to New York, and he would remain in England—probably married to some dull daughter of another duke. Glancing at her toast, Katrina dropped it onto her plate. Her appetite was gone.

      * * *

      The moment Julian entered his breakfast room he knew something was amiss. Apart from the servants his mother was there alone, and there was already a glass of what he assumed was sherry in her hand. Just as he was about to take his first sip of coffee she slid the newspapers closer to him.

      ‘Have you read them yet?’ she asked.

      ‘No. Why?’

      ‘Because you are in all of them. You and that American.’

      The servants didn’t need to witness this discussion. He signalled for them to leave and searched for the gossip column in the paper closest to him.

      ‘What do they say?’

      ‘That you danced with her.’

      It was too early to deal with his mother’s irrational ranting. He pushed the paper aside and took a sip of his coffee. ‘It was only a dance.’

      ‘They are saying you are looking for a bride.’

      ‘That should make you happy.’

      ‘Having every Mayfair mother attempt to shove their daughter your way—hardly. They say she is looking for a title.’

      ‘Miss Vandenberg? They obviously have never spoken to the lady.’

      ‘Careful, Lyonsdale. She may seek to trap you.’

      ‘Miss Vandenberg is the last woman in all of London who would trap me.’

      ‘Then you have no designs on her?’

      ‘Of course not. As I said, it was just a dance.’

      And it was. Wasn’t it?

      * * *

      Later that morning Katrina was composing a letter to her cousin John when she heard a carriage roll to a stop outside her home. Peering through the linen curtains of the drawing room, she tried to see who it was.

      As she shifted her body and tilted her head further Wilkins knocked on the open door to inform her that she had a caller. He seemed to be standing a little taller. When she picked up the card from the silver salver she blinked twice at the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale’s name.

      It could not be a coincidence that she was calling on Katrina the very day the papers had printed gossip about Katrina and the woman’s grandson. If only she had time for a glass of Madeira.

      When the slight old woman slowly entered the room, Katrina dropped into a curtsy and felt the weight of the Dowager’s studied gaze.

      Drawing on her diplomatic experience, Katrina smiled politely. ‘Your Grace, I am honoured by your call.’

      The Dowager’s eyes were sharp and assessing. With a slight lift of her chin, she held herself with a commanding air. ‘Good day, Miss Vandenberg. I wanted to call on you to thank you for your generous gift.’

      At least she hadn’t demanded Katrina leave the country.

      ‘Would you care for some tea?’ Katrina offered, gesturing towards the settee and chairs near the fireplace.

      ‘Tea would be lovely.’ The Dowager perched her small, erect frame on the settee. ‘Shall we wait for your mother?’

      Katrina sat in one of the bergère chairs and nodded to Wilkins for tea. ‘My mother passed away many years ago.’

      The Dowager’s eyes narrowed. ‘My mother died when I was an infant. I have no memory of her.’

      ‘Nor I. Mine died two days after I was born.’

      A look of understanding passed between them.

      The Dowager cleared her throat. ‘I assume your father has hired a companion for you, while you are in London?’

      Katrina shook her head. Her Great-Aunt Augusta, who had been more a mother to her than anyone, had passed away ten months before. She would have accompanied them to London. Having someone else living with them in her place would have been too painful a reminder of her loss.

      ‘He offered, but I declined.’

      ‘That sounds rather lonely.

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