Page 51 of Kathryn

The dowager clapped her hands in delight.

Gerrit could not help noticing how soothing his wife’s low-pitched voice and throaty chuckle was in comparison to his mother’s high-pitched twittering and giggling.

He tamped down his irritation and closed the distance between them, holding out his hand before his mother could fling her small body into his arms.

The dowager turned away from Kathryn with obvious reluctance, her smile becoming guarded when she met Gerrit’s gaze. She held out a hand with a tentativeness that both irked and pained him. As always, his mother elicited a flood of confusing, unwanted emotions in his breast simply by existing.

Gerrit bowed over her small, cold hand and released her with more haste than courtesy. “What a surprise to see you here, Your Grace.”

She flinched at his chilly greeting, her foolish smile faltering. “I wanted to welcome my new daughter into our family.” She paused, her smile turning a bit sour, the expression accentuating the lines that bracketed her mouth and making her look her age. “As I received no invitation to the wedding.”

Gerrit had no intention of discussing his decision not to invite her, certainly not in front of Kathryn and all his servants.

“But I am delighted to be here now,” she hastily added, reading his thoughts clearly enough. She held out her hand to Kathryn. “Come, come. It is too late to meet all the servants tonight. I will show you to your chambers. I’m sure you would adore a tray in your room after you’ve had a chance to wash the dust off, wouldn’t you? Don’t you just abhor traveling? I have always—”

Her voice faded away as she disappeared into the house, towing Kathryn behind her.

A throat cleared behind him, and Gerrit turned to find Cranston, his butler, waiting for him. “Er, welcome home, Your Grace.”

“Tell me the worst of it, Cranston,” he ordered, and then felt a pang of remorse when the old man jolted.

“As you instructed in your letter, I had the Rose suite prepared. But when Her Grace arrived, she instructed me to have the master and mistress chambers stripped, aired, and new hangings and carpets installed.”

Gerrit gritted his teeth to keep from howling. After all, it was hardly his butler’s job to argue with his mother. “How long has she been here?”

“Ten days, Your Grace.”

She must have come directly from Spenwood after he’d sent a messenger informing her of his impending marriage. Gerrit could almost imagine the struggle that would have gone on in her flighty head as she’d considered disobeying him and traveling to London to attend the wedding. He tried to be grateful he had, at least, been spared that unpleasant drama.

“I wanted to write to you, Your Grace,” Cranston said in a shaky voice. “But Her Grace commanded me to keep her arrival a secret. Er, she wanted it to be a surprise.”

Gerrit met Cranston’s watery blue eyes, and the older man winced.

“None of this is your fault. I know you could hardly disobey a direct order.”

Cranston’s erect shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“You said she wanted the master and mistress chambers prepared. What did she do with all my father’s things?”

“I had it all carefully packed and moved to the Yellow Suite.” He paused and added, “I suggested to Her Grace you would not wish to have your possessions transferred to the master suite, but she was most adamant and—”

“She overrode you,” he finished for the other man, pleased when his anger at his mother did not bleed into his voice.

“Just so, Your Grace,” the older man murmured. “I—I attempted to dissuade Her Grace from moving your things, but—”

“I can imagine,” Gerrit interrupted, not wanting to hear the gory details of what his mother had managed to effect in ten entire days. His feet felt rooted to the gravel drive, and he could not make them move—at least not in the direction of the house and whatever horror awaited him there.

“Go inside,” he told the older man. “I will be in shortly.”

Cranston hesitated, his face a mask of remorse that even Gerrit could read.

“You have done nothing wrong, Cranston.”

The older man did not look convinced but inclined his head. “Will you have your usual tea in the library?”

“Yes, in the library in an hour—” He broke off. “Unless she—”

“Her Grace did not touch the library,” Cranston hastily assured him.