‘You need to move it more to the left.’
The footmen rehanging the massive painting shifted it according to Julian’s direction. He leaned against the wall opposite where they were hanging the portrait of the Fifth Duke and sipped his coffee. He had been having breakfast in his bedchamber when Reynolds had arrived to inform him the portrait had been located. Eager to see his mysterious ancestor, Julian had left his untouched plate and met him in the gallery.
This painting stood out from the others. It showed a man standing tall in a country setting, with a hooded falcon perched on his gloved hand. He looked out at the viewer with the expression of a man who enjoyed life. Julian almost smiled at the notion that Katrina probably wouldn’t have minded having him at her dinner table.
One of the hardest things he had ever done was leaving her in Hart’s carriage last night to go and find Miss Forrester. If he could have had his way, he would have spirited her off to his home and tucked her into his bed, where he would have been able to hold her in his arms for days. But it had not escaped his notice that she had not wanted his comfort. His heart ached unbearably.
During his ride home from the ball, Helena’s words played over in his head.
‘You are free to choose the life you want. You have everything.’
He didn’t have everything. He didn’t have Katrina. And she was more important to him than anything else. One day he would close his eyes for the last time, and deep down he knew he would still be thinking about her. Was that the life he wanted? A life of sadness and regret?
It was time for him to live his own life and not an imitation of his father’s. His mother was wrong. He deserved more than contentment. He deserved to be happy. It was time he wrote his own story of what made a man an honourable duke.
‘Reynolds told me I would find you here,’ his mother said, marching into the gallery and eyeing the footmen with a perplexed expression.
He dismissed the servants as she approached his side, dressed for an outing.
‘You’re venturing out early today, I see,’ he remarked.
‘The renovations are complete. I want to inspect my home before I have my things moved back tomorrow,’ she said, adjusting her gloves. ‘I assume you have heard the news about your old friend?’
Julian closed his eyes and let out a resigned breath. ‘What has Hart done now?’
Her forehead creased before she caught herself and relaxed her features. ‘Not him. Lady Wentworth.’ The crease in her forehead was back. ‘Did you not read the papers this morning?’
He shook his head. It was the first day in ages he had not. He had been too busy resurrecting the Fifth Duke. His stomach bottomed out. He had planned to speak with someone about pushing for her debts to be called in today.
‘She was found in her home late last night. She poisoned herself. The papers are saying she could barely pay her bills. The servants confirmed it.’
His blood ran cold. So this was how things would end between them. ‘Was there a note?’
His mother shook her head. ‘The papers didn’t mention one.’
Part of him knew he should feel some sympathy for her, but after having a gun pointed at his head and knowing what she had planned to do with Katrina, he felt nothing but relief.
Next to him, his mother turned and studied the portrait of the Fifth Duke, now hanging where it belonged. ‘Where did that come from?’
He welcomed the change in subject. ‘The attic.’
‘Is that the Fifth Duke?’
‘It is.’
She turned to Julian and eyed him up and down. ‘There is a striking resemblance between the two of you.’
Was there? The shape and colour of the eyes were similar, as was the shade and wave of the man’s hair. He had a square jaw, and his aquiline nose seemed to possess the same small bump in the middle that Julian knew his had. Now that she mentioned it, he could see the resemblance.
‘Why is he here? He is not fit to hang with the others.’
Julian took a slow sip of his coffee. ‘I think he is.’
The Fifth Duke had been on Julian’s mind since Katrina had asked about him. He wasn’t sure what the man had done, since there was no reference to him in the family history. Perhaps he had simply lived a good life in the country, taking care of his estates and the people who lived on them. A man could be a good duke without needing the world to tell him he was.
Winter was right. He was not a party of one man. Others shared his political and ethical beliefs. Together they were stronger than one man alone. If he could share his knowledge and write impassioned speeches, did it really matter who said the words to get the votes they needed? And it truly was in Britain’s best interest to improve its relationship with America. There were others who believed that as well. He recalled Hart telling him that Julian’s great achievement might be to aid in improving relations between the countries.
He wasn’t certain if he was simply convincing himself of this to justify marrying Katrina, or because it was true. What he did know, without a doubt, was that he would place his need to be with her above everything else. He was a duke of England, but life was fleeting—it was time he took what he wanted!
‘There is something you should know,’ he said to his mother, who was staring at him with trepidation.
‘Why do I believe I will not approve of what it is you have to say?’
‘I will be asking for Miss Vandenberg’s hand today. God willing, she will accept.’
His mother blanched. ‘You can’t mean that. She is an American. She has no understanding of what it means to be a duchess.’
‘You told me you would defer to me on who I choose to marry.’
His normally aloof mother shook with anger. ‘Yes, but that was when I was certain you would be choosing Lady Mary! You assured me that caricature was a political satire and nothing more.’
‘Miss Vandenberg is an intelligent, charming woman who is the daughter of a diplomat. She would make an excellent choice for my duchess.’
‘Have you gone mad? Your father would never have approved of her. He understood what was expected of your title. That was why he chose Emma for you. You are Lyonsdale. Miss Vandenberg’s family isn’t even English! Your ancestors fought alongside Kings and served in the courts of many of our monarchs. She comes from a family of shipyard owners, and her father writes novels. What honour is there in that?’
Julian placed his cup down on the nearby window ledge and tried to steady his anger. ‘She will bear my heir if I decide that is what I wish. I suggest, madam, that you remember I am the head of this family. I will no longer tolerate your interference with my life.’
‘You will lose the respect of influential men, and people will mock you behind your back,’ seethed his mother.
Not everyone would feel that way—although he knew there were men who would be angry with him for choosing to marry an American over their very suitable daughters. ‘I can manage the ton.’
She placed her hand on her stomach and seemed to labour for breath. ‘If you do this there will be no turning back.’
He didn’t want to turn back. Behind him were the choices he had made about Katrina that he wasn’t proud of. He prayed she would find it in her heart to forgive him.
* * *
Hours later, Julian stood on the steps of Katrina’s home, staring at the round brass knocker and wondering for the tenth time if he would be received. He was a duke from one of the most respected families in the realm. However, he wasn’t certain that would make much of a difference this morning