The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(47)

He cleared his throat. “I feel as though I should mention that I consider you a friend and only a friend.”

Was he . . . ? Oh, goodness. “I’m not angling to become your duchess, Lockwood.”

He visibly relaxed next to her. “That is a relief. As pleasant as I find your company, I’ve sworn off your little circle of friends.”

Right, because of Maddie and Alice. “Totally understandable, and I should mention I abhor England. I’d never wish to live there. No, I’m good right here in New York.”

“I apologize for misreading the situation. I merely needed to be certain.”

Because he’d misread two situations recently. She understood. “You are the catch of the season, after all. It stands to reason that every available girl here is angling to get to you.”

“Not every available girl,” he murmured.

This was interesting. “Who?” Katherine couldn’t help but ask. “Do I know her?”

“Let’s move on from this boring topic,” Lockwood said. “How go your plans for the museum?”

Fine, except there seemed to be the pesky issue of who actually owned the land.

Katherine began filling Lockwood in on firing the first architect and her search for another.

“There’s a fellow Brit here,” the duke said. “I’ve known her for years. She’s an accomplished architect. I’d be more than happy to make the introduction for you.”

“She?”

“Of course. You’ve heard of the Mansfield Hotel? His wife, Mrs. Phillip Mansfield, designed it. Along with other buildings on the East Coast.”

A female architect? Katherine would love that. She wouldn’t have to worry about any more condescending looks from men who thought she couldn’t handle this project. And the Mansfield Hotel was one of the nicest in the city. “Would you? I would appreciate it.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you.” She couldn’t help but return to the subject of marriage. His situation was so unique and fascinating—and a bit sad. “Does it ever bother you that you cannot marry anyone you wish?”

A shadow passed behind his beautiful eyes. “It doesn’t matter. The title is greater than any one man.”

“Sounds as if you’ve heard that line a time or two. Or ten.”

“You’d be right. My father said it, and my grandfather before him.”

“Well, I think it sounds lonely.”

“No need to feel sorry for me. I have a life of unbelievable privilege. And I take the responsibilities very seriously.”

Suddenly a familiar rider drew closer from the opposite direction. Was that . . . Daddy? Indeed, it was her father, perched atop his favorite stallion, riding next to Mrs. Whittier, Katherine’s mother’s best friend. Katherine sat up straighter, ready to get their attention.

“Is that your father?” Lockwood asked.

“Yes. The woman with him is Mrs. Whittier, my mother’s closest friend while she was still alive.”

“We should say hello.”

Katherine opened her mouth to call out . . . just as her father picked up Mrs. Whittier’s hand and brought it to his mouth. Eyelids sweeping closed, he kissed the inside of the other woman’s wrist, and the gesture could only be described as loving and tender. Intimate.

Katherine blinked, thoroughly confused. Wait, was her father romantically involved with another woman? And Mama’s best friend?

The couple continued along the path, unaware of anyone else around them, and Katherine’s stomach cramped with uncertainty and confusion. This didn’t make any sense. Mama and Mrs. Whittier had been extremely close. Katherine could remember their visits, the house ringing with their laughter, before her mother grew ill. The two women had gone to finishing school together, friends since before their debuts.

Her father . . . was seeing another woman.

How had this happened? More importantly, when? Had Mrs. Whittier accompanied him on his long trips recently? Had she gone to Scotland with Daddy last year? Then a sickening thought occurred. Had their relationship started before Mama died?

She stared off into the trees, not truly seeing them, while pain scalded her chest. She could hardly breathe. And here she thought he’d been spending time away from home because he was working too hard . . .

“I take it you weren’t aware of their relationship.” Lockwood’s voice was soft, understanding threading the crisp, accented words.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she said, “No.”

“I’m sorry. This is a terrible way to find out, though there’s never really a good time to learn that one’s parent has feelings directed toward another.”

“Your mother?”

“No.” He grimaced. “My father had a mistress for years. He made little effort at discretion and seemed to truly love her.”

“That must have been hard. Was she a widow or another aristocrat?”

“Barmaid.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“Indeed.”

The carriage rolled along but Katherine couldn’t think of anything to say. She kept picturing her father with Mrs. Whittier. It seemed inconceivable. While Mama and Mr. Whittier were still alive, the two families had vacationed together in Newport and Bar Harbor nearly every summer.