The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(5)

It didn’t matter. She was already marching toward the door. As she passed Mrs. Cohen, Katherine told his secretary, “You really should find a new employer.”

“Believe me, I know it,” Mrs. Cohen muttered, shaking her head.

When they were alone again, Mrs. Cohen rocked on her heels. “Indeed, what a day this has been. Can’t remember the last time we’ve had this much excitement. Shall I send her another bouquet of flowers with another apology?”

He picked up the journal and started to toss it into the wastebasket. At the last minute he changed his mind and slipped it into his desk instead. “I don’t want to hear another word about it. Send in Mr. Vance.”



When she returned home, Katherine found her father in the gallery, where the paintings were being taken down off the walls and put into crates. Anger and humiliation brewed in her stomach, enough to burn the back of her throat. She blurted, “Why didn’t you tell me he had no intention of marrying me?”

Surprise coasted over her father’s features before he said, “Michael, Robert. Give us a minute, will you?”

The footmen departed and Daddy shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “What did Clarke say, exactly?”

“That he won’t marry me or honor that betrothal. He was quite insistent about it. Rude, even. I made a total fool of myself.”

Her father’s mouth flattened into an unhappy line. “You are not a fool. He’s the fool, if he is unwilling to honor this agreement.”

“What were you thinking, betrothing me without checking with him first?”

“Henry said he discussed it with his son—at least, that was what he told me shortly before he died.”

“I don’t know whether Mr. Clarke discussed it or not, but Preston could not have been clearer.”

Daddy’s jaw tightened and his voice became like steel. “I will sue him for breach of contract, then.”

A lawsuit? What did that mean? Would she be forced to sit and listen while a group of lawyers discussed her and Preston in court? Or worse, would she be called to testify?

Wincing, Katherine closed her eyes briefly, imagining that public disaster. Her embarrassment would only multiply. “No, absolutely not. Leave it alone. I want to forget it ever happened.”

“Why? This was what his father wanted. Preston should honor that commitment.”

She recalled the meeting just before she saw Preston, the callous way he’d treated that man losing his home. “I don’t think honor and Preston have anything more than a passing acquaintance. We should leave it be.”

“I don’t like it. When I was younger, no man would dream of acting in such a disrespectful and callous way—especially not to a woman.”

“Daddy, you have to let this go. He’s made his position clear and I no longer want to marry him. In fact, I’ll run away and join the circus if you try to force me into it.”

It was a familiar threat from her childhood, one that made him smile. “I don’t like anyone hurting you, Kitty Kat. But if that’s how you feel, I won’t sue him.” He patted her shoulder. “We’ll find you another husband, I promise.”

“No, please.” She sighed and pressed her hands together. “I’ve thought of myself as Mrs. Preston Clarke for an entire year. I need some time to adjust to the idea that I’m not. Does that make sense? I want to find my own husband.”

“There isn’t a whole lot of time, Katherine. Already your debut was delayed a year because we were still in mourning over your mother. You know how these things work.”

Yes, she did. If she waited too long, she’d be branded a spinster. Unsuitable for marriage.

“I’m not asking for years. Just a little while. Are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?”

“No, absolutely not.” He leaned over to kiss her temple. “My job as a father is to see you settled, but I want you to be happy first and foremost. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted, too.”

“I know.” That reminded her of the room they were in, the paintings being removed from the walls. These were her mother’s prized possessions, the result of combing the world for her favorite pieces.

Mama had loved art of all kinds and Katherine could almost feel her mother’s presence in this room. She could still hear Mama saying, “There’s so much beauty in the world, if we only stop to appreciate it.” When she first grew ill, Mama would sit in this room for hours, staring at her favorite paintings.

Katherine was sixteen when her mother became sick. The doctors said the disease was too far along, too aggressive, and they’d been right. After a steady decline, her mother died almost two years later. The ache in Katherine’s heart hadn’t lessened in all that time. Perhaps it never would. So, what on earth was her father doing? “You aren’t selling Mama’s paintings, are you?”

“No.” He dragged a hand over his jaw. “I can’t bear to part with them. However, I can’t bear to look at them, either.”

“I don’t understand.”

A shadow passed over his face, one that spoke of grief and loneliness. Katherine recognized it because she felt the same. “They’re a reminder of her,” he said, “and I would merely like a day or two when I walk by here and don’t experience an awful knot in my stomach.”