The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(6)

She understood, she did. There were days when the grief grabbed Katherine by the throat and wouldn’t let go. But these paintings were a link to her mother, a way of remembering and honoring Alva Delafield. “You cannot do that to her paintings. She wouldn’t have wanted them stored, Daddy.”

“But she’s no longer here. It’s up to those of us left behind to pick up the pieces. I cannot—”

She waited for him to finish. When he didn’t, she said, “I understand. I miss her every minute of every day. But these are hers. She worked so hard to find these. Most galleries would kill to get their hands on them.”

There were the romantics and neoclassics. Renaissance era, as well as the ancients. Ukiyo-e prints from Japan. Dutch masters. Even a few works by little-known artists, merely because Mama liked them.

“Katherine, please. I’m not trying to hurt you or your mother’s memory, but this will help both of us move forward.”

Move forward?

That was an odd turn of phrase. She didn’t want to move on from losing her mother, nor did Katherine want to lose this connection to her.

When Mama was well, Katherine had often trailed her into this room, just to hear the stories about the art and artists. Like the Bonheur that had been Mama’s favorite, acquired from a handsome collector in Lisbon. Or the Ruskin Mama received as a wedding present from her parents. The illustrations by Charles Gibson, who became one of Mama’s friends later on. Katherine could trace the path of her mother’s life through the sketches and paintings in this room.

And Daddy wanted to pack them away?

Surely they could honor these brilliant works of art and avoid shoving them into an attic. “Will you give me a few days to think about it? I don’t want to see her things stored. Maybe there’s somewhere I can display them, like a permanent exhibit of some kind.”

He sighed, indecision on his face. Then he smiled fondly at her. “You always want to do the right thing. That’s her doing. You’re considerate and kind, just as she was. I suppose a few more days won’t hurt.”

“Thank you.” She threaded their arms together and put her head on his shoulder. They’d grown close after Mama’s death, their shared grief like a tether between them. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Want to talk more about what happened with Clarke?”

“Goodness, no. I can’t remember everything I said, I was so furious, but I definitely gave him a dressing down.”

“Good. Sounds like he deserved it. There are rumors about him, but I never expected Henry’s son to turn into such a scoundrel.”

“Scoundrel is too tame a word. One thing’s for certain, Preston Clarke would’ve made me miserable.”

“It’s a shame. I had such high hopes after you first met him. I swear, you had stars in your eyes. It reminded me of when I met your mother, the feeling that I’d found the perfect woman.”

Except this was wildly different. Preston was not the perfect man. Far from it.

I cannot marry you, ever. Is that clear enough for you?

Mortification scalded her insides, and her skin grew hot. “He certainly cleared up any illusions today. Trust me, I don’t want anything more to do with him.”





Chapter Three




“I want to have an affair,” Katherine blurted—just as a footman entered the drawing room with a tea tray.

She and Nellie were at the Meliora Club, their women’s social club, for afternoon tea. The Meliora, named for the Latin word for “always better,” was a place to advance the educational and professional pursuits of women. Katherine was here to plan an exhibition of her mother’s paintings . . . except now she might never be able to show her face inside these walls again.

Mortified, she covered her mouth with a hand while Nellie just smiled at the young man, whose skin was now the color of a tomato.

“Thank you ever so much, Robbie,” Nellie said. “You may put that on the table.”

After the young man hurried out of the room, Katherine groaned. “Oh, my God. I cannot believe I said that.”

“Forget it.” Nellie waved her hand. “He’s undoubtedly heard worse within these walls. Wasn’t there a lecture on free love recently? Anyway, let’s get back to this affair. Who are you considering?”

Katherine paused and thought about it. A dark cloud had settled over her ever since walking out of Preston’s office three days ago. It still rankled that she’d waited for a year on Preston while he’d been out having fun, catering to a mistress, without a care in the world. Katherine wanted to have fun, too.

She was long overdue for some, in fact.

She’d spent four months in Spain last year with her aunt, and that experience changed her. It proved things were much different in other parts of the world, less restrictive. Not as judgmental. More accepting to other points of view. It was time to stop caring about what she was “supposed” to do and do what she wanted instead.

First item on the list? An affair.

Shrugging, she said, “I have no idea.”

Nellie leaned in, brows raised in excitement. “Well, let’s throw out some names, shall we? I met the pitcher for the Brooklyn Bridegrooms a few weeks back and he’s very handsome. His mustache is a work of art. Or there is that young ambassador from Greece. He’s gorgeous, Katie. Even better, he won’t be staying long, so you don’t have to worry about him getting attached.”