The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(84)
“I’m not doing it intentionally. He hurt me.”
“I know.” Nellie rubbed Katherine’s shoulder. “How are you feeling about your father and his engagement?”
“Better.” Katherine exhaled slowly. “I think if I were married and settled it wouldn’t have bothered me as much. But I felt like he was creating a new life for himself, while I still have no one.”
“Your father is still your father, no matter who he’s married to or sleeping with—”
“Ew, Nellie. Please.” Katherine did not want to picture Daddy and Mrs. Whittier in bed. Ever.
“I hate to break it to you,” Nellie said dryly, “but they are screwing, Katie.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I want to think about it.”
“Fine, but you’re not losing him. Or the memories of your mother. He’s lonely. That’s all.”
“Would you mind if your father married Mrs. Paulson?” Mrs. Paulson was Cornelius Young’s longtime lady friend, a woman with whom Nellie was quite friendly.
“I wouldn’t mind at all. I want him to be happy, and if Mrs. Paulson makes him happy, then so be it. He still loves my mother. Nothing will ever change that.” Nellie sighed. “Death doesn’t mean we forget. The pain becomes easier to manage, but we have to keep moving forward. All of us have to continue living the best way we know how.”
“You’re so wise. I wish I were as well adjusted as you are.”
Nellie snorted and rested her head on Katherine’s shoulder. “I’m not well adjusted. I’m a mess, just like every other human on the planet. But I have experience with grief and loss.”
“It will be so strange to see her in our house, in my mother’s chairs.”
“At first, but you’ll grow accustomed to it. Would your mother want him to be alone and sad for the rest of his life?”
Katherine swallowed hard. No, Mama wouldn’t have wanted that. She’d loved him fiercely. Before she died, Mama asked Katherine to take good care of him.
Shame crawled over her skin like a swarm of insects. She truly had acted selfishly, like a spoiled child. God, would Daddy ever forgive her? What about Mrs. Whittier? Instead of congratulating both of them, Katherine had run off to the woods to hide.
“I owe both of them an apology,” she said quietly. “Running away wasn’t like me at all.”
“You were taken by surprise. Your father should have told you ahead of time, made sure you were comfortable with the idea of it. But I think your escape upstate had more to do with Preston than you’re letting on.”
Probably. Katherine hadn’t expected him to betray her, even though he’d told her he was dishonorable. Why hadn’t she listened?
Because she’d wanted to believe that he cared for her more than everything else.
Which meant she was a fool. Perhaps someday he might feel that way about someone, but Katherine wasn’t waiting around for it. She would find another property for her mother’s museum and put Preston Clarke firmly out of her mind.
She yawned and rested her head atop Nellie’s. “Thank you, Nels,” she murmured. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Obviously you’d have a lot less fun.”
Katherine chuckled. “True. Promise me you won’t ever leave New York. We’ll remain friends forever and throw fabulous parties, like Mrs. Fish and Mrs. Vanderbilt.”
“I promise, but only if we choose more broad-minded role models.”
“I’ll leave the planning to you,” Katherine muttered and closed her eyes.
“So, are you coming home with me or am I dropping you off at home?”
As much as Katherine dreaded the conversation ahead, she had to clear the air with her father. “My home. I can’t hide out any longer. I need to apologize.”
“And what about Preston?”
“Who?”
A sound of surprised amusement left Nellie’s lips. “I see. Good luck with that. Something tells me Preston won’t like being ignored, so you’d best prepare yourself.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
He went straight to the Delafield mansion.
After frantically checking for Katherine everywhere within a five-mile radius of the lodge, Preston finally learned she’d left for the city on the morning train. The relief at discovering she hadn’t been mauled by a bear or lost in the woods nearly sent him to his knees. Thank God she wasn’t hurt.
Anger quickly followed, however. She couldn’t have jotted a quick note to tell him not to worry, that she was going back home?
So he raced from the Adirondacks to Manhattan, fueled by the desperation to see her and the need for an explanation. Still, it took most of the day. By the time he arrived on her doorstep, it was almost four o’clock in the afternoon.
After pounding on the door with the knocker, he smoothed his wrinkled suit. He hadn’t even bothered to shave this morning and had thrown on whatever he could find. His boots were still caked with mud from tromping around the lodge, yelling her name.
The door swung open and the butler’s brows rose dramatically. No doubt Preston looked a disheveled mess. “Miss Delafield, please.”
Despite the height difference, the butler looked down his nose at Preston. “Do you have a card, sir?”