Chapter 3
“The next thing you know, they will be insisting that he is gallivanting naked around the Scottish Highlands.” Catherine shook her head as she sipped from her teacup.
It had been three months since she last saw her husband. Three months since he declared that her life was now hers to live and that they would have little to do with each other.
She was sitting in her freshly redecorated drawing room, across from her friends Lady Louisa Everly, Lady Harriet Montrose, and Lady Fiona Blackwood. The three of them had met at the first ball of their coming-out Season and had been inseparable ever since.
Louisa took a bite of a scone, her brown eyes narrowing in concentration as she shook her head. “As amusing an image as that is, that rumor is far less concerning than the one that he is dead.”
Typical Louisa, why mince her words when she can simply say what she thinks?
It was an honesty that Catherine found refreshing, even comforting. Before she could say anything, Fiona interjected. “Kitty would know if he was dead. The solicitors would have been in touch by now to let her know they were looking for the next heir.”
“As though details like that would stop the gossip mongers of the ton!” Louisa made a disgusted noise. “They do not care for facts or logic. That is exactly why they are insisting she has something to do with his disappearance!”
“A completely ridiculous notion.” Harriet shook her head, her eyes wide with alarm.
“And yet a worrying number of people believe it.” Fiona grimaced.
“It does not matter what they believe,” Catherine said with more confidence than she felt. “I am a duchess now, and I have access to a rather significant amount of funds.”
“So long as your husband permits it,” Louisa pointed out, her lips pursed.
‘If your activities require more of me than supplying funding, I will consider them a nuisance.’
The Duke’s green eyes flashed in Catherine’s mind as his words echoed in her head. She absentmindedly touched her chest, still unsettled by the memory of how close they had been.
“As far as the Duke is concerned, money is no object. He raised no objection to any of my expenses so far. Not with the renovations, nor the purchasing of any equipment for hobbies, nor dresses. Nothing.” Catherine gestured around them, highlighting the new comfortable furniture, the Wedgwood tea set, and the fresh paint.
“And given that it is his absence causing the damage to my reputation, I should think that he will not begrudge my trying to remedy it.”
“Exactly! He should be here fixing the mess he has made,” Fiona growled, her eyes flashing with anger. “It is all well and good for a bachelor to disappear mysteriously, but he is a duke and a married man. It just adds to the scandal already surrounding you.”
“You really should write to him, Kitty, I am sure he—” Harriet began, but Catherine cut her off.
“No, Hettie. I do not need his help.”
I do not want his help. Who knew what the Duke’s aid would cost her? Catherine shook her head emphatically.
“Kitty, some of these rumors are rather serious.” Fiona leaned in toward her and took Catherine’s hand in her own. “I am worried about you.”
Catherine squeezed Fiona’s hand. “I know, but I will be all right. No one has any proof of anything; their rumors cannot hurt me.”
“I still do not understand why you will not just write to the man and ask him to make an appearance. That is all it would take to put this to bed.” Louisa gave her a frank look. “He is your husband.”
Catherine sighed. “He made it perfectly clear that I was not to bother him except in a matter of life and death. I hardly think this gossip qualifies.”
“Kitty, I really– ” Louisa began, but her sentence was interrupted by a knock at the drawing room door.
“Enter,” Catherine called.
A maid appeared in the doorway, dropping into a low curtsy. Her hair was in disarray, and her cheeks were flushed as though she had come running toward them.
“Are you all right?” Catherine stood and moved toward the maid.
The girl nodded and gestured back in the direction she had come. “Forgive my appearance, Your Grace, and the interruption, but there is a woman from the orphanage who is here to see you. She has a… a child with her.”
Catherine frowned. “Surely if she is here for a donation, Mrs. Danvers can take the details, and I will arrange the funds.”
The maid’s face paled, and she shook her head. “She is insisting that she must speak to you. Well, actually, she is asking for His Grace, but as he is not here…”
She heard a commotion at the front door, and Catherine felt every hair on her body stand on end. “What is going on?”
She took off toward the front door. As she approached, she saw Mrs. Danvers looking paler than a ghost as she gaped at a tall woman with a pinched face and wisps of gray hair. At the sound of their approaching footsteps, Mrs. Danvers curtsied, and the footman bowed.
The stranger from the orphanage followed suit. “I take it you are the Duchess of Coldmere?”
“I am.” Catherine inclined her head toward the woman. “And you are?”
“I am Mrs. Caversham from St. Margaret’s Home.” The woman’s voice creaked with each word.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. And what exactly is it that brings you to my door?” Catherine asked.
The woman’s eyes widened. “You are not aware?”
“Clearly not.” Catherine gave the woman a tight smile.
“That… Well, that is rather unexpected.” Mrs. Caversham swallowed. “I received word from the Coldmere estate that I was to bring Oliver to this house to live under the care of his family. I assumed that as mistress of the house, you would have been aware of His Grace’s orders.”
“His... family?” Catherine canted her head toward Mrs. Caversham.
Mrs. Caversham moved to one side, revealing a small boy. He could not have been more than seven. His clothes were simple, and his dark brown hair was cut short. When the boy looked up, Catherine gasped.
He had the same green eyes as the Duke. His cheekbones were softer than her husband’s, and he did not yet have the same angular face.
“This is Oliver.” The world around her slowed, and Catherine was barely aware of Mrs. Caversham’s words. “His father is the Duke of Coldmere.”
* * *
“I had one of the maids set up a room for the boy, and she will keep an eye on him while he is with us,” Mrs. Danvers said as she placed a small tray laden with tea and biscuits on the desk in front of Catherine. “That should keep him out of any trouble.”
Catherine’s stomach roiled at the thought of eating anything, but the smell of tea was calming. She poured herself a cup and took a sip, letting the warm liquid soothe her frazzled nerves.
It had been several hours since Oliver had been dropped off at her door. Several hours had passed since she had discovered that not only had her husband abandoned her, but that he had a son.
Harriet, Louisa, and Fiona had been furious on her behalf, though they had hidden it well, not wanting to scare the boy.
They had only left because Catherine had sensed that Oliver was overwhelmed by so many new people.
Every time she looked at him, all she could see was her husband.
Catherine forced her mind back to the present, focusing on Mrs. Danvers’s words.
“I do not want anything to happen to him, but I do not want him to be treated with suspicion either.” Catherine finished the last of her tea, stood up, and started pacing around her study. “Lord knows the boy has been through enough.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Danvers’s eyes drifted toward the papers on Catherine’s desk. “I will see that the staff treat him with respect and kindness.”
Catherine could hear the unspoken words in her housekeeper’s sentence.
As would befit the son of a duke. Her stomach lurched.
“Has he spoken at all since he arrived?” Catherine asked.
Mrs. Danvers shook her head. “Mute as a lamb, Your Grace.”
“I suppose that is to be expected. Mrs. Caversham did say the boy had not spoken in years.” Catherine remembered the fear in the woman’s eyes, replaced by a sickly smile.
She probably thought I would insist she take him back. That I would think him defective or some such horrible thing.
What would the Duke think of him? A shudder ran down her spine. I will not let him hurt the child any more than he already has.
Mrs. Danvers shook her head. “It is not an uncommon thing for children like him. It is lucky he found himself at St. Margaret’s.”
“Lucky?” Catherine could not keep the disbelief from her voice. “The boy cannot speak! I would hardly call that lucky.”
“He is alive, Your Grace,” Mrs. Danvers said flatly. “St. Margaret’s is not a loving place, that is certain. But it is not cruel. I have been to some orphanages… Well, let us just say that they are not places I would send my worst enemy, let alone a child.”
“Then I shall ensure they do not ever have the benefit of my patronage,” Catherine vowed. “I suspect that these places clean themselves up when they hear a member of the aristocracy might visit, so I will rely on you to warn me if they are of a more unsavory nature.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Danvers nodded. “I would be only too happy to.”
“It is sad to think that Oliver is amongst the fortunate. Mrs. Caversham says he was a foundling when they took him; the orphanage is the only home he has ever known.”
Her heart ached for this small child, abandoned by both his mother and his father.
Is his mother dead? Catherine assumed she must be; it was the only explanation that made sense to her.
Her heart ached as she thought of a tiny Oliver, all alone on the cold steps of an orphanage.
She pictured that infant growing into a toddler, then a child.
He knew, like so many of the children around him, that he was unloved and unwanted.