Chapter 7
“Your Grace, we are honored.” Mrs. Simms dipped into a deep curtsy.
It had been several days since his conversation with Stephen, and the carriage ride that morning had carried him to Brightwater, the orphanage that had so consumed his new wife’s heart and reputation.
He inclined his head politely. “You have the accounts ready?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Everything is in order.”
“Good.” His voice sounded stilted as it rang through the hall. He wanted to show some ounce of kindness, but this was new territory for him. Honestly, Duncan did not know precisely how to behave in this situation.
He adjusted his gloves as he followed her through the narrow corridor, the air filled with chalk, ink, and the faint, unmistakable scent of bread baking somewhere downstairs.
His gaze slid sideways to Catherine. She moved lightly at Mrs. Simms’s side, skirts whispering against the worn floorboards. Her chin was lifted, her eyes bright, her steps certain, as if she had walked these halls a thousand times before. Which, of course, she had.
“Here we are, Your Grace,” Mrs. Simms said briskly, leading them into a modest office where ledgers lay open across a desk.
She gestured for Catherine to sit, though Catherine remained standing, already bending over the nearest book with sharp concentration.
Duncan’s eyes narrowed. He had expected hesitation, perhaps even fear. Instead, she lifted the quill as though it were a sword and began turning pages with confident fingers.
“The roof is being repaired,” she said, glancing up at Mrs. Simms. “And the apprenticeships: three letters sent, one confirmed. The older boys will be placed before winter.”
Duncan stilled. Efficient. Decisive. He had not thought to find her so capable. He had assumed her passion for Brightwater might be more sentimental. Childish, even. But her words rang with authority, every instruction sharp and unhesitating.
Impressive.
“Supplies?” he asked.
“We are well-stocked through December,” Mrs. Simms replied quickly, “but the children’s winter coats are wearing thin.”
“Then see that new ones are made,” Catherine replied. “Wool if you can find it, and fleece-lined for the smallest. Ask the seamstresses in the market to take the work, pay them a fair price, and have the measurements ready by week’s end.”
Duncan’s head tilted almost imperceptibly. His gaze lingered on her profile, on the curve of her cheek, the sweep of dark lashes bent toward the page. There was no tremor in her tone, no flicker of doubt in her words.
She commanded, not for vanity’s sake, but for the sake of others.
And something unfamiliar twisted low in his chest: pride.
He clasped his hands behind his back, forcing his voice into its usual cool neutrality. “See it done.”
Her eyes flicked toward him, startled by his easy agreement. He met her gaze steadily, unwilling to offer more. She lowered her lashes again, but not before he caught the faint flush rising in her cheeks.
The silence stretched until it was broken by a shriek of laughter just beyond the office door. The sound pierced the walls, high and insistent, followed by the patter of feet.
Duncan’s brows knit. “Children,” he muttered.
Mrs. Simms rose, flustered. “I shall see to them—”
“No, no.” Catherine’s hand shot out, light against the matron’s sleeve. “Let them come.”
Before Duncan could object, the door burst open, and half a dozen small bodies tumbled into the room. They skidded to a stop, wide-eyed, then stared at him as though he was some apparition dragged from a storybook.
“Good heavens,” Duncan said under his breath.
“Children,” Catherine said gently, her smile soft. “This is the Duke of Raynsford.”
For one horrible moment, silence reigned. Then—
“Are you really a duke?” one boy demanded, his hair sticking up in all directions.
Duncan blinked. “Yes.”
“Do you have a sword?” another shouted, eyes round with excitement.
“No.” He was a tad bemused by such an assertion.
Where did this child get that notion?
“Do you have a horse?”
“Yes.”
“Two horses?”
“More than two.”
The room erupted. A chorus of oohs and gasps rippled through the group.
He saw Catherine bite back a laugh, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes dancing. He caught the sparkle there and felt heat rise in his chest.
“Do you live in a castle?” a small girl asked, clutching a rag doll to her chest.
Their voices overlapped, high and shrill, tugging at his ears. Duncan knew not how to respond. He had so little experience with children and was not sure if he ought to single out one and answer all their questions or if it was best to pull back and simply let the kids talk amongst themselves.
Catherine’s gaze lingered from the edge of the room, steady and expectant, daring him to stand his ground.
Duncan straightened, drawing himself to full height. “No. I live in Raynsford Hall. A house.”
“A big house?”
“Big enough.”
“Bigger than this?”
“Yes.”
The children collapsed into laughter and chatter as they continued firing questions at him so quickly he could scarcely separate them.
“Do you wear a crown?”
“Do dukes fight dragons?”
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Children!” Mrs. Simms scolded, clapping her hands. “Mind your manners. His Grace is not—”
“It’s all right,” Catherine interrupted, her smile widening. “They are only curious.”
Duncan shot her a look of consternation, but she pointedly ignored it. She crouched down among the children, smoothing a girl’s ribbon, listening to their excited talk.
“Is it true, Your Grace,” one boy piped up, his freckles vivid against wind-roughened cheeks, “that you live in a house with a hundred rooms?”
“A hundred?” she echoed, feigning shock. “Good heavens, no! I should lose myself before breakfast.”
The children dissolved into laughter, a high, tumbling sound that made even Duncan hide a smile.
A smaller girl tugged at Catherine’s sleeve. “But do you have a garden, ma’am? With roses?”
“With roses, and weeds enough to keep you all busy if you wish to visit,” Catherine teased. “I shall ask the gardener to ready the pruning shears.”
The giggles that followed were bright and irrepressible, and then came her laughter, clear and warm, spilling effortlessly into theirs. It wasn’t the polite, careful sound she offered at dinners or drawing rooms; this was unguarded, musical, and alive.
Duncan stood a few paces behind, utterly unprepared for it. The sound struck him not to the body, but somewhere deeper.
He marveled at her. Catherine was, quite simply, radiant here. Her green eyes gleamed with light; her smile softened every uncertainty he’d once seen in her. The easy grace of her hand as she ruffled the girl’s hair, the tilt of her head when she listened—all of it set his chest tight.
And still, the questions continued.
“Do you kiss the duchess?” a boy asked suddenly.
The laughter choked out of Duncan’s chest. Catherine froze, her cheeks flaming as she glanced at him, horror in her eyes.
Duncan’s jaw ticked. He adjusted his cuffs with deliberate precision.
The children must have read the sudden discomfort that lapsed between the Duke and Duchess because they instantly dissolved into shrieks of laughter before scattering like startled birds. Catherine pressed her hands to her face. Her shoulders shook as she fought to stifle her own batch of giggles.
Duncan exhaled sharply through his nose, fighting the heat clawing at his collar. “Inquisitive, are they not?”
“They are children,” Catherine said softly, rising to her feet. Her eyes still shone, her lips curved in a smile she could not quite restrain. “You must forgive them.”
He did not answer.
Nevertheless, in that moment, with her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her mouth soft with laughter, Catherine looked most becoming.
Had she been a lady he’d met at a ball he would have taken her hand and planted a bold kiss across her knuckles.
He would’ve allowed his lips to linger and hoped to tempt her into following him so that they might explore what came next.
But this was Catherine, his wife, and he could not forget what he owed her.
I will have her participate in this dance heartily or not at all.
“Your Grace!” Helen’s maid blinked at the doorway, then dropped into a hasty curtsy.
Catherine laughed softly, lifting her skirts as she stepped inside. “Do not look so stricken, Martha. You have known me since I was fourteen. If you bow any lower, you will fall through the floorboards.”
The maid flushed, straightening with a sheepish smile. “Forgive me, Your Grace, it is different now.”
Catherine lifted her chin as Helen’s maid blinked in surprise at the threshold.
Her pulse still drummed uncomfortably, a remnant of the morning, the Duke’s presence at Brightwater, his cold formality even as he yielded to her suggestions, and the unbearable way children had circled him with curiosity.
She needed air. She needed Helen.
“Where is Helen? I should like to see her at once.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the maid murmured, bowing low before hurrying away. “This way.”
Catherine tugged at her gloves as she stepped into the familiar entryway. The house smelled of lemon polish and rosewater, a welcome change from Raynsford’s cavernous austerity. Already her shoulders began to loosen, though her stomach remained a knot.
The maid returned swiftly. “Lady Helen will see you at once.”
Catherine nodded and followed up the staircase, each step heavier than the last.
The maid pushed the door open, and Catherine saw her friend Helen sitting curled in a high-backed chair, a book open in her lap, steam rising from a delicate china cup on the table beside her.
At the sight of Catherine, the book fell forgotten, and Helen sprang to her feet.
“Cat!”
She barely had time to set aside her gloves before Helen flew into her arms, hugging her with all the fierceness that had developed over the course of their long friendship.
“My dearest, I thought marriage had stolen you from me forever!” Helen exclaimed against her shoulder.
Catherine laughed, the sound breaking into something dangerously close to a sob. “Never. I have missed you too much.”
Helen drew back, her eyes sparkling as she searched Catherine’s face. “You look tired. Worn thin. Has he—?” She broke off, biting her lip, but curiosity glinted behind her concern.
Catherine smoothed her gown, steadying herself. “May I sit? I have already had an exceedingly long day.”
“Sit at once.” Helen tugged her toward the sofa.
She fussed with the cushions before gesturing to Catherine and indicating that the setting was just right.
“Now, tell me everything. Every detail. You cannot disappear for so long and then give me only polite phrases. How is it? Marriage? What do you think of him? The great Duke of Raynsford? Do you like him? Do you despise him? Tell me all.”
Catherine’s mouth curved, though the smile did not reach her heart. “It is… complicated.”
“Complicated?” Helen arched a brow, sinking beside her. “That is the very word women use when they mean dreadful.”
“Not dreadful,” Catherine said quickly, though her chest tightened. “Only confusing.”
Helen waited, eyes wide, until Catherine gave in with a sigh.
“You know he paid my father’s debts,” Catherine began softly. “All of them. He purchased Brightwater, gave funds for repairs, new windows, and proper beds. He ensures everything is provided for, without hesitation, without complaint.”
Helen leaned forward eagerly. “That sounds magnanimous.”
Catherine shook her head, twisting her gloves in her lap. “And yet he barely speaks to me. At dinner, I am met with mostly silence. If I ask about his day, he dismisses me. He does everything for me, and yet he looks at me as if I am little more than an obligation.”
Helen frowned. “A man cannot be so generous and so cold at once.”
“He can.” Catherine’s laugh was brittle. “He is.”
The words hung heavily between them. Helen reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “And when you are alone? In private?”
Catherine’s cheeks flamed. She turned her face aside, staring hard at the embroidery on the cushion. “We’ve shared a few meals and even had several coy conversations, but mostly we are not.”
“Not what?” Helen repeated, incredulously.
“Alone.” Catherine swallowed, her throat tight. “He has not touched me. Not once.”
Helen’s eyes went wide. “Not even on your wedding night—? Catherine, not at all?”
Her blush deepened, spreading down her neck. “No. He came to my chamber that first night, but when I… when I tried—” Her voice faltered. Shame pricked hot against her skin. “He stopped me. He left.”
Helen gasped. “The man must be mad.”
“Perhaps I do not live up to his expectations,” Catherine whispered. “Perhaps he finds me inadequate.”
“Inadequate?” Helen scoffed. “You are the most beautiful woman in London, Catherine. And the most giving. If he cannot see what a treasure he’s found in you, he is blind.”
Catherine tried to laugh, but the sound wavered. “Beauty and generosity do not make a wife, apparently. Silence does. And he has that in abundance from me, whether I wish it or not.”
Helen studied her, brow furrowing. “And what of you? Do you wish it?”
Catherine hesitated. In her mind, the Duke’s face flashed again.
She could not help but admire the sharp line of his jaw, the merciless blue of his eyes, and tingle at the thought of the heat of his palm when he had placed the ring on her finger or the devastating memory of his lips on hers after their wedding ceremony.
She sighed. “I do not know what I wish. He wounds my feelings, Helen. He barely speaks to me, and yet…” Her voice fell, trembling. “Yet when he looks at me, I burn.”
“I know he is handsome. But, darling,” Helen’s eyes softened, though worry lingered. “Guard your heart. A man like that, he may give you everything you need, but never what you long for most.”
Catherine’s throat tightened. She blinked quickly, but tears still pricked hot at the corners of her eyes. “And what is it you think I long for most?”
Helen smiled sadly. “Love.”
Catherine turned away, pressing her glove to her lips as if to silence the word.
Love.
Helen had managed to sum up Catherine’s feelings in one simple word: Love. She had heard so much of the Duke’s reputation and had yet to experience a great deal for herself. She wanted him to love her, to adore her, to treat her as if she meant more than all his other conquests combined.
Unfortunately, the Duke did not see her in such a light. He took care of her and obliged her needs, but he did not love her.