Chapter 33
“Mary, careful with the blanket—Thomas will trip if you spread it so close to the edge.”
Catherine’s voice was calm, patient, though she hadn’t drawn a full breath in what felt like hours.
The garden was bright with late-morning sun, the scent of cut grass and bread from the kitchen window mingling in the air. Children’s laughter rippled around her, the sound as light and fleeting as the breeze that stirred the lilac branches above.
She was kneeling on the lawn beside a basket of fresh linens, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair pinned hastily at her nape. Her hands were steady even when her heart wasn’t.
For days now, she had worked without pause, overseeing the new supplies for Brightwater, arranging lessons, keeping the little ones fed, clothed, and safe. There was comfort in movement, in lists and order and small victories. Anything that left no space for thought.
“Your Grace,” one of the older girls called from the far end of the garden. “Mr. Whitby says the carpenter has arrived with the plans.”
“Thank you, Betty. Tell him I’ll join him shortly.”
The girl nodded and darted off, skirts fluttering. Catherine rose, brushing the grass from her gown. A few of the children tugged at her hands, chattering about the robin’s nest they’d found in the hedgerow. She smiled as best she could, though her smile no longer reached her eyes.
“Show me later,” she said softly. “We’ll leave the poor creature in peace for now.”
The children nodded and scattered again, their laughter bright as birdsong. Catherine exhaled and turned toward the house. And then she saw him.
Duncan stood just beyond the open terrace doors, half in shadow, half in sunlight. For a heartbeat, she thought he was an illusion—a trick of light, a memory her mind had conjured from exhaustion. But then he stepped forward, boots quiet on the stone.
The world seemed to still around them. Even the children’s laughter dimmed in her ears.
“Your Grace,” she said at last, her voice polite, cool, distant. The kind of voice she had perfected for society calls and uncomfortable dinners.
“Catherine.”
“I did not expect to see you today.”
“I finished what I needed to,” he said.
“I see.” She reached for the basket again, folding the last of the linens with brisk precision.
“Then you’ll want to know the latest reports.
The carpenters have begun repairs on the east wing of Brightwater.
The new roof tiles arrived this morning.
The doctor assures me the children’s health is improving—Thomas’s cough has lessened, and Mary no longer wakes with nightmares.
” She set the folded cloth down, her voice steady, almost mechanical.
“The expenses remain within the estimates you approved.”
He said nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, “You’ve been keeping busy.”
“There’s much to be done.”
“And you’ve done all of it yourself.”
“I had help,” she said, her tone clipped. “Mrs. Simms has been invaluable. So has Helen.”
He took a slow step forward, stopping a few paces behind her. “You’ve managed all this without rest.”
The children’s laughter swelled again in the background, a cruel contrast to the quiet fury tightening her chest.
She folded her arms, the sunlight catching on the pale curve of her wrist. “If you’ve come to inspect the progress, you’ll find everything in order.”
“Catherine.” His voice was soft. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
She gave a short, brittle laugh. “No? I suppose you have a rather long memory.”
He took another step closer, close enough that she could see the faint lines of wear around his eyes, the exhaustion carved into his features. He looked older, heavier somehow, yet there was something different beneath, an energy she hadn’t seen since the fire.
“You’ve carried more than anyone should,” he said quietly. “The children, the staff, the rebuilding—all of it. You’ve done it with grace, and I applaud your efforts.”
Her throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want your praise,” she said. “I want your honesty.”
He hesitated. “You’ll have it.”
But she shook her head. “You said that before, and what came was…was…”
“I have always been honest with you, Duchess.”
“I suppose that is true, too. Even if I do not care for your brand of truthfulness, I must accept that you have kept all your promises.”
She turned away again, unable to bear to look her husband in the eye.
She took a moment to collect herself. She hoped he would say something and take on the burden of creating conversation, but he did not.
“I can handle everything here,” she said without looking at him. “You needn’t concern yourself.”
He stepped closer, his shadow falling across the grass beside her. “That’s not why I came.”
“Then why?”
“To help.”
Her breath caught again, sharp and unsteady. But before she could respond, several of the children came running from the other end of the garden—Thomas, Mary, and two of the younger ones, laughing breathlessly.
“Your Grace!” Mary cried. “We finished the game! Look!” She held up a daisy chain with both hands, petals crushed and uneven.
Catherine managed a small, strained smile. “It’s lovely.”
Mary ran forward and looped it over her wrist before spotting Duncan. “Oh! Good morning, Your Grace.”
He inclined his head, gentler than Catherine expected. “Good morning, Mary. That’s fine work you’ve done there.”
The girl beamed. “Would you like one too?”
“I should be much obliged to you for making me such a treasure,” he said, glancing at Catherine.
Mary giggled, nodding, then ran off again with the others, laughter fading into the sound of the wind.
When they were gone, silence fell once more.
“They adore you,” Duncan said quietly.
“They trust me,” she corrected. “As I once trusted you.”
Duncan drew in a long, slow breath. “Catherine,” he said at last, his voice low but carrying. “I owe you an apology. For all of it.”
She didn’t move, though her heart gave a sharp, unbidden flutter. “An apology,” she repeated, her tone measured. “For what, exactly?”
“For withdrawing. For turning what we had into something cold when it never should have been. I know you think I planned to leave you. I remember my words in that locked room just as well as you do. And—when I said those things…there…I spoke rashly. I was a man who…well, let’s just say I was a different man then than I am now. ”
He took a careful step forward, not closing the distance entirely, as if aware of how fragile the moment was.
Catherine said nothing.
He went on, his words quiet but steady now, each one deliberate.
“You’ve done what no one else ever has. You’ve made me want to be better.
To deserve what I have. I admire your strength, your stubbornness, Your Grace.
I admire the way you fight for people who can’t fight for themselves.
And I can’t bear the thought of losing you again. ”
The faintest tremor passed through her fingers. She looked at him then, at the exhaustion in his face, the faint bruise along his jaw from a fight she hadn’t yet asked about, and the quiet sincerity in his eyes.
He took one more step closer. “I’ve been wrong in ways I can’t excuse. But the worst thing I’ve done so far is allow you to think for even one second that I did not love you. Because I do. I love you most dearly.”
Catherine’s breath caught. A few of the children, who had been pretending not to watch from behind the garden hedge, gasped in delight.
Duncan’s mouth lifted faintly. “Apparently, I’ve chosen my audience poorly,” he murmured, glancing toward them.
“Keep talking,” one of the boys whispered loudly, and a ripple of laughter ran through the group.
Catherine blinked back sudden tears. “You shouldn’t say things you do not want them to overhear,” she said softly, though her voice lacked conviction.
“I do not mind if they hear that part,” he returned, gaze unwavering. “It’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
A soft collective aww rose from the hedgerow. Catherine turned to see more children gathered.
“See, I told you!” Thomas said proudly. “They were never really fighting.”
Catherine flushed, torn between laughter and tears. “Thomas—”
“Kiss her!” one of the younger girls shouted suddenly. “Go on, Your Grace!”
Laughter rippled through the group, bright and irreverent. Catherine turned back to Duncan.
He reached her in two strides.
“Your audience insists,” he said softly.
Before she could reply, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her against him. Her gasp caught in her throat as he kissed her, and the world fell away.
When they parted, her eyes were wet, and his forehead rested against hers.
“Catherine,” he murmured, his voice rough yet reverent. “I love you.”
She smiled through her tears. “I love you too.”
The children erupted into cheers, clapping and laughing, their joy unrestrained.
Mary began tossing petals from her daisy chain, declaring, “It’s a wedding all over again!”
Catherine laughed fully, the sound breaking free at last, light and alive. Duncan’s own laugh followed—deep and unguarded. He glanced down at her, his eyes soft with something eternal.
They stood there for a moment longer, surrounded by laughter and sunlight, the garden alive with warmth.
For the first time in months, the ache in her chest eased. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak…all of it seemed to dissolve beneath the simple truth.
That love, in its truest form, had found its way back.