Page 27

Catherine nodded, quickly brushing the crumbs from her hands.

“Aye—yes! I am quite all right,” she said hastily, downing her lemonade at once. “In fact, I think Mrs. Starling and I should go to the attic. Right this moment.”

Anna and Mrs. Starling glanced at each other but did not say anything—which Catherine was thankful for.

The last thing she needed was to try and distract them from the fact that she had lost nearly every single thought in her mind at the sight of her husband’s body.

That man and his penchant for forgoing clothes, she seethed, leaving the room quickly.

It frustrated her how carefree and nonchalant he looked, going about his day with no thought for how he had wrecked her. Somehow, it made her believe the tales of his devilish nature a bit more. Because he seemed to derive a lot of joy from getting under her skin while bearing no consequence for his actions.

It was unfair, and she despised how much he affected her.

Mrs. Starling led the way to the attic, occasionally giving her inquisitive looks, but not deeming the situation dire enough to warrant any comment. Even Anna had a concerned expression on her face, but she chose to remain silent, rather than voice her worries.

When they arrived, Catherine had to remind herself that everything she had seen since her arrival at the estate was certainly on a much larger scale than what she was used to.

For one, the attic was incredibly organized, with old furniture, paintings, and documents assigned a corner to dwell in. It made the entire room look even more open.

“His Grace said that some of them were part of his father’s business model, so I’ll need to check thoroughly because there are quite a few things here. I might take a while, Your Grace, so feel free to do as you wish.” The housekeeper curtsied before wandering off.

Catherine pouted over how quickly the elderly woman went away before she could even offer her assistance, and then she looked around the space.

“Are you sure you wish to be here, Your Grace? It is rather… stuffy up here.”

Catherine nodded. “I do not mind. It is certainly better than simply staying in my chambers. Do not worry.”

Anna nodded and lingered nearby, glancing around the room while the Duchess moved around.

It seemed as though someone frequently came to clean the attic because it was neater than Catherine had expected.

While she explored the area, she couldn’t help but notice that some of the furniture there did not seem particularly old or worn. And some of the pieces appeared to be expensive enough to suit the taste of a duke.

“So, why are they here?” she wondered out loud.

“Your Grace? Did you say something?” Anna stepped closer.

“No, I…” Catherine paused, glancing back at the lovely armchair that was covered in very detailed embroidery patterns. “Actually, why are these here? Unlike some of the other armchairs and settees downstairs, this one looks as though it is good enough to be in any part of the house.”

Anna peered down at the furniture in question, and her face lit with recognition.

“Oh, that is the former Duchess’s favorite furniture. I do not know much about her—a lot of us here do not know much about the Duke’s family—but apparently, he had all the furniture she liked moved here for a while,” she explained, running her fingers over the carved wooden ridges.

The younger girl’s words drew Catherine’s attention to the fact that she had barely heard anything about the Duke’s family since her arrival.

Catherine loved and revered her family. They were all she had, and she couldn’t imagine a life in which she did not think or talkabout the family she had grown up with. And yet she barely knew anything about Sampson’s family.

Even with the other strange titbits she had picked up about him and his life, he had somehow failed to mention anything about his childhood or parents.

Confused, Catherine continued to peruse the attic, sifting through objects carefully, her curiosity guiding her.

Moments later, she had been studying a rather spectacular armoire, wondering if she could ask for it to be put in her room, when she noticed something peeking out from behind the furniture. Curious, she took a closer look, surprised when she realized it was a portrait. Upon further inspection, she realized there were multiple portraits, all of them seemingly hidden behind the armoire.

She carefully began to take them out, noting that they were turned around to face the wall, so she had to turn them towards herself to see what they were about.

The first was a portrait of Sampson. He looked no older than nineteen, but he was missing his usual charm. His gaze was hollow, and his expression was somber.

The image struck a chord in her chest, and she felt concerned over this side of her husband, wondering what had happened for him to look like that.