Page 9 of A Duchess Disciplined (Dukes of Dominance #1)
CHAPTER 8
C atherine’s last two weeks with her siblings swept by like leaves caught in a violent gale. It seemed as if William had left her flustered and wanting in one second, and in the next, she was being whisked away to Verdant Chapel to marry His Grace.
Catherine let her cheek rest against the seat of the coach, watching the rolling green hills of the Yorkshire countryside as they swept by. A lump rose in her throat. She was to marry this man. Somehow, she still could not entirely believe that she was to be the Duchess of Sarsen.
“It sounds like a romantic place,” Bridget said. “ Verdant Chapel . It reminds me of a medieval romance, like a place where Sir Gawain would go.”
“I suppose the name is apt given the countryside,” Catherine replied distractedly.
Elias sighed deeply. “Catherine, I have been wanting to…to apologize for this. I never imagined that I would force you to marry against your will, but I?—”
“You can see no way to escape without destroying our reputation,” Catherine interrupted. “I understand. It is not your fault, and at least, Dorothy will be able to keep the promise she once made to herself.”
Dorothy fidgeted with her skirts, her eyes darting from Elias’s face to Catherine’s. “I thank you for that,” Dorothy said softly.
“You do not need to thank me.”
Catherine sensed that there was more her sister wished to say, but instead, Dorothy fell quiet. She clasped her hands in her lap, the picture of a perfect lady, and fixed her gaze on her slippers, peeking from beneath the folds of her gown.
“This mood is all rather melancholy,” Catherine noted dryly. “I feel as though we ought to be celebrating. I am to marry a duke, after all. Did any of us anticipate that I would marry anyone, much less so well?”
“You would have!” Bridget exclaimed, reaching across the space to clasp Catherine’s hands in hers. “You would have found someone perfect to marry!”
Catherine shook her head and squeezed her sister’s hands. “We both know that is unlikely.”
“It would have happened,” Bridget insisted.
“It may still,” Elias ventured. “It may be that Cat and the Duke of Sarsen become friends. That is not the same as love exactly, but it is a foundation from which love might eventually grow.”
Catherine thought of her parting kiss with His Grace. She still felt the phantom touch of his hand on her right breast, kneading it with his hand and pinching her nipple. His touch had sent jolts of aching pleasure straight to her core, and after His Grace left, she noticed that her thighs were damp with the evidence of her desire.
The Duke of Sarsen claimed that he would correct her behavior if she was not a proper duchess, and although Catherine did not know precisely what that meant, she wondered if it might have anything to do with how fiercely he had kissed her. If that was his manner of correction, Catherine might wish to reconsider her promise to be a proper Duchess of Sarsen. At least, she relished the chance to learn more about that.
“We shall see,” Catherine said.
“He does seem rather frightening,” Bridget said, biting her lip. “Perhaps, he will prove to have hidden depths, though.”
“Most men do,” Dorothy said. “He seems frightening to us, I suspect, because he is taking Catherine from us.”
“Does he seem frightening to you?” Catherine asked, looking at her brother. “You have known him longer than the rest of us.”
“Indeed,” Elias said, “but I must confess that Sarsen and I have seldom spoken in recent years. Who can know if the boy I remember from my childhood resembles anything of the man now?”
“We all do change a little over time,” Dorothy said, “but I think that there are some inherent parts of us that even all the time in the world cannot change. I know, for example, that I will always love all of you. My affection will never diminish, no matter what life may give me.”
“His Grace has sisters,” Catherine said suddenly. “He hopes that I can be a feminine presence in their lives. I cannot recall if I mentioned that.”
“You mentioned the sisters,” Dorothy said. “I did not realize that his intention was for you to be their mother.”
“He says it is not that,” Catherine said, “quite fortunately. Just a feminine presence—not their mother. I leave the nurturing to you, Dory.”
Dorothy hummed. “You know that if you need anything, you can always come home. Always.”
The coach came to a halt, and Catherine took a deep breath. “I know.”
The footman opened the coach and bowed stiffly. “Welcome, Your Grace and my ladies.”
They left the coach one at a time. As Catherine’s feet lighted upon the stone path, she looked about her. Verdant Castle, the ancestral home of the Duke of Sarsen, was aptly named. The magnificent castle stretched as far as the eye could see. It harkened back to the Middle Ages, but only a few remnants of that time remained. Over the centuries, towers had been rebuilt and arches designed anew. It now bore flying buttresses, elegant carvings of flowers and vines, and soaring towers. In some, there were windows set of elegant-colored glass, which must look even more splendid inside those long corridors. In the distance, Catherine spied a church; it looked like a traditional English church with a rose window and a modest interior.
Both buildings were surrounded by green . The color was present in the delicate, sweeping fronds of weeping willows, in the lush grass, and in the thin stems of purple and pink wildflowers. Bridget had been right on one account; Verdant Castle did look as though it belonged in a medieval romance. She almost anticipated the otherworldly enchantress Morgan le Fay to make a grand appearance.
“It is quite lovely,” Bridget said with a dreamy sigh.
“Yes,” Catherine replied. “Beautiful and remote.”
Appropriate for the Duke of Sarsen, perhaps.
“Shall we?” Elias asked.
Catherine steeled herself. She and her siblings began the short walk to the castle entrance, where the butler promptly admitted them. Inside Verdant Castle was just as beautiful as its exterior. The entryway was filled with portraits in gilded frames, a flawless Persian rug, expensive rosewood furniture, and a sweeping staircase with railings carved in the shapes of dragons.
“Lady Hannah and Lady Hester will be eager to meet you,” His Grace’s butler said, bowing deeply. “His Grace asked that you meet them immediately after your arrival. May I direct you to the parlor?”
Catherine raised an eyebrow. A more gracious host would have allowed his guests time to rest after such a long journey, but she had already noted that the Duke of Sarsen was unlike most men. She wondered what the sisters would be like.
“Yes,” Elias said. “We are likewise eager to meet the young ladies.”
They went into the lavishly decorated parlor. Catherine seated herself on the settee, Dorothy to her left and Bridget to her right. Elias sat in a lone chair nearby. A young parlor maid swept in at once, bringing tea and biscuits for them. Catherine found herself grateful for the cup and saucer, for it gave her something to hold, to occupy her hands.
“Do you know anything about these sisters?” Bridget asked.
“Nothing,” Elias said.
“I know nothing either,” Dorothy said.
Catherine sipped her mint tea, thinking. His Grace claimed he did not want a mother for his two young sisters. But was that really true? Catherine’s heart ached when she thought of her own mother, who had been taken from her when she was so very young.
Maybe it was His Grace’s intention that the young girls did not need a mother, but what if they disagreed? Catherine was so ill-suited for a maternal role, and it would be a disaster if these girls expected her to fulfill one.
And if they did, how could she refuse? Catherine had the sudden horrifying image in her mind of making two girls cry with her floundering efforts to be a proper lady, mother, and duchess. One of those roles had never been achievable, and she did not foresee having any better success with the other two.
“I am sure they will be very fond of you, though,” Bridget said. “How can anyone dislike you, Cat? You are so lively!”
Catherine’s failed Season was proof that she could be quite unlikable, but she was forced to concede that there were very few ladies among the ton who held her in poor esteem. She had always suspected that other women were fond of her, mostly because she did not present competition for the affections of the many eligible bachelors among the ton.
“They will like you,” Elias said, as he brushed a few crumbs from his jacket. “I have no doubt of that.”
Catherine nodded, as though she agreed, but she could not manage to smother her tremor of doubt. “As you say,” she said, even though she did not really believe that.
The butler returned and cleared his throat. “It is my pleasure to introduce Lady Hester and Lady Hannah.”
Everyone rose. Elias bowed, and the ladies curtsied to one another. Ladies Hester and Hannah were young girls, scarcely twelve years of age by Catherine’s estimation. Both were identical in appearance—curled brown hair that had been pulled back and twisted into chignons, and the same sharp green eyes of His Grace.
Although the girls’ faces were soft with the full bloom of youth, both their expressions were quite stern. Catherine was reminded at once of her governess trying futilely to bring her to heel.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Dorothy said, once they were all seated again.
Lady Hannah and Lady Hester occupied the remaining two chairs. They sat still and stiff, as if they were dolls rather than real girls. Catherine waited to see if they would offer a smile to Dorothy, who had always managed to coax children into liking her, but she received nothing save two identically curt nods. If Lady Hannah had not worn a pink gown and Lady Hester a white one, Catherine would have been unable to tell the two apart, for even their mannerisms offered no clues as to which girl was which.
“And yours,” Lady Hannah said, sipping delicately from her teacup.
Elias cleared his throat. “I suppose I ought to speak to His Grace. Do you know if he is available?”
“No,” Lady Hester replied.
There was a pause, where Catherine—and seemingly her siblings—anticipated some clarification, but Lady Hester gave none. Catherine was unsurprised to hear that His Grace, the man who treated propriety as though it was a lost art, was not available to speak with them. He had probably purposefully made himself scarce just to make their visit more uncomfortable. The Duke of Sarsen seemed to delight in making others uneasy.
“That is unfortunate,” Elias said.
“Do you find the present company lacking?” Lady Hannah asked disapprovingly.
“Not in the least,” Elias replied. “It was only that there are some gentlemen’s matters that we must settle.”
“You have a lovely home,” Bridget said suddenly. “Verdant Castle must be a wonderful place to have a childhood, for it is so vast and beautiful.”
“I suppose,” Lady Hannah replied stiffly.
“The gardens are quite extravagant and varied. There is one which contains all manner of roses and another that holds only poisonous plants,” Lady Hester said with what might have been a kernel of enthusiasm in her voice. “There are also many places for riding and sailing on the estate.”
“I should like to see all of it,” Catherine said.
“I imagine you will,” Lady Hannah said. “You are to be the Duchess of Sarsen, after all. It will be your domain alongside our brother’s.”
“Yes,” Lady Hester agreed.
An uneasy feeling settled over Catherine’s shoulders. She looked at those young, motherless girls and sensed every inch of her insecurity over her new position. Her doubt was like a weight crushing about her shoulders and threatening to overwhelm her.
Catherine thought she might drown from it. What was she to say in response? Should she ask about their mother? That seemed like too intimate a question for someone she had just met, much less a small child.
“You would probably like to rest after such a long journey,” Lady Hannah said, as imperiously as a queen. “Geoffrey will show you to the chambers His Grace has assigned to you.”
His Grace? That address seemed far too formal for one’s own dear brother. “Splendid,” Catherine said at something of a loss.
How had these two cold, reserved girls sprung from the same cloth as His Grace, who was bold and brazen? Catherine mulled over the question as the butler Geoffrey arrived to guide them to their rooms. They went together down a long corridor lined with portraits of stately men and women—doubtlessly His Grace’s ancestors. At last, they came to an imposing oak door.
“These three rooms connect to one another,” Geoffrey said. “His Grace thought that you might wish to remain close to one another since Lady Catherine is soon to leave your household.”
“That is kind of him,” Dorothy said.
“Your room is further along the corridor, Your Grace,” Geoffrey said, nodding to Elias.
“Ah, thank you.”
Elias gave them an obviously forced smile and followed the butler.
Catherine heaved open the door, half-anticipating that her groom-to-be might have decided that her lodgings were to be a dungeon or some other medieval monstrosity, but the room was nice. Elegant, if a little sterile.
Tapestries depicting unicorns and forests lined the old stonework, and the rugs over the floors softened the room. The chamber split into three, as the butler had said. Catherine peered into the nearest room, which was awash with light sweeping in from the window that overlooked the rose gardens.
“So we agree,” Bridget said, “Ladies Hester and Hannah are very…unusual.”
“I would not say it so directly,” Dorothy replied, sounding hesitant.
“But they are ,” Catherine said, glancing at her sisters. “They are very cold and proper.”
“Perhaps, they are slow to warm,” Dorothy conceded. “If given time, I am sure that you will come to see that they are just…proper.”
Catherine sighed and resisted the urge to fling herself forlornly over the nearest bed. “But how am I going to be anything to them?” she asked. “I am so different! They will know that. They probably know it already.”
“That does not mean they will dislike you,” Dorothy replied soothingly. “They are just girls. I do not imagine they will judge you for not being the proper lady. Let us not forget that this meeting was surely as awkward for them as it was for all of us.”
Catherine bit the inside of her cheek, unable to argue with that logic but still wanting to do so. She supposed that Dorothy was right. Catherine began pacing along the floor, her slippers whispering over the finely made carpet.
“I suppose you are right,” Catherine said begrudgingly.
And what did it matter if Dorothy was wrong? Catherine had already made the agreement, and the marriage contract had been signed. It was too late to change course.