Page 29 of Claiming His Lost Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #8)

But Joan knew better. She knew Graham had only proposed their union in a bid to have his daughter close. The knowledge sat in her chest like a weight of lead, growing heavier with each passing moment.

The guilt she felt was like a physical ache, a constant reminder that she was living a lie, allowing Graham's family to believe in a love story that existed only in their hopeful imaginations.

What would they think if they knew the truth?

How would their warm acceptance change if they understood that she was not the answer to Graham's prayers but merely a complication he had chosen to manage with characteristic honor?

As she finally sought her bed, the questions followed her into uneasy sleep, creating dreams filled with disappointment and the fear that someday the truth would emerge and destroy the fragile peace they had built together.

The next several days passed in a whirlwind of activity that transformed the usually ordered household into something resembling a spontaneous festival.

Joan and Sophia found themselves swept up in the warm embrace of Graham's Scottish relatives, and with each passing moment spent in their presence, Joan felt more of her initial nervousness melting.

Mary's earlier coldness had completely disappeared, replaced by the kind of genuine grandmotherly warmth that Joan had only dreamed of during her lonely childhood.

The older woman seemed determined to make up for her initial reception, spending hours with Sophia in the sun room, teaching her simple Gaelic words that made the little girl giggle with delight at their musical sound.

Mary would point to objects around the room – “ craobh ” for tree, “ blàth ” for flower, “ graidh ” for love – and Sophia would repeat them back with the fearless confidence, her pronunciation improving with each attempt.

“Your daughter has a natural ear for languages,” Mary told Joan two days after her arrival on a warm afternoon as they watched Sophia carefully practicing her letters while incorporating her new vocabulary.

“She reminds me so much of Graham at that age – so eager to learn, so determined to get everything exactly right.”

Joan felt her heart swell with pride as she watched her daughter's serious concentration, the way Sophia's small tongue poked out slightly as she focused on forming each letter perfectly.

The connection to Graham's childhood, the sense of family continuity, was something Joan had never expected to treasure so deeply.

Isobel proved to be everything Joan had hoped for in a sister – warm, funny, and refreshingly candid in a way that went beyond social pretense.

She had an infectious laugh that seemed to bubble up from some inexhaustible well of joy, and a talent for providing comfort to those around her in a way that was both natural and irresistible.

In Isobel's presence, Joan found herself more relaxed than she had been with anyone in years, able to laugh freely and speak her mind without constantly monitoring every word for potential misinterpretation.

“You know,” Isobel said one morning as they sat together in the garden, watching Sophia chase butterflies between the rose bushes, “I've never seen my brother so content. There's a peace about him now that was never there before, even when we were children.”

Joan felt warmth bloom in her chest at the words, even as a small voice in her mind whispered that Isobel was seeing what she wanted to see rather than the complicated reality of their marriage.

On the third day of their visit, the household was thrown into delighted chaos when the sound of multiple carriages announced an even larger family reunion.

Joan watched from the sunroom window as Graham strode across the courtyard with obvious joy to greet the new arrivals, his face alight with a happiness that transformed his usually serious expression into something radiant.

“Margaret! Catherine!” he called out, his voice carrying across the grounds with unrestrained delight.

Joan observed the reunion from her place by the window, her heart warming at the obvious deep affection between the siblings, despite the nervousness over the arrival of even more guests.

Margaret, the Duchess of Windermoor, proved to be a tall, elegant woman who moved with the kind of natural authority that suggested she had been born to command respect.

Her auburn hair was arranged in a sophisticated style that spoke of London fashion, and her traveling dress was cut in the latest mode, but there was nothing cold or intimidating about her manner as she embraced her brother with obvious love.

Catherine, the Duchess of Rosehall, was quite different from her older sister – smaller in stature and rounder in figure, with auburn hair that caught the afternoon sun and created a halo effect around her gentle features.

Her merry eyes reminded Joan strongly of Sophia, and there was something immediately welcoming about her smile that put Joan at ease even before they were properly introduced.

Joan made it outside in time to witness Graham being scolded by his older sisters.

“Graham Lennox!” Margaret scolded as she released him from their embrace, though her tone was more affectionate than truly reproachful, even as she swatted his arm.

“Getting married without inviting your sisters! The absolute scandal of it! I could hardly believe it when Lysander told me, but when Mother wrote to tell us she had also heard about it – oh, you cheeky devil.”

“Aye,” Catherine added, though her voice sparkled with barely suppressed laughter rather than genuine anger.

“And after we waited so patiently for you to find yourself a wife.

We had bets going among ourselves about whether you'd die a lonely bachelor, married to nothing but your account books and estate documents!”

Graham's laughter rang out across the courtyard, rich and warm and completely unguarded.

“I couldn't wait any longer,” he said simply.

“Not after searching for her for so long, not after all those years of wondering if I'd ever see her again. When I found her, I knew she was truly mine, and there was nothing more to do than make it official immediately before anything could separate us again.”

Joan felt her cheeks burn at his words, even though she understood they were performed for his family's benefit rather than spoken from genuine feeling.

The way he spoke of their marriage – as if it had been a desperate love story spanning years rather than a practical arrangement born of necessity – never failed to create a complex mixture of pleasure and discomfort in her chest.

The introductions that followed were overwhelming in the best possible way.

Margaret swept Joan into an embrace that smelled of expensive French perfume, her smile genuine and welcoming as she murmured words of acceptance and joy at finally meeting the woman who had captured her brother's heart.

There was something immediately trustworthy about Margaret, a straightforward warmth that suggested she said exactly what she meant without artifice or hidden meanings.

Catherine was even more effusive in her welcome, declaring with infectious enthusiasm that she had been positively desperate to meet the mysterious woman who had managed to make their serious, work–obsessed brother smile like a man who had discovered the secret to happiness itself.

But it was when the children were brought forward that Joan's heart truly clenched with overwhelming emotion.

Margaret's three children – Eleanor, a serious–faced girl of perhaps ten with her mother's hair and intelligent eyes; James, a boy of eight whose mischievous grin promised future adventures; and Rufus, barely six but already showing signs of the family's characteristic determination – were all perfectly mannered and curious about their new aunt and cousin.

Catherine's four children proved to be more boisterous but equally charming.

Robert, the eldest at twelve, had inherited his mother's auburn hair and easy smile.

Mary, named after her grandmother, was ten and possessed of a quiet dignity that reminded Joan of herself at that age.

Anne, eight years old, had the kind of irrepressible energy that suggested she was always on the verge of some grand adventure.

Thomas, the youngest at five, clung to his mother's skirts but watched the proceedings with bright, intelligent eyes.

What struck Joan most forcefully, with an impact that was almost physical in its intensity, was that several of the children shared Sophia's distinctive coloring.

The auburn hair that marked Sophia as unmistakably Graham's daughter was present in varying shades among her newly discovered cousins, creating a visible tapestry of family connection that took Joan's breath away.

“Look, Mama!” Sophia whispered with barely contained excitement, tugging on Joan's skirt with eager fingers. “They have hair like mine! Like Papa's! We all look like we belong together!”

“Yes, darling,” Joan whispered back, her throat tight with unexpected emotion that threatened to spill over into tears.

The simple joy in her daughter's voice, the wonder at discovering this visible proof of belonging, was almost more than Joan's heart could bear.

“You're part of a very special family indeed.”