Page 30 of Claiming His Lost Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #8)

CHAPTER TWENTY

T he rest of the afternoon was spent in the gardens, where Catherine had enthusiastically suggested they hold an impromptu celebration to better acquaint everyone with each other.

The setting could not have been more perfect – the vast gardens stretching in all directions, filled with the colors and scents of late summer, the ancient trees providing dappled shade that created a sense of natural warmth around their gathering.

Blankets were spread across the luscious lawn by the efficient household staff, creating comfortable seating areas that encouraged intimate conversation while maintaining the sense of a unified celebration.

The kitchen, under Mrs. Wintersdown’s capable direction, had somehow managed to produce an impressive array of refreshments on remarkably short notice – delicate sandwiches cut into perfect triangles, fruit tarts, fresh scones still warm from the oven, and pots of jam and cream that had been cooling in the dairy that very morning.

The Scots, Joan discovered with fascination and growing delight, had brought with them knowledge of several traditional games that had the children shrieking with laughter within minutes of their introduction.

The games seemed to involve a great deal of running and shouting, with rules that appeared to change depending on who was explaining them and teams that formed and reformed with the fluid logic of childhood imagination.

Joan found herself drawn into the festivities almost against her will, her natural reserve crumbling in the face of such infectious enthusiasm.

Soon, she was breathless and laughing, her carefully arranged hair coming loose from its pins and her cheeks flushed with exertion and joy, when Graham appeared at her side during a brief pause in the activities.

“Enjoying yourself, mo ghràdh ?” he murmured, the Gaelic endearment rolling off his tongue with the ease of long practice, his dark eyes dancing with mischief and something deeper that made her stomach flutter with awareness.

The afternoon light caught the auburn locks of his hair, and Joan could see the way activities had brought color to his cheeks, making him appear younger and more carefree than she had ever seen him.

There was grass on his sleeve and dirt on his hands from joining in the children's games with wholehearted enthusiasm, and she realized with sudden clarity that this was Graham as he was meant to be – not the serious duke weighed down by responsibility, but a man surrounded by family and free to simply enjoy their company.

“Your family is wonderfully mad,” she replied, not entirely meaning it as a compliment but finding that the words came out filled with warmth and affection nonetheless.

Graham grinned, the expression transforming his face with boyish charm. “Mad is certainly one way to describe them. Growing up, there was never a quiet moment in our house – always some game or adventure or crisis that required immediate attention.”

As the games resumed, Joan noticed with growing awareness that Graham seemed to find excuse after excuse to position himself near her.

When the teams were divided for the next round of activity, they found themselves on opposite sides, but throughout the competition, he managed to be wherever she was.

When she stumbled over an uneven patch of ground, his hand was immediately there to steady her, warm and strong against her elbow.

When she needed help rising from where she had been sitting on one of the blankets, he appeared as if by magic to offer his assistance, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary as he pulled her to her feet.

Each contact sent little jolts of awareness through her nerves, like tiny lightning strikes that illuminated parts of herself she had thought permanently dark.

Joan realized with startling and somewhat frightening clarity that she couldn't resist her husband's pull on her senses, couldn't maintain the careful distance she had tried to preserve between them.

For the first time in her entire life, she felt truly safe in a man's presence – not just physically protected, but emotionally secure in a way that allowed her to let down her guard completely.

The realization was both liberating and terrifying, opening up possibilities she had never allowed herself to imagine while simultaneously making her more vulnerable than she had ever been.

She was watching Graham swing young Thomas around in circles, the boy's delighted laughter ringing across the garden while the other children clapped and cheered – some of them demanding a turn – when Margaret appeared at her side with the silent grace that seemed to be a family trait.

“He's always been wonderful with children,” Margaret observed, her voice warm with obvious affection for her brother.

“Even when we were young, he was the one we all turned to when we scraped our knees or had nightmares. Our father used to say that Graham would make an excellent father someday, that he had the patience and gentleness that children need to flourish.”

“He truly does,” Joan agreed softly, her heart swelling with pride as she watched her husband's interaction with his young nephew. “Sophia adores him. From the moment they met, she knew instinctively that he was someone she could trust completely.”

“And what about you?” Margaret asked with a knowing smile that suggested she already suspected the answer. “Do you adore him completely as well?”

Joan felt the heat rise in her cheeks so quickly that it rendered her dizzy. Before she could formulate an answer that would be both truthful and appropriate, Williams appeared in the garden doorway, silently commanding attention with his presence.

“Your Grace,” he called to Joan, his voice carrying across the lawn with unusual volume, “You have a visitor requesting immediate audience.”

Joan frowned, wondering who would come to look for her without calling first. She had barely stepped away from her sister-in-law before she spotted a familiar figure push past the butler, walking toward them across the lawn. Her heart sank heavily as she recognized her cousin drawing closer.

Georgina approached with her usual careful smile firmly in place, though Joan could see disapproval radiating from her cousin's very posture as she took in the scene before her.

The contrast could not have been more stark – the sprawling picnic with its casual blankets and scattered cushions, the boisterous games that had left everyone pleasantly disheveled, the general air of informal merriment that spoke of family intimacy rather than ducal dignity.

Joan could practically see her cousin studying every detail that fell short of her rigid standards of proper behavior for people of their elevated station.

“Cousin,” Georgina said as she reached their gathering, offering Joan a perfunctory embrace that managed to convey duty rather than affection, “I hope I'm not interrupting anything too important.”

Her tone suggested that she could not possibly imagine what could be important enough to justify such undignified behavior from a duchess and her noble in–laws.

“Not at all,” Joan replied with forced pleasantness, though she could already sense the tension that was beginning to build like storm clouds on a previously clear horizon. “Please, let me introduce you to my husband's family.”

The introductions that followed were polite but stilted, each word carefully measured and weighed for appropriateness.

Joan could see Georgina's barely concealed disdain as she was welcomed with genuine warmth to join their gathering, her cousin's sharp eyes taking in every detail of the informal celebration.

Even the children seemed to sense something was not right, the older ones coaxing the younger into silence and good behavior somehow.

Though Georgina remained physically present and even participated superficially in the conversation, it became increasingly clear that she disapproved of nearly everything she witnessed.

Her comments grew steadily more pointed as the afternoon progressed, each observation carefully crafted to point out flaws, without being outright rude.

“How very… unconventional this is, seeing you so eager to tussle around with your family. You must all be quite close,” She remarked on the nature of their activities, her eyebrows rising with theatrical surprise as she watched the duchesses participating in games that left grass stains on their expensive gowns.

“We certainly are,” Catherine grinned, reaching to poke Graham, causing him to stumble and fall out of his designated spot – resulting in his loss of the game. “If only our husbands were not occupied with some work, you might’ve gotten an even different idea of just how close we all are.”

Margaret laughed so hard, she snorted, the unladylike noise making Georgina wince in disgust.

Moments later, she expressed with a look of mock amazement,

“I do not think I have ever witnessed people within a high class such as yours opt to get their hands dirty for the sake of silly activities that are better suited for the common folk. Surely there are more refined ways to pass the time.”

“Life is far too short to worry about such misgivings,” Margaret stated calmly, reaching forward to pick a leaf out of Sophia’s hair, before sending her back to her cousins with a kiss on the cheek.

Georgina was clearly dissatisfied with the effects of her words, and she continued to make jabs, each comment delivered with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Joan found herself growing more and more tense with each passing minute, her jaw aching from maintaining a pleasant expression while she tried desperately to mediate between her cousin's escalating disapproval and her in–laws' natural exuberance.

The joy that had filled the afternoon began to drain away, replaced by the familiar anxiety that had dominated so much of her life before Graham.

Graham, she noticed with growing gratitude, seemed content to ignore Georgina entirely, focusing instead on ensuring that Sophia and her cousins continued to play safely together.

His obvious dismissal of her cousin's barbed comments allowed the children to remain blissfully unaware of the adult tensions swirling around them.

The breaking point came when one of Catherine's youngest children accidentally knocked over a glass of lemonade during a particularly enthusiastic game, prompting some good–natured cursing from Isobel that sent all the children into fits of delighted giggles.

“Really,” Georgina said loudly, her voice cutting through the laughter sharply, “I suppose some standards are simply different in different families.” Her tone carried the kind of condescension that made Joan's skin crawl with embarrassment.

“My father would have been utterly ashamed to see you associated with this kind of... primitive behavior.”

The words hung in the air like storm clouds, creating a silence so profound that even the birds in the nearby trees seemed to pause in their singing. Joan felt something snap inside her chest, a rush of protective fury that surprised her with its white–hot intensity.

“That's quite enough,” she said sharply, rising to her feet with a fluid grace that contrasted against the barely controlled anger bubbling in her chest. Her voice carried across the garden with an authority she didn't know she possessed.

“You will leave immediately. You are no longer welcome here.”

Georgina's mouth fell open in genuine shock, her carefully maintained composure cracking apart. “Joan! I was merely?—”

“You were being unspeakably rude to my family,” Joan interrupted, her voice trembling with a righteous anger that felt cleansing after years of swallowing such treatment.

“These people have welcomed me and my daughter with nothing but kindness and love, and I will not tolerate anyone insulting them in my home.”

Georgina's face flushed scarlet as she struggled to formulate a response, sputtering protests and excuses that fell on deaf ears.

Finally, gathering what remained of her dignity, she departed in a huff of offended pride, her exit accompanied by muttered complaints about ingratitude and poor judgment.

The uncomfortable silence that followed her departure seemed to stretch endlessly. Joan immediately turned to Graham's family, mortification washing over her in waves that left her feeling nauseated and exposed.

“I am so very sorry,” she said, her voice thick with embarrassment and genuine distress. “Her behavior was inexcusable. I'm afraid I've ruined what should have been a perfect afternoon for all of us.”

Catherine was the first to respond, her laughter bubbling up suddenly.

“Oh, my dear,” she said warmly, her eyes sparkling with mirth rather than offense, “We've endured far worse than one disapproving cousin, I can assure you. Though I do hope you don't feel burdened by being associated with such a wild and undisciplined family as ours.”

The gentle teasing in Catherine's voice, combined with the obvious affection in her manner, made Joan's heart swell with gratitude and something that felt remarkably like belonging.

“I am honored,” Joan said immediately, the words flowing from somewhere deep in her heart without conscious thought, “To be welcomed by such a loving, warm, and genuine family. More honored than you could possibly know.”

The radiant smiles that greeted her declaration seemed to light up the entire garden, and Joan felt something fundamental shift in her chest – a sense of belonging and acceptance that she had never experienced before, a feeling that she might deserve the happiness that had been so unexpectedly offered to her.