Page 12 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

Chapter Ten

“ C han eil a h-uile càil a ghlacas iasg.” Not everything that glitters catches fish.

“And then,” Eliza said, her eyes wide with amusement as she recalled the sight.

“Mr. Featherstone tripped over his own feet trying to bow to my mother! I swear, I thought she might expire from holding in her laughter, the proper lady she endeavors to be. It’s too bad you had to leave the ball so quickly.

It really was too funny to do justice with words! ”

Catriona chuckled at the thought, adjusting the lace shawl around her shoulders as they approached the theater’s entrance. Their mothers had gone a few steps ahead, giving the ladies time to better enjoy each other’s company in private.

“Poor sap, just tryin’ to make a decent impression. But ye ken, I surprisingly enjoyed hearin’ of his sheep.”

The oversized chandeliers of the Olde Britland Theater cast a warm glow as they entered, walking up the grand staircase to the bustling lobby.

Catriona wore an emerald gown that Eliza had insisted on lending her.

It had to be let out a bit in the bust and hips, but it managed to accommodate her more curvaceous frame.

The dress perfectly contrasted with her alabaster skin, and ebony hair, which was pulled up elegantly as small curls fell to frame her face.

Meanwhile, Eliza wore a soft pink, fashionable gown she had recently acquired from Paris, perfectly complimenting her svelte, delicate frame.

Eliza hooked Catriona’s arm in hers, taking in the hustle and bustle of the lobby, as patrons waited to take their seats for the evening’s performance.

“Speaking of grand entrances… did you see the Duke of Wilthorne at the races?” Eliza asked. “Quite the stir he caused from what my mother told me. He’s not known to venture out to such events. I wonder if someone has finally caught his eye!”

Catriona’s brow furrowed as she considered her response carefully. A part of her so desperately needed to confide in her friend, and yet she could not bring herself to utter the words of what had transpired, even a redacted version.

“The duke? Aye. Yes, he was there.” Her tone was more dismissive than she wanted it to be, creating more questions than answers, she feared. “A rather cold fish, would ye nae agree? Stiff as a board, I say.”

“Perhaps,” Eliza conceded. “Although you must admit he is quite handsome, despite his cool exterior. And his niece, Lady Lydia, is the sweetest little thing.”

Catriona’s expression softened instantly at the thought of her. “Indeed, she is an adorable lass. I feel sorry for her. I ken somethin’ happened to her in her past, but I dinnae ken what. I dinnae ken if I want to.”

“It’s a dreadful story, and you can imagine how saddened we all were,” Eliza’s voice lowered, tinged with sincere sadness, as they found a quiet corner amidst the crowd.

“My mother told me that her parents… they were all ambushed in their carriage a year ago. She is lucky to have made it out alive. A gruesome affair.”

Catriona’s breath hitched as she considered what the poor girl must have seen and all that she had lost at such a young age.

“Och, how awful!”

Aye, I too ken the gapin’ hole of a lost parent. There is nae greater pain.

“Dreadful,” Eliza repeated, nodding grimly. “And the poor child… she hasn’t spoken a single word since. The shock, they say, has rendered her mute. They do not know if she will ever be able to speak again, from what my mother has told me.”

That is why the lassie doesnae speak. Mute… with grief.

Catriona’s heart ached even deeper for Lydia as she clutched her chest. It was unimaginable.

And at the same time, she thought of all that had fallen on the duke.

Dealing with the loss of his brother was bad enough, on top of that, the profound trauma of his niece, and her care had to be an immense weight to carry.

Perhaps he isnae just a stiff-necked prig. Aye, maybe he is weighed down by his own sorrow that he cannae see.

“Lady Eliza,” Lord Harrington said, his bow elegant and sharp as he approached the ladies. “You look radiant this evening. Your mother said I could find you here, she was just telling me of your trip to Paris. I trust you enjoyed yourself?”

“Lord Harrington,” Eliza replied, her cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment, almost to match her gown. “I certainly did, and you are too kind. Please allow me to introduce my dear friend, Miss Catriona MacTavish.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss MacTavish,” he said as he bowed to her, taking in her generous curves as his eyes traveled up and down her gown. “May I also introduce a dear friend, Lord Charles Attiford.”

Lord Attiford also turned his attention instantly to Catriona, a practiced charm in his grin. “Miss MacTavish. It is always a pleasure to encounter such rare beauty at the theater”

“Lord Attiford,” Catriona responded, her tone polite but lacking appropriate warmth for such an exchange, as she offered a small bow.

She was not used to the attention of men and struggled to find her voice. Instead, she just smiled. That would have to be good enough.

It was then that Catriona felt a familiar yet unwelcoming figure striding purposefully towards their group, the scent of pine and leather in its wake.

The duke.

Richard’s eyes were fixed on Catriona as he made his way in her direction. He noted that she was currently engaged in an exchange with the bumbling oaf, Lord Attiford, and his equally bumbling companion, Lord Harrington.

A knot tightened in Richard’s chest as his hands tensed into tight fists in his pocket. An unfamiliar wave coiled within him, possessive and angry at the sight of her with not just another man, but men .

As he drew closer, he caught the tail end of Lord Attiford’s attempt at gallantry.

“…and Miss MacTavish, the exquisite color of your gown is most becoming. What would you say it is?”

“It’s emerald, Attiford,” his voice cut in as he sliced through Lord Attiford’s floundering compliment. “A rather expected shade for a Scottish lass, wouldn’t you agree?”

He stepped directly between Catriona and the two lords, his presence an undeniable intrusion, as she and Lady Eliza gave a curtsy.

Lord Harrington and Lord Attiford exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Your Grace,” Harrington offered, a light smile on his face. “How delightful, meeting you here.”

“First a ball, then the races, now the theater?” Lord Attiford jested playfully. “Why, you’re a regular man about town these days.”

“Indeed,” Richard replied, his gaze unwavering on the two men as he stood perfectly straight, lording his height over them—he had to have at least five inches on them.

The two lords, sensing the distinct chill emanating from the duke, mumbled hasty excuses to find their seats.

“Well, the curtain waits for no one,” Harrington joked. “Enjoy the performance, ladies.”

“Yes, a most promising tragedy, I hear,” Lord Attiford added quickly, before both men retreated with haste into the mass of theatergoers.

Eliza turned to the duke, her expression a mixture of annoyance and disbelief as she remained cordial. “Please forgive me sincerely, Your Grace… but I do believe you frightened those young men away.”

Catriona’s eyes flashed with irritation as she glared in his direction. “Indeed. Yer manners, as always, leave much to be desired, Yer Grace.”

“My manners?” Richard snapped, his voice low but fierce, the heat of his temper meeting hers head-on.

“You’d do well to remember who you’re addressing, my lady,” he said, taking a step closer, his frame imposing in the space between them.

“Or were you perhaps enjoying the attention of those simpering fools?” he added, the words dripping with contempt as he spoke.

“They were bein’ perfectly civil,” Catriona snapped back. “Unlike someone else I could mention.”

“Civil?” Richard’s voice grew slightly louder, the bite in his words unmistakable as he stepped closer, his eyes hardening. “Those fools were practically drooling over you, all thanks to that dress,” he growled, the words laced with a fierce edge.

“And what business is it of yers what I wear?” she asked, her cheeks flushing at the heat of their exchange. “Aye, and who I choose to converse with is hardly yer concern.”

“Perhaps not,” Richard muttered, his jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his beard. “But I don’t like seeing someone as vulnerable as you surrounded by fools.”

“Vulnerable?” Eliza interjected, her eyebrows raised at the very thought. “Catriona? I hardly think that description applies.”

“Your Grace, how delightful to find you in such pleasant company for once,” Lord Hargrave remarked as he walked over to join their conversation, and behind him trailed a somewhat reluctant Lord Arlington.

Richard noted that even as Hargrave addressed him, his eyes immediately found Lady Eliza.

Like a moth to a flame.

“Lady Eliza,” he said, as smooth as velvet. “It seems fate, or perhaps merely a shared appreciation for the dramatic arts, has brought us together.”

Eliza’s annoyance with the duke vanished, and she only had eyes for his friend. “A happy coincidence indeed, Lord Hargrave.”

“I trust your mother is well,” he said.

“Indeed she is. If you’d prefer her company, she is around here somewhere,” she jested.

“I assure you the present company is most enjoyable,” he replied in earnest.

“Well, come along, gentlemen,” Arlington chimed in, likely eager to sit down and relax. “We must secure our boxes before the curtain rises.”

“Ladies, it has been a pleasure,” Lord Hargrave announced as he offered Eliza a lingering smile before following the other two.

As the men moved towards the staircase leading to the private boxes, Arlington clapped Richard on the shoulder.

“Your Grace, you must come to my little gathering next week. A garden party, you know. Nothing too formal. Excellent company, decent champagne. My wife would be delighted if you and little Lydia would join.”

Richard’s initial inclination, as always, was to politely decline. Another tedious social affair was the last thing he wanted. “I appreciate the invitation, but?—”

“Nonsense, nonsense!” Arlington waved a dismissive hand. “You simply must come. Your Lydia needs to get out and about.”

Richard hesitated. Arlington’s connections were valuable. He was a man who knew everyone that mattered, and Richard’s ambitions required such acquaintances.

“Very well,” Richard conceded, a reluctant sigh escaping his lips. “We shall endeavor to attend.”

Arlington beamed. “Excellent! Excellent! I shall look forward to it.”

He clapped Richard again on the shoulder playfully before disappearing into one of the private boxes. Richard followed as a sense of foreboding settled in his stomach. Tonight’s dramatic performance was said to be a tragedy. But Richard had a tragedy of his own to avenge.