Page 13 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)
Chapter Eleven
“ I s giorra cabhag na cùrsa fada.” Haste is shorter than a long course.
“Catriona,” Lady Craigleith called softly as she entered her chambers with a soft knock.
The morning sun streamed through Catriona’s windows as she blinked open her eyes, painting the room in a soft, golden light that was a far cry from the darkness in her mother’s eyes. It was just last night they had a lovely diversion at the theater, reveling in the catharsis of drama.
Today, her mother’s face was a pale cry from the usual color that shone in her cheeks, her hands trembling as they clutched a crumpled letter.
“It’s… it’s from the heir,” she said.
Her mother’s voice was thin, laced with a tremor that sent a chill down Catriona’s spine.
The heir.
Her distant cousin, James, held the fate of their ancestral home in his hands. It was their home. So much more than just bricks and mortar, Craigleith Hall was the last standing embodiment of her father. It was the one place his presence lingered in every corner.
“What does he say?” Catriona asked, her voice barely a whisper as she lifted herself out of the covers and to her feet.
“He’s received an offer. A most generous offer, he says. He’s considering selling the estate.” Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, refusing to shed them.
Sellin’ the estate? It’s unthinkable. Aye, I need to think. The thought of strangers wanderin’ through faither’s study… another family’s laughter echoin’ in the halls where we used to dine… it is unbearable.
“Nae,” Catriona breathed, her voice gaining strength as she considered a plan. “He cannae. He mustnae.”
“It’s within his rights, me dear. The estate is his now,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping as she sat heavily on the bed.
Desperation clawed at Catriona as she began to pace. She could not let this happen. She would not let this happen.
“There must be somethin’ we can do,” she insisted, her heart racing as the wheels in her mind began to turn. “We need to secure our future. We need to… to find a solution.”
Her mother looked at her, a flicker of hope in her weary eyes. “What do ye suggest, Catriona? You havenae exactly made a proper match, unless there is somethin’ ye’ve been waitin’ to tell me… and for god’s sake, lass?—”
“I’ll secure a proposal, Maither,” she said with a hardened gaze, filled with a newfound determination. “A proposal from a man of means, a man who can help us keep our home. I promise ye, Maither. I willnae let us lose it.”
“Do you think she rides bareback?” one guest whispered to another as Catriona made her way about the garden party.
“Her hair is surely as untamed as if she just took a ride,” one whispered as Catriona pressed a hand to her chest, willing the whispers to cease.
“On a horse or a man, who is to say?” They snickered.
A week had passed when Catriona found herself at Lord Arlington’s party, buzzing with the requisite frivolity of such gatherings.
The sounds of laughter and social scheming, string music, and the clinking of champagne glasses filled her ears. While she loathed such events, Catriona was lucky that she, her mother, and Lady Marchant were invited to such given her urgent quest.
Secure a proposal.
“Eliza!” Catriona called out as she saw her friend arrive with Lady Northley, forcing her voice to sound brighter than she felt, as she walked hurriedly toward her. “Aye, it’s good to see a friendly face here. Ye may as well be the Fairie Flag of Dunvegan!”
Eliza offered a sympathetic smile and a tender embrace. “It is nice to see you too, Catriona. Though I must say, this gathering seems particularly prickly today. I wish people would keep their unpleasant and unfounded thoughts to themselves.”
Catriona sighed, as she could sense that Eliza had heard the whispers. “It’s always the same for me, unfortunately, following me like a dark cloud wherever I go. Aye, me and my unwaverin’ Scottishness, I suppose. These polite folk relish in their cruelty.”
“They are fools for not seeing you as I do,” Eliza declared fiercely. “You are worth ten of them. They are just jealous of your lively beauty. I know I envy you, most lovingly of course,” she said, giving her hand a tight squeeze.
Catriona managed a weak nod at her friend’s compliment. She knew that she meant it. “Thank ye, Eliza. Yer friendship is truly appreciated. I dinnae ken what I would do without it.”
Somehow, the volume in the room seemed to increase exponentially, and Catriona could feel her heartbeat pounding in her head. The room started to spin right as the whispers around seemed to pick up in haste.
As if on cue, Lady Abigail approached her with her gaggle of followers. They eyed Catriona up and down, as if assessing a piece of meat at the market, and not a human being.
“You seem quite unwell, Lady Catriona,” she offered. “Perhaps the English weather does not agree with your constitution. It may be best if you gathered your belongings and returned home.”
There willnae be a home for me much longer. In Scotland, or anywhere else.
“You… Oh!” Eliza grunted quietly as the ladies stifled their laughter as they walked away.
“Someone ought to teach those girls some manners,” Eliza said to their backs as they walked away, loud enough so they could hear. “There is nothing polite or delicate about their cruel hearts. In fact, I think I will walk right over and do just that.”
“Please, Eliza. Let them be. Dinnae intervene on me behalf, it will only fuel their spite. I cannae stand any more unpleasantness.”
“It makes me so angry, the way they treat you so. It’s like I always tell you, they are just jealous of your fire. You are worth ten of them, my friend. I mean it with all my heart.”
While she shook her head in understanding, it took everything Catriona had not to cover her ears and run. Even with Eliza there, she could not sustain their comments and the pressure of finding a match.
I cannae breathe.
Catriona paused, her gaze sweeping over the crowd as she turned back to Eliza and offered a small smile. “I… I need a moment. The air feels a bit stiflin’ in here.”
“I couldn’t agree more, let me join you. I’ll tell Mama we need to take a turn about the grounds,” she suggested as she offered to usher Catriona to the gardens.
Catriona could only feel the whispers grow at Eliza’s kind intervention, becoming more of a spectacle as her inadequacies as a social lady became evident. She could not afford a misstep.
“Much as I appreciate yer offer, I just need a moment. Enjoy the party. I’ll return soon,” she said as she slunk away, desperately seeking a brief respite from the suffocating atmosphere of society.
“Your Grace! We are so glad you could make it! And the charming Lady Lydia! You are both most welcome!” Arlington called to Lydia and Richard as they entered the party, his face beaming as he rushed to greet them.
Richard offered a curt nod. “Thank you for the invitation,” he said, the sincerity in his voice putting a smile on Lord Arlington’s face.
As he offered the usual niceties to Lydia, Richard scanned the crowd. His eyes involuntarily searching for Catriona, wondering if she was there. He hadn’t seen her at the intermission or after last week’s performance.
He tried to suppress the unwelcome flutter in his chest as he focused again on the present conversation and what he could ascertain from Arlington and his connections that day.
“Come, come,” Arlington boomed, clapping Richard on the back in a way that was becoming familiar. “Let me introduce you to some of the finest company in London!”
He steered them towards a group of lords and ladies, their faces etched with the familiar arrogance of the elite.
Richard forced a smile as introductions were made, knowing that he would only be able to succeed if he were to play the game. Lydia remained close to Richard, almost attached to his side, as her eyes grew wide and wary with the onslaught of pleasantries.
“Lord Breecher, Lady Clambly, allow me to present the Duke of Wilthorne and his niece, Lady Lydia. A most astute businessman who needs no introduction, and his delightful young ward.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, young lady,” Lady Clambly said to the girl in a sing-song voice more suitable for an infant or puppy than someone of Lydia’s age.
It was then that more gazes turned to Lydia, curiosity sharp and invasive. Richard realized that only a small few had met her, and only in passing. She was a novelty.
“Such a quiet child,” another woman remarked as she shouldered up to the group, her tone laced with a hint of condescension. “Has a cat got your tongue, young lady?”
“Indeed,” Lord Breecher added as his eyes narrowed in on her. “Is she unwell? I hope she is not ill. Is it contagious?”
“My niece is perfectly well, I can assure you. She is merely reserved,” Richard said as he punctuated the thought, his protective instincts flaring as he wished he could smash the champagne glasses clutched in their puny hands.
As soon as I can find an appropriate lull in this pointless conversation, we will circulate this cursed party. Surely this is not the type of fruitful conversation that lured me here.
“Why… she truly hasn’t said a single word since we arrived,” Lady Clambly nattered on, her voice carrying a hint of speculation, as she was unwilling to drop the subject. “Now, why is that?”
“Pardon me, I have spotted an acquaintance I must greet. If you’ll all kindly excuse us…” he stated as he tried to steer Lydia away, no longer willing to wait for a polite exit.
“Perhaps she’s just a shy one, Lady Clambly!” Lord Breecher suggested as he knelt to meet Lydia’s gaze. He finished his glass of champagne in a single gulp. “Come now, little one, surely you can say good afternoon?”
“Step back,” Richard said coolly, his voice low and edged with steel. “You’re crowding her.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the warning in his tone was unmistakable—quiet, firm, and wholly unbending.