Page 15 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)
Chapter Twelve
“ è ist ri gaoth nam beann gus an traogh na h-uisgeachan.” Listen to the wind upon the hill till the waters abate.
“I cannae think of how this would be without ye here,” Catriona whispered as she took Eliza’s hand. “Ye look lovely this evenin’, perhaps we will both walk away with a match?”
Relax. Steel yer heart and yer gaze on the prize. A proper match. Tonight is the night.
Another week had quickly passed when Catriona found herself among other guests at Lord Harrington’s elegant estate.
The grand ballroom shimmered with ambient candlelight as she admired the ladies’ gowns. Rich tones of amber, ruby, and violet were the evening’s favorites.
Catriona had chosen a delicate shade of lavender, which was one of her best gowns. She saved it for the most important of occasions and hoped that this would bring her good luck, as well as a sound return on their dwindling resources.
Her mother and Lady Marchant stood close by, as they gathered their bearings before venturing out to circulate among the other guests. It was then Lady Northley and Eliza joined their circle. As Catriona’s most loyal friend, her presence was a source of comfort she relished.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Eliza said with a laugh. “Don’t let my mother hear you, she has her own machinations this evening, I fear!”
Despite the undercurrent of anxiety that swelled within her, coupled with the usual gossip surrounding her “uncouth” origins, Catriona found herself the object of some attention.
Several gentlemen, drawn perhaps by her exotic beauty or the still lingering vestiges of her family’s social standing, sought her hand for a dance. One, Lord Beaumont, was particularly persistent.
Catriona decided upon their first exchange that Lord Beaumont’s conversation was about as dry as dust, but he was wealthy and respectable.
“While most women fawned over my brother, I knew that I would always be the more successful one,” he went on, as Catriona willed her eyes not to glass over.
“He was so concerned with his appearance, the latest dandy fashions. Pah! But I read my books and worked hard to earn the respect of my father. When I was little, I never even played with a single toy! All I did was use my abacus and calculate the circumference of the room I was in.”
It was hard not to wince at what Beaumont was saying.
Was this truly how grown men in England spoke?
Remember what is at stake , she told herself.
“I have always considered physical exertion to be the province of the lower orders. A gentleman, after all, ought to cultivate his mind, not his muscles. I am sorry, I have been speaking so much. Tell me, what do you think of mathematics?”
“Aye, I am nae much for mathematics, but I do enjoy music. Would ye make an exception to physical exertion just this once? If I may be so forward,” she said, lowering her lashes in the least forward manner she could manage.
For a moment, Beaumont simply stared at her, as if the very idea of being coaxed into activity was both unthinkable and mildly thrilling. He adjusted his cuffs in that precise, fussily deliberate way of his, the motion buying him time—or composure.
“Well,” he said at last, his voice ever so slightly drier than usual, “in the spirit of gallantry, and under such… charming provocation,” his gaze flicked to hers, warm despite himself, “I suppose an exception might be made. Just this once, of course. We mustn’t encourage reckless habits.”
Her smile grew. So, he could be persuaded.
She downed the last of her champagne and glided across the floor with him.
Aye, what is one dance?
A fragile glimmer of hope began to bloom in Catriona’s chest as her bosom heaved up and down with anticipation. Funnily enough, she noticed Lord Beaumont’s eyes and how drawn they were to that very spot.
That’ll do , she thought to herself.
Perhaps, just perhaps, she could salvage their situation.
Richard entered Lord Harrington’s ballroom, having arrived fashionably late.
He was reluctantly drawn into the evening’s festivities and again subjected to social niceties for a greater purpose. His repeated failed connections with Arlington presented a challenge that needed to be rectified. He was tired, and he needed answers.
I will get satisfaction tonight.
Richard grabbed a glass of brandy and watched as partygoers chatted and couples danced to a pleasant waltz.
A knot of something dark and unpleasant tightened in his stomach as Catriona caught his eye. He drowned the remains of his glass in a single gulp, wiping the excess with the corner of his hand and patting his lips with his handkerchief.
“I must say that you look positively thunderous this evening, Your Grace,” Lord Hargrave teased as he reached his side, his devilish eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Dare I suggest that Miss MacTavish’s… success on the dance floor is the source of your disquiet?
Rumors say she is eager to find a match.
If I recall your interaction at the theater?—”
Richard scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hargrave. I have more pressing matters to concern myself with, which you are more than aware of.”
But even as he spoke the words, his gaze drifted back to Catriona. He had to blink awkwardly, to feign some reason for staring in her direction after his protestation. She was radiant that evening, the light purple of her gown making her stand out like a heather blossom.
As he cursed the foolishness of his fleeting thoughts, blaming it on the hasty consumption of liquor, Arlington joined them. His plump face was flushed with wine as he clapped him on the back.
If anyone else had done that, I swear they would not be walking away.
“Your Grace! There you are! It was a shame that you and Lady Lydia had to leave my party so abruptly,” he offered sympathetically, as he was clearly warming up despite the duke’s cold ways.
“But come, come now. You simply must meet Lord Tillworth. He is the politician I wrote of. I think he may be uniquely qualified to help you with your search.”
He steered Richard towards a distinguished gentleman with a long mustache and monocle held up to his right eye. Lord Tillworth held a shrewd gaze over the party and an air of quiet power. He was exactly as Richard had pictured him.
“Indeed, Lord Tillworth,” Richard was saying, leaning in conspiratorially, his voice a low murmur against the music, “your insights into the King’s…
proclivities are most invaluable. A man of your wisdom understands the currents of power and what can motivate a man far better than most. I think I will be able to use this to my advantage. ”
“And you have a keen eye for sizing up, my lord. Keen indeed. And dare I say, a persuasive tongue. There may be an opportunity for you in parliament one day.”
Richard allowed a modest smile to play on his lips.
“Merely recognizing merit, my lord,” Richard offered as they clinked glasses. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground and will be sure to return the favor when something equally helpful comes my way.”
Just as Tillworth motioned for an attendant to refill his wine goblet, a hushed silence descended upon the ballroom.
While the music didn’t exactly stop, the hums of the instruments faltered, and some of the musicians’ bows froze mid-stroke. Heads began to turn, eyes widening with a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity.
“What in God’s good name is going on here?” Tillworth muttered as the attendant brought him a full glass of wine.
“Did you hear about her family?” one woman said to a group standing by the dance floor, fanning herself. “They are practically penniless from what the girl said! No wonder she parades herself like this at events, a desperate attempt to latch onto a wealthy man!”
“It can’t be true that things are quite that bad, can it? She comes from a somewhat respectable family, at least as far as Scots go,” one man wondered aloud.
“I heard it on good authority,” a young girl stated, as she explained to the group all that she had heard between Eliza and Catriona. “I had stopped by to see Lady Marchant and heard the whole thing!”
The rumors were like the rustling of dry leaves in autumn, starting out in a slow dance as they fell from the trees but quickly gaining momentum with an errant wind. Then it was like the rustling of leaves had caught on fire, and everything was up in flames before Catriona’s eyes.
They are all talkin’ about me.
Catriona noted how the gentlemen who previously vied for her attention now turned completely away from her, lost in the tawdry conversation. Their interest has clearly been replaced by disdain and distaste at the thought of her.
Lord Beaumont, having no doubt heard the whispers and inferred the looks cast in their direction, practically shoved Catriona away. His face contorted with contempt as he looked down at her.
“I had no idea of your schemes,” he muttered, his voice dripping with condescension. “I cannot associate myself with such misfortune.” And he left her alone in the middle of the dance floor.
“Desperate,” one hissed.
“Trying to snare a wealthy husband like the viper she is,” another scowled.
“How utterly shameful,” one woman of high standing said.
While Catriona could not recall that woman’s name, she did remember she had once been polite to her at a party. So those words especially stung, and she could take no more. She could only hope that her mother and Lady Marchant were somehow out of earshot.
Her face was burning with hot humiliation at being the evening’s laughingstock. She felt the fragile hope she had dared to muster for her future shatter into a million pieces, as if the chandelier above her head had crashed and smashed at her feet.
Me worst fears have come true.
Her reputation, already precarious, was now irrevocably tarnished. Her fiery spirit had been extinguished by their hateful words. She had no hope of saving her home.
She had no hope left inside at all, for anything.
Nae hope of a future.