Page 21 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)
Chapter Sixteen
“ T ha fios aig an t-sùil air an nead.” The eye knows the nest.
“The Bow Street Runners closed the case,” Lord Tillworth said as he sipped his wine. “The robbers confessed. They were hanged. I am not sure what you are looking for me to do for you. I am sorry to be so plain, but I think you deserve honesty, Your Grace.”
Lord Tillworth had been waiting for him in the dimly lit, private room at White’s. Its air was thick with the familiar scent of cigars and old money—and with secrets, if only in Richard’s mind.
Richard steepled his fingers, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he tried to read the politician. He knew him only by reputation.
“I believe there is more to this than meets the eye,” Richard said as he leaned forward, his voice low and urgent.
“There is a detail, a crucial detail, that just doesn’t fit.
My brother and my sister- in-law were carrying a significant number of valuables.
Yet, the robbers took almost nothing. Odd, wouldn’t you say? ”
Tillworth listened intently, his shrewd eyes assessing Richard’s words and reading his face. Everyone in London knew that Richard’s family had considerable influence, and that Richard’s determination was not to be dismissed lightly, nor was his acumen for details.
“You raise an interesting point,” Tillworth conceded. “I recall the case, not all the finer points. But the confessions were?—”
“Confessions can be bought,” Richard cut in, voice like a blade. “Or beaten out of men who would say anything to escape the noose.”
Tillworth sighed. “The Bow Street Runners are stretched thin, and resources are limited. We can’t just be going after every little?—”
“I will provide the resources,” Richard said, every word clipped with authority. “Discreetly or otherwise. Name the price. The investigation will reopen.”
Tillworth considered, tapping a finger against the rim of his glass. Finally, he gave a reluctant nod.. “You are a good brother, Your Grace. Persistent, but good.”
Richard felt a tightness prickle his chest at the compliment.
“Very well,” Tillworth agreed. “I will forward your concerns to the Runners, and they will review the evidence again at my request. But I promise you nothing more than that.”
The two sat in silence for a moment as a servant refreshed their beverages.
“There is one more piece to this,” Tillworth continued, “the most valuable witness in this case… is your niece, Lady Lydia.”
“Absolutely not,” Richard said firmly.
Tillworth’s expression hardened. “With all due respect, Your Grace, she was there . She saw what happened. Her testimony?—”
“She is a child,” Richard’s voice was harsh, his protective instincts surging. “And if you think I will parade her before the public like some trained animal to satisfy political expedience, you are gravely mistaken.”
Tillworth straightened, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Without her, Your Grace, we may have no path forward. The Runners need evidence.”
Richard’s stare was unflinching. “Find another way. Or find yourself another patron.”
For a heartbeat, neither man moved.
Then, with a tight nod, Tillworth relented. “Very well. I will see what the Runners can muster… without her.”
Richard rose, the chair scraping lightly against the floor.
“For your sake,” he said quietly, adjusting his coat, “see that you do.”
“Yer Grace,” Catriona found him in the library, surrounded by stacks of ledgers and miscellaneous documents. “I think, well, I think we should go into the village.”
“The village? Why?” Richard asked, looking up in surprise at the intrusion.
“Well, as lovely as Wilthorne is… we are quite isolated here,” Catriona explained, gesturing vaguely towards the window and the rolling hills beyond. “And Lydia… she barely sees anyone beyond the household staff, her governess and meself. It cannae be healthy for her to be so shut away.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? Is that what ye say when someone is talkin’ plain sense to ye?”
“Very well. It may do her good to have a change of scenery.” Richard agreed reluctantly as he considered his niece and what she may have to face if the case were reopened.
“Exactly!” Catriona’s enthusiasm bloomed at his affirmation. “And I would like to see it too. To become acquainted with our people.”
“The villagers… well, they can be overwhelming. I will make sure it is a controlled outing.”
“We shall be a calm presence for her,” Catriona insisted gently. “Just a short visit! For all of us.”
After a moment of contemplation, Richard finally nodded. He would have to give in to his wife at one point, and this seemed a smaller lift than other requests.
“Very well. We shall go, but only for a short visit. That is my final decision.”
Catriona’s enthusiasm was tempered by the weight of his words, but she nodded. “Understood.”
The arrival of their carriage caused a palpable stir, disrupting the usual goings of their days. Villagers paused in their tasks, their eyes wide as they took in the imposing vehicle and its occupants, which rarely made an appearance.
“Your Grace,” an old man called out as he doffed his cap, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Thank you kindly, Druthers,” he said in response. “Please allow me to introduce my wife, the Duchess of Wilthorne.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” he said with a bow.
“It’s an honor, Your Grace,” a woman called out, with two babies in her arms. “Good day to you and your family.”
“And to yers,” Catriona returned with a smile. “Yer bairns are beautiful.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she returned. Catriona had to fight the laughter rising in her throat at the woman’s obvious delight.
Catriona noted that many of the younger lads eyed Richard with a degree of fear. His usual brooding demeanor cast a shadow that made them shrink back slightly, their greetings polite, but hushed and hesitant.
Catriona was met with a different kind of curiosity. The women, their hands calloused but their eyes bright, offered shy smiles and murmured greetings.
“Your Grace,” one young lady said with a curtsy, her gaze taking in her unfamiliar gown with a mixture of awe and speculation. “Welcome to our village.”
There was a genuine warmth in their welcome, a sense of anticipation for their new duchess.
As they strolled through the bustling marketplace, the air was filled with the sounds of bartering and chatter.
Lydia, excited but weary of her surroundings, clutched Catriona’s hand tightly and weaved her small fingers into hers.
Her wide eyes darted nervously from the stalls overflowing with produce to the vendors hawking oysters and cockles.
The sheer volume of sights and sounds seemed to overwhelm her, and she pressed closer to Catriona’s side, her usual plea for reassurance.
They paused outside a small, quaint bookshop. The window displayed a colorful array of volumes. Lydia’s attention was caught by a brightly illustrated book with exotic animals on the cover. She reached out a tentative finger to touch its spine.
“Do ye like this one, me dear?” Catriona asked as she knelt beside her. “Aye, this is a good one!”
Lydia remained silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the book as she flipped through the pages. Then, her small head bobbed almost imperceptibly.
And then, so quietly that Catriona almost missed it, a tiny, timid whisper escaped her lips.
“Yes.”
“Then it’s yours,” Richard said softly, with a tenderness that was unlike his usual rough exterior.
Catriona saw the flicker in his eyes—relief, sharp and sudden, quickly swallowed by a trace of surprise. His shoulders, once rigid, seemed to ease, and the tension that had pulled his jaw taut loosened just enough to make him look… human .
“We shall read it together later,” Catriona said with a smile, as she caught Richard’s gaze.
She could have sworn she saw his lips curl into a tiny smile as well.
Lydia clutched the book to her chest, her eyes lifting to Catriona in gratitude and then Richard’s.
If his first smile had been a fluke, the one he gave Lydia was unmistakable.
As they turned to leave the village and despite the success of their trip, the duke remained unusually quiet. Catriona could feel his eyes on her as she engaged in an easy, natural interaction with Lydia, and even the villagers.
I like his eyes on me.
The warmth she felt for him in that moment was spreading like wildfire, despite her efforts to stifle it. The feeling was equal parts gratitude, in deep appreciation for the light Lydia brought into her own shadowed world, and pure desire for him.
Or perhaps, it was something more profound, something she wasn’t yet ready to name.
Aye, I like his eyes on me. Almost as much as I like that cheeky smile.