Page 32 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six

“ G heibh faidhidinn furstachd.”Patience will get relief.

“Catriona!” Eliza’s voice rang out as she burst through the doors of Wilthorne Hall, bypassing the staff in a rush to reach her friend. “Oh, my dear Cat!”

Catriona wrapped her arms tightly around Eliza, a choked sob of relief escaping her lips as she pulled her even closer.

“Eliza,” she whispered. “Och, Eliza! Ye surely are a sight for sore eyes. I cannae tell ye how happy I am to see ye.”

“Tell me, my love. What troubles you so much?” Eliza whispered as Mrs. Jennings urged the staff to give them space, to privately greet one another. “This is so unlike you, and I am worried!”

“Please forgive me for bein’ such an open book,” Catriona recovered, wiping her eyes and realizing the spectacle she had created in front of the staff. “Let’s get ye settled! We’ll have plenty of time to catch up now that ye are here.”

After the servants helped Eliza bring her luggage to the guest quarters, Catriona strolled with her through the vast estate. She showed her exquisite paintings and tapestries first as they meandered the great halls of Wilthorne.

“It’s Richard,” Catriona offered finally, once they were out of earshot. “He’s been so distant. Cold as a snowy day! And then... Lord Mortridge... I ken there’s somethin’ about him, Eliza. Somethin’ that really chills me to the bone. There is so much ye dinnae know…”

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill, as she explained her suspicions to Eliza.

Lord Mortridge and Lydia. The garden party, then the village festival.

It was too much to ignore. Then Richard’s reaction to her worry, and his departure.

It felt cathartic to be able to unload to someone trusted and receptive to her words.

“I hear you, Catriona,” Eliza whispered. “Every word, I do. Your feelings are real, and we will talk through it all. We will make sense of this together… but look over yonder, I think a little birdie may be listening to us.”

Eliza gestured gently towards a small, still figure huddled behind a curtain.

“This little one needs us now. Let’s focus on her, shall we?”

Catriona nodded with a smile, grateful her friend had noticed Lydia’s concealed presence. Surely the words she had shared were not for the girl’s impressionable ears.

Together, they moved towards her. Eliza knelt by the curtain and pulled it away slowly, the smile on her face was soft and inviting.

“Hello there, little dear,” she said gently. She took out a dainty porcelain doll from her pocket. “I brought someone to meet you. Her name is Penny, and she comes to you all the way from Paris. You see, she desperately needs a companion, and I thought you would be the perfect friend for her.”

Lydia’s gaze drifted from Catriona to Eliza and then to the doll.

“She’s actually a very brave adventurer,” Eliza continued playfully. “She’s sailed across stormy seas and climbed the tallest mountains! She would love to explore Wilthorne with you, I am sure of it. Plus, you’ll have someone to speak French to, should you ever want to take it up!”

Tentatively, Lydia reached out and touched Eliza’s arm in silent thanks. A faint, fragile smile touched her lips as she looked at her clothing, focusing last on the doll’s tiny, pink-painted ballet shoes.

“Puh-puh-pretty,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she reached out for the doll. She clutched it tightly to her chest as she repeated once more, “Pretty.”

“Thank ye, Eliza,” Catriona whispered as she put a hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “Thank ye.”

“Lady Eliza, what a delightful surprise! And Your Grace! Truly, you look radiant as always,” Lord Mortridge announced as he slithered into the parlor. “Please forgive my sudden intrusion and unorthodox entrance. Your staff seemed to be indisposed upon my entry, so I made myself welcome.”

He offered a wide, Cheshire smile as Catriona clutched her chest in shock at his audacity. She steadied herself to be polite and not to let her feelings betray her composure. Her mind began reeling at the sudden appearance.

What sort of man would just burst in on a group of ladies unannounced in such a confident manner?

How had this man managed to get past the staff? This was a duke’s manor, not some roadside inn. And what terrible timing—just when Lydia had begun to find a sense of peace, this man arrived like a storm on the horizon. It was as if he could sense it, like a vulture circling something fragile.

When he first appeared, Lydia had barely made a sound, but Catriona hadn’t missed the small, broken cry as the girl threw herself behind her skirts. Even now, those tiny hands were clinging to the fabric, holding on as if her life depended on it.

Whatever charm the man carried in his voice or smile, Catriona felt no doubt in her gut—he was trouble, plain and simple.

“And little Lydia!” he said too loudly, finally noticing her presence behind Catriona’s skirts. “Look at you hiding back there like a tiny animal! What a brave girl you are, recovering so well after your little tumble at the fair.”

Though she did not answer, he continued speaking.

“Did you enjoy the Punch and Judy show, my dear? Such amusing puppets, weren’t they?” He asked as he took another step closer toward them, his voice overly sweet and cloying.

“Lord Mortridge,” Catriona finally said, her voice carefully balanced and even. “It was kind of ye to call. However, His Grace is currently in London on business and is expected back in a couple of days. I would suggest ye write to him to establish a mutually beneficial time for a meetin’.”

“Ah, business!” Mortridge replied playfully, an artificial smile still affixed to his face as he clapped his hands together. The sudden sound startled them all, which only deepened his smile. “Always keeping the duke occupied. A man of his standing has many responsibilities, of course.”

He looked around the room, studying the furniture and furnishings in a way that made Catriona fidget in her seat.

How do I get rid of him?

“Lady Eliza,” he said, turning to face her now. “What brings you to Wilthorne?”

“A visit with my dearest friend, my lord,” she said, her eyes darting to Catriona in a silent plea that this hellish visit be done. “In fact, we were just about to… ummm…”

“Oh, of course! How silly of me to think you did not have plans to attend to?” Lord Mortridge asked rhetorically as he began to exit the room. “I will leave you ladies to your day. I’ll write to His Grace to see a better time for a meeting. How long did you say he would be away for exactly?”

“A couple of days, we expect,” Catriona offered tightly. “He didnae say the exact day.”

“Well, I surely hope for a swift return and profitable business. Good day, ladies, Your Grace,” he said as he exited the room.

As soon as he was truly gone, Catriona knelt, her gaze gentle but searching as she checked on Lydia.

“Me lassie,” she said softly. “Ye need to tell me, why are ye so scared of that man?”

Lydia remained pressed against her, her small body still trembling. She didn’t meet Catriona’s eyes, her gaze was still fixed on the empty space where Lord Mortridge had just stood.

After a long, agonizing silence, she finally spoke.

“Bad man.”

Bad man indeed. But why?

That night, as Catriona lay in bed, she could not stop her visions of the afternoon’s interloper.

She was so sure that Lord Mortridge had a hand in what had befallen Lydia’s parents, and yet without Richard in her corner, there was little a woman could do. Even a duchess.

She looked out of her window again, willing for some sign from her husband. As furious as she was she needed something, just to know that he was all right. It pained her to think of him out there, angry and searching.

Where are ye, Richard? Where have ye gone?