Page 8 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

Chapter Seven

“ T ha a cheann làn de cheò.” His head is full of mist.

“So, Arlington,” Richard began as he casually knocked a ball through a hoop. “You’ve been involved with the authorities for quite some time, haven’t you?”

The following afternoon, Richard invited Lord Arlington to his townhouse for tea.

He felt it would be an adequate change of scenery from the Whites’, and he never did get to speak to Arlington after their brief meeting at the ball.

The two men strolled through his meticulously manicured garden, mallets in hand as they engaged in a leisurely game of Pall Mall. Richard, ever the strategist, used the game as a backdrop for his inquiries.

Arlington knew this was coming and picked up the ball, offering it back to Richard. “It’s a passing interest, Your Grace. You know this. It’s nothing more.” He could sense that Arlington was reluctant to divulge his true connections or sources.

I wonder if his dealings are of a more covert nature and perhaps that is why he is so guarded with me?

Richard began calculating his next move when the tranquility of the afternoon was squashed by a whooping thunder of hooves.

The sound echoed through the garden as Lydia burst into view. She was astride a magnificent chestnut mare. He gaped at the strength of her small figure atop the horse, displaying the whirlwind of energy he remembered her for.

Her governess and a frantic stable boy trailed in her wake, their cries lost in the chaos.

Richard snapped into motion with lightning speed, stepping into the path of the horse. He raised his voice, sharp and commanding, as he put up his hands.

“Lydia! Whoa!” The mare slowed to a halt in front of him.

Richard reached up, his strong hands encircling Lydia’s waist, and lifted her gently from the saddle.

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking?” he scolded sharply. “That was incredibly dangerous. And foolish!”

Lydia hung her head, but her eyes still sparkled with excitement. Arlington, in contrast, was thoroughly charmed by the spectacle. He approached her slowly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Well, Your Grace,” he chuckled, looking back at him. “It’s refreshing to see you care so deeply for the little one. A man of family is a pleasure to see.”

Lydia, her brief reprimand forgotten, tugged at Richard’s sleeve as she pointed to the mare.

She already wants to get back on the damn thing.

Arlington’s eyes twinkled. “You like horses, young lady?” Lydia nodded eagerly, her radiant face brimming with joy. “Then perhaps you’d both care to join me at the races in a few days? It’s quite an event. I suspect this young lady would enjoy it immensely. So many horses, my dear.”

Lydia jumped up and down excitedly. Her small hands tugged urgently on Richard’s arm as she smiled up at him with her sparkling blue eyes.

While Richard initially hesitated, apprehensive about exposing Lydia to the bustling atmosphere of a race at her age, her excitement was infectious. He also saw the opportunity that prodded at him.

Accepting Arlington’s invitation might just be the key to unlocking the man’s trust, to finally getting him to loosen his tongue.

“Very well,” he said as a hint of a smile touched his lips. “We would be delighted to attend, Lord Arlington.”

That same day, Catriona, her mother, and Lady Marchant found themselves at a soiree at the grand Northley estate.

The guests mingled in the opulent parlor, the air thick with the usual polite conversation and covert agendas. Some were playing cards, others savoring the delectable offerings. Catriona surveyed the room as her gaze landed on the group of ladies who had gossiped about her at the ball.

For all the talk of London bein’ a big city, why am I plagued with running into the same people day after day?

Lady Abigail, her mouse-like face pinched with malice, approached with her entourage. Catriona faced them with a grace she didn’t entirely feel.

“Ladies,” Lady Abigail said, her voice cool and steady—like the coward she knew she would be, she scoffed at her as they walked toward the dining room.

She took pride that they were clearly unwilling to engage in a battle of wits.

She would be destined to lose anyway.

“ Gum bi companaidh math agad a-riamh ,” Catriona cursed under her breath.

It was an old Gaelic hex, disguised as a blessing.

May you always have good company.

She prayed with all her might that those ladies would get exactly the type of company they deserved in life.

“Och, tha sin math,” a voice whispered from behind her.

Catriona instantly knew the meaning—her joke had been well made.

Catriona whirled around to find a woman about her age, whose eyes sparkled with happy amusement.

Lady Craigleith and Lady Marchant stood nearby with a third woman she did not know, their expressions a mixture of surprise and curiosity at witnessing the encounter.

Lady Marchant presented Catriona with a flourish. “Miss MacTavish, allow me to introduce you to Lady Northley, our gracious hostess, and her beautiful daughter, Miss Eliza Fortmond.”

After they’d all curtseyed, there was an immediate, unspoken bond between them as one would pick out a playmate in a schoolyard.

Catriona could feel a hint of the same rebelliousness that she often had to suppress in society in Eliza.

She knew instantly that they would be fast friends.

Moreover, the thought of a new friend, or any friend at all, sent her positively reeling.

The three elder ladies retreated into a conspiratorial huddle, their pronouncements on suitable matches and advantageous alliances punctuated by knowing nods and thoughtful sighs.

This provided Catriona and Eliza with an opportunity to sneak away and engage in thoughtful conversation.

They immediately found common ground in their shared exasperation over their mothers’ relentless pursuit of suitable husbands, but that was common enough for most girls their age.

“I’m sure you won’t believe this one!” Eliza started with another story of failed love.

She twisted her lips to the side in a most comical way, making a face to imitate another one of her would-be suitors.

“He really put his lips like this, and they were not stuck this way or some other malformation, I assure you! He thought it looked attractive. And indeed, he was a baronet, but all he would talk about was taxidermy and his mother,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

“That sounds horrid,” Catriona said. She laughed at the thought, recalling her brief chat with Mr. Featherstone. “I once had a man tell me that he plays music to his sheep.”

“Oh my, don’t tell me that you’ve been subjected to Mr. Featherstone!”

The pair began laughing wildly when Lady Northley cast a look in their direction that silenced them, a stark reminder of Catriona’s true need for securing a proper match and all that hung in the balance.

“You see, my family’s finances are well, a bit precarious, ye could say,” she started, deciding that she could confide in Eliza.

“It is just Maither and I now, and well… And while it is important for a woman of our age to marry for the reasons we have been told our whole lives… the very real necessity driving me maither’s insistence on a swift and profitable match is much more than that. ”

The carefree glint in Eliza’s eyes softened with genuine sympathy.

She took her hand and placed it on her shoulder.

“You’re a real catch, Catriona,” she said.

“I can tell. You know, I had a Scottish governess growing up, that’s how I could tell what you were saying to those cows.

You remind me so much of her in the most pleasant way.

You’ve got a fiery spirit and a big heart,” Eliza finished as she clasped her hand in hers.

Then, Catriona noticed that Lady Northley’s delicate brow was furrowed as her gaze lingered on various eligible bachelors that were scattered amongst the guests.

“We must find a way to… facilitate closer acquaintance,” she whispered to Lady Marchant. “Time waits for no woman, and we have to make haste to secure the most advantageous arrangement.”

They may as well have been playing chess.

Suddenly, Eliza clapped her hands together as if an idea had just come to mind.

Her deep brown eyes lit up as she began to explain, “The horse races! At Ascot! They’re in a few days.

Mama, it will be a grand social event. Every eligible bachelor in the county will be there, practically tripping over themselves!

” Her enthusiasm was infectious as she thought of the sport of such an event.

“I was just talking about it the other day with Lady Campbell!”

A flicker of excitement sparked within Catriona.

She had long admired the elegant grace of horses, the thunder of their hooves as they cracked on the ground.

As a young girl, she had many dreams, and they were always the same.

She was dressed all in white, riding astride a white mare, wildly careening through the Highlands, like a warrior queen.

Of course, the mere mention of such a spectacle caused her mother to begin fidgeting uncomfortably. “Horse races? So utterly… unladylike . The dust, the noise…the smell.”

Eliza and Catriona looked at Lady Marchant, their eyes pleading.

“Nonsense, Lady Craigleith!” Lady Marchant tipped them both a conspiratorial wink.

“It would be an excellent opportunity to introduce Catriona to a wider circle of influential gentlemen. Not all of them have time for such social gatherings as this, but the thrill of the race draws them like bees to honey! Why, the sporting set is often remarkably well-connected.”

Catriona’s mother considered Lady Marchant’s explanation carefully, the group silent as she sipped her tea slowly.

Finally, after what felt like minutes, she sighed and then nodded her head in agreement, “All right then.”

A silent thrill coursed through Catriona as she grabbed Eliza’s hands in hers.

At last, a breath of fresh air.

An escape from the suffocating confines of the drawing room that had felt like a prison for far too long. The thought of the open air, the excitement of the crowd, the thundering of hooves—it promised a moment of freedom, of life outside the endless expectations of society.

And if she was very lucky, perhaps she would catch a glimpse of the duke.

The thought stirred something within her, an unexpected flutter that had nothing to do with the thrill of the races.

She hadn’t seen him in days, not since that tense exchange at the ball and their dance. His presence, his gaze, had lingered in her mind since. It was impossible to ignore the pull of him—the way he seemed to tower above everyone, not just in stature, but in some unspoken way.

His cold, brooding nature only made her more curious, more fascinated. She didn’t know whether to resent or admire the way he commanded a room, or how easily he seemed to dominate her thoughts.

But the races—now that would be a welcome distraction, a reprieve from the weight of his presence.

Still, if the duke happened to be there, she wouldn’t mind seeing if his brooding eyes could find her among the crowd.