Page 45 of Desire and Discipline

Catherine

The Duchess of Clarence was nothing like Catherine expected.

From the way the duke had spoken, she’d thought his mother would be a formidable woman, determined to see her only son marry well—as long as he married a virginal young debutante who understood her duty to the title—and become the dowager duchess.

Instead, she was greeted with what most of the ton would call an eccentric.

Dressed in bright red and yellow, with yellow feathers bobbing above her head as if she was attending a ball rather than a family dinner, the duchess was about a foot shorter than her son, plump and beaming with goodwill.

With all the ruffles descending down her dress, she looked like a very bright cupcake, all of them swaying as she flitted about like a dramatic sparrow.

From the moment she met Catherine and Samuel, she chattered—which only bolstered Catherine’s opinion of her as being bird-like.

She complimented Catherine’s dress, scolded Samuel for the length of time since his last visit, and chided her son about moving too slowly to seat himself at the table, all in the same breath. Gregory appeared resigned by his mother’s antics, while Samuel was delighted. Catherine landed on amused.

If she had not seen Samuel’s expression, she would have chided him for not warning her about the duchess’ eccentricities, but it was clear he had somehow forgotten.

Or perhaps time had dulled his memories of how eccentric she was…

or perhaps she had grown more so over time, or he had not seen her as outlandish when he was younger. All explanations were highly possible.

“You must call me Marguerite, and I will call you Catherine, and we shall be friends. You shall also call Gregory by his name. Since we are all to be together for the holiday, we should not stand on formality.”

It was hardly in Catherine’s power to refuse a duchess’ declaration of friendship—not that she was given the chance to accept or reject before the duchess had already turned her attention to her son.

“She is very pretty, is she not? If only she were a little younger. And not a widow. Though, she is a very young widow.”

“Mother.” Gregory appeared pained as he looked at Catherine from his place at the head of the table.

He was as handsome as Samuel, perhaps even more so, yet looking at him did nothing to make her heart jump the way it did for Samuel.

“I apologize for my mother. Her need to see me married has apparently obliterated her good manners.”

“Oh, posh.” The duchess waved her hand at him. “She seems like a very sensible young lady, and she is a widow. She understands the way of the world.”

“It is a miracle you managed to garner all that about her when you have barely let her get a word in,” Gregory retorted.

Rather than appearing chastened, his mother just laughed and winked at Catherine.

“I am a very good judge of character.”

“You are a terrible judge of character,” Gregory muttered. Then cleared his throat when Samuel glared at him. “Though, in this case, you are correct about Catherine. But… anyway.” He looked between Samuel and Catherine rather desperately. “Please, tell us about your journey.”

Hiding her laughter, Catherine joined Samuel in recounting their travel and the inn at which they stopped. It turned out both the Duke and Duchess of Clarence were familiar with both Klaus and his inn, and the duchess was delighted to hear he was doing well.

The conversation wound about as they ate their way through several courses, sliding naturally from their travel to the current gossip of London.

The duchess was clearly eager to hear all about the goings-on of the city but balked at the idea of going to London herself—something which tightened Gregory’s expression.

He quickly changed the subject by asking about the current play at the Globe.

His mother immediately perked up again, full of interest.

Whether the duke was annoyed by his mother’s lack of interest in leaving the estate and thereby giving him a reprieve from her matchmaking aspirations or if there was something else amiss was rather unclear.

Catherine got the impression there was more to his reaction, though she could not guess what.

After dinner, the duchess stood and beamed at the two gentlemen. “Catherine and I shall retire to the drawing room. Come join us when you have finished your brandy.”

Although Catherine would have liked a nip of brandy as well, one did not argue with a duchess. Especially because she did want some time with the woman away from her son, to see if she might talk about the late duke and what suspicions she had of his demise.

They retired to the drawing room, where—rather than calling for tea—the duchess immediately went to a sideboard.

“What would you like, dear? I have sherry, brandy, cognac, ratafia, orgeat… we could open the bottle of champagne, though I will need to call for Paulson to open it for us.” The duchess looked over her shoulder at Catherine. “I believe I’ll be having a sherry, myself.”

Catherine laughed, partly at herself for thinking the duchess would do anything by the book other than push her son toward a proper marriage.

Everything else about her was decidedly improper.

The gleam in her eye put Catherine in mind of a naughty child getting away with something they knew they should not be doing.

“Sherry sounds perfect, thank you.” Even more so because she had noticed during dinner that the duchess’ tongue loosened with every drink she had. A sherry or two might help lubricate the flow of information Catherine was looking for.

“Sit, sit,” the duchess commanded as she picked up two glasses, bringing both of them and the bottle to the couch. “Now. Tell me about your intentions with Samuel.”

Blinking in surprise, Catherine coughed delicately into her hand to give herself a moment.

She was beginning to understand where the duke got his bluntness from, though he kept his bald way of speaking far more socially appropriate than his mother did.

Then again, allowances were often made for older women, especially those among the haut ton.

“We are still deciding,” she replied after a moment.

“He is a good boy. Very solid. And I do not think he means to be traveling overmuch now that he has returned to England, if that is your worry.” The duchess handed Catherine a glass of sherry, then began pouring her own.

“Even while he was away, he remembered to write me every month. He is a good boy.”

He was, though Catherine meant it in a very different way than the duchess did. She clearly still saw him as the young student he’d been when she’d been introduced to him. Catherine thought it rather telling that he’d been so dedicated to writing to the duchess while he was away.

“I do not think he means to travel much, either, but I would have no qualms about joining him if he did mean to travel.” Catherine sipped her sherry rather wistfully. “I have always wanted to see more of the world.”

“As have I.” The duchess sighed. The comment was probably innocuous, but coming on the heels of a dinner when she had shown no interest in going to London rather surprised Catherine. Her hesitation must not come from an aversion to travel if she had always wanted to see more of the world.

Perhaps it was an aversion to London itself? Despite the interest she’d shown in hearing about the goings-on of the city?

“Will you travel once your period of mourning is over?” Catherine asked, trying to hedge around the question rather than approach it directly.

She did not feel she knew the duchess well enough to speak so plainly, even if the duchess felt comfortable enough to do so.

There was the matter of rank, after all.

“Oh. Oh no, I do not think so.” The duchess took another drink from her glass, her free hand picking at the lace decoration on her ruffled skirt. “I stay on the estate.”

The way she said it made Catherine frown. It sounded as if a myriad of meanings were hidden in those simple words. There was such a finality to it, as if the estate was the only place she could be… which was completely crossways with the yearning for travel she’d just expressed.

“You cannot leave the estate?”

“I…” The duchess’ gaze darted around, her shoulders rounding slightly in a hunch, and the animation drained from her face. “My husband prefers me to stay on the estate.”

Catherine took a small sip of her sherry to cover her surprise. The duchess spoke of her late husband as if he was still alive, and from what she could see now, she had a feeling the duchess had feared him when he was so. She feared him so much that the fear lingered, even now.

It also suddenly, forcibly, occurred to Catherine that neither the duchess nor the new duke appeared to be in mourning.

There were no draperies around the house to indicate mourning.

The bright colors the duchess was wearing were that of celebration, not grief.

And not once had the late duke come up in conversation throughout the whole of supper.

None of the staff were wearing armbands.

Perhaps because she had not known the duke or because she was so distracted by Samuel and her own affairs, she had literally not noticed the absence of the trappings of mourning. As his widow, the duchess should certainly still be dressed for mourning.

Yet, it seemed entirely natural that she was not.

She wondered if the duchess might have reason to want her late husband dead. Perhaps the son had nothing to do with it at all but a different member of the family. However, the way she spoke of him might indicate otherwise. Why would she fear someone she’d killed or had killed?

“Did your husband stay on the estate with you?” she asked, as it was the most innocuous question she could think of.