Page 16 of His Scottish Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #5)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“ W hat on earth is going on?”

Catherine stopped at the top of the stairs, expecting an answer from any of the servants passing by.

But all they did was greet her eagerly, as they did every morning, walking by quickly to carry on their duties. Confused, she watched them move along, wondering if she was hallucinating or maybe even dreaming still.

But a pinch to her elbow told her that this was, in fact, reality.

“Your Grace! A wonderful morning we’re having, aren’t we? Are you hungry? The chef made that special French toast you love,” Anna greeted cheerfully, looking out of place and energetic in the chaotic space.

Catherine had awoken to an unusual flurry of activity. The normally serene atmosphere of Rosehall was replaced by a bustling energy, a sense of anticipation that permeated the very walls. Servants scurried through the corridors, their voices hushed but hurried, and the clatter of preparations echoed from the kitchens.

Puzzled, Catherine had risen from her bed and dressed herself, her mind filled with questions. She ventured downstairs, finding the main hall transformed into a hive of industry. Furniture was being rearranged, floral arrangements were being meticulously placed, and an air of quiet excitement hung in the air.

And Anna was now before her, looking as though there was not a thing amiss.

“Hold that thought, dear,” Catherine said, spotting the housekeeper a few feet away. “Mrs. Starling,” she called, heading towards the older woman, who was directing the placement of a particularly large vase of lilies. “What is happening?”

Mrs. Starling smiled at her reassuringly. “Ah, good morning, Your Grace. I trust you had a good night’s rest.”

Catherine blinked and blushed, recalling that she had spent the night in her husband’s bed, nestled in his arms.

“I—yes, I did. I feel well-rested, and confused, by all the commotion.”

Mrs. Starling nodded in understanding. “I am sorry for the ruckus, but we should be done within the hour. We are expecting important guests, Your Grace,” she replied, her tone calm. “But you have nothing to worry about. Everything is under control.”

“But who are the guests?” Catherine pressed, her curiosity piqued. “And why was I not informed?”

Mrs. Starling’s smile widened slightly. “It is a surprise, Your Grace. His Grace wished to keep it… secret.”

Catherine frowned, her confusion growing. She spent the rest of the morning in a state of mild unease, wondering who these mysterious guests were and why their arrival was being kept so secret. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant was about to happen.

Anna returned to escort her to breakfast, and she tried to get something out of the girl. But much like the others, her lips were sealed.

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but telling you would ruin the surprise, and we were told that there would be dire consequences if that happened,” the maid said, far too cheerful for someone keeping what Catherine thought was a burdensome secret.

“Who could it be? Give me a hint,” Catherine practically begged. “I do not wish to make a fool of myself in front of this person or people—whoever they might be.”

“I highly doubt that will happen, Your Grace.” Anna smiled softly, her eyes alight with fondness.

“I appreciate the faith you have in me, dear, but accidents happen when you least expect them. Please. Just a hint.”

“I cannot, Your Grace,” Anna said, strangely firm about her decision. “Please eat your food, lest it get cold.”

Catherine relented for a moment and turned to her breakfast. She lifted her knife and began cutting into her toast, then?—

“Is it the Queen?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Darn it.”

She only hoped that she wouldn’t ruin their efforts, feeling nervous as she observed just how hard everyone had worked to make the house look spotless. Everything was organized, the floors were gleaming, and the air smelled of fresh flowers.

Whoever these guests are, they must be quite special .

She managed to distract herself with a book, secreting herself in the library so that she could stay out of everyone’s way. Then, at some point early that afternoon, a carriage pulled up to the front entrance, and her heart skipped a beat. She hurried to the foyer, her footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. As the carriage door opened, she gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of the people disembarking.

It was her family!

Her father stepped out first, his familiar, broad smile lighting up his face. Behind him emerged her mother, Margaret, and Graham, who cradled their youngest sister Isobel in his arms.

Catherine’s eyes filled with tears, and she rushed forward, her voice choked with emotion.

“Father! Mother!” she cried, throwing herself into her father’s arms.

Fergus Lennox hugged his daughter tightly, his hand patting her back reassuringly. “There, there, lass,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re here.”

Catherine’s tears flowed freely as she embraced her mother next, giggling when she put her arms around her sisters and her brother. She had missed them so much, had missed the familiar warmth of their presence and the easy camaraderie that had always defined their family.

“But how?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “How did you come here?”

“The Duke—yer husband invited us,” Margaret explained, her eyes twinkling. “About a month ago.”

Catherine’s breath caught in her throat.

A month ago… that was around the time she had mentioned how much she missed her family, how much she longed for their familiar faces and the mannerisms she had grown up surrounded by. Sampson had listened. He had not only remembered what she had said but also acted on it.

“Ah, you have arrived. Welcome to Rosehall Estate. I trust your journey went smoothly?” he spoke up from behind her, as though she had summoned him.

Fergus stepped forward and extended his hand. “Good afternoon, Yer Grace. Aye, we had a seamless journey, thank ye. And thank ye for havin’ us.”

“Please, think nothing of it. Anything I can do to make my wife happy and comfortable is important to me,” Sampson stated, bowing after Mary and Margeret curtsied to him.

Catherine turned to her husband, her eyes filled with gratitude as her heart tried not to burst at the kind gesture. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He offered her a small, enigmatic smile. “It seemed… appropriate. You are quite welcome,” he replied.

Mary stepped forward with a soft smile. “Thank ye, Yer Grace,” she said, her voice sincere. “For bringing my daughter happiness, and for bringing us here.”

Sampson shook his head, his expression softening slightly. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Spranklin,” he replied earnestly.

“Och, please, Mrs. Lennox works perfectly fine.” Mary waved a hand in the air dismissively.

Sampson smiled and nodded. “All right then… Mrs. Lennox. Shall we all move indoors? I am sure the journey was tiring. Your quarters have been prepared, and my butler, Mr. Oswald, will show you there. While you are here, my staff will attend to your every need, and they will ensure that you are taken care of. Should anything arise, please do not hesitate to call my attention.”

Fergus nodded gratefully. “Ye are far too kind, Yer Grace. I fear we’re beginning to sound rather tiresome, but we truly are thankful to ye.”

“I am quite happy to have done this. A little gratitude—or a lot—goes a long way.” Sampson grinned cheekily as he ushered everyone into the house.

The afternoon was filled with laughter and conversation, the air thick with the warmth of family. Catherine’s heart swelled with joy as she watched her family interact with Sampson. They were all so comfortable with each other, so easygoing, so… familiar.

“Is it all right if I have a wee look around the estate? Everything here seems so interesting!” Graham requested, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“By all means. If you’d like, I can instruct a servant to show you—all of you around,” Sampson offered with a smile.

“I spotted a stable when we arrived. Do ye—are there horses? Do ye ride them?”

“Yes and yes.” Sampson nodded, looking quite fond of the young boy. “If you’d like, we can go riding tomorrow morning.”

Graham stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Thank ye, Yer Grace.” He turned to Catherine with a look of approval. “Yer husband is a good man, Cathy. A good one, indeed.”

It warmed Catherine’s heart to no end to see Sampson putting so much effort into bonding with her family.

They teased her mercilessly about her transformation into a proper lady , given her newfound elegance and poise.

“Look at ye, Catherine.” Graham chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “So refined! I hardly recognize ye.”

“She’s even speakin’ proper English now,” Magaret added mock seriously. “No trace of our Scottish brogue.”

Catherine laughed, her cheeks flushed. “Oh, be quiet, ye two,” she retorted, her voice regaining its familiar Scottish lilt.

Sampson watched the scene unfold, his expression a mixture of amusement and… something else. Catherine noticed a slight stiffness in his posture, a hint of unease in his eyes. He was charming, as always, but he seemed slightly out of his element, unsure how to navigate their easy familiarity.

“We should play a game,” she suggested, eager to include him in their family traditions and help him adjust to the current chaos. “Bullet Pudding, perhaps?”

A chorus of agreement erupted, and they gathered around the dining table, preparing for the game. Catherine instructed the servants to fill a pewter dish with flour and pat it down so the top was shaped like a dome. Then, she told them to bring it, along with some butter knives. Sampson watched with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as she explained the rules.

“Do not worry, it is pretty easy,” she told him with a giggle. “See the dish with flour? That is our pudding. And this”—she held out a hand, smiling at her brother when he dropped a marble into it—“will be our bullet. We’ll place it at the very top of the pudding, and then we’ll take turns cutting into the ‘pudding’ with the knives. Whoever is cutting into it when the ‘bullet’ falls has to retrieve the bullet from the dish with their mouth, keeping their hands clasped behind their back.”

“That sounds quite difficult,” Sampson admitted, regarding the large dish of flour the servants had brought apprehensively.

“It is quite fun, though! You must be careful not to laugh so you don’t inhale the flour, and hands are not allowed to retrieve the bullet,” Catherine told him, laughing a little when his expression remained apprehensive. “Do not worry. You’ll understand it better when you start playing.”

The game began, and Sampson quickly found himself at a disadvantage, because he had never played Bullet Pudding before. His movements were less careful than they should have been, and his attempts to retrieve the flour-covered bullet were met with peals of laughter from Catherine’s family. Catherine, on the other hand, displayed an unexpected expertise, her laughter ringing out as she deftly caught the bullet time and again.

But then, as she reached for the bullet once more, Sampson blew on the dish, sending a cloud of flour into her face. The family erupted in laughter, and Catherine couldn’t help but join in, her cheeks and chin covered in white powder.

Sampson reached out, gently wiping the flour from her cheeks. His touch was light, almost tender, and Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to fade away.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low. “All clean.”

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him, feeling a little breathless.

He caressed her cheek once more and then turned to her family, a smile playing on his lips. “She is a good wife,” he said, his voice sincere. “Ever since her first day here, she has expressed concern and care towards me, and my days are much brighter thanks to her. Thank you for raising an exceptional young woman. I am a very fortunate man to have married her.”

Catherine felt a warmth spread through her chest, the sensation unusual and unfamiliar. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she would be deemed insane for wanting to nestle in his arms for years and years without anything separating them.

And then she wondered if perhaps she might be… falling in love with Sampson. But she quickly dismissed the thought, reminding herself of the complexities of their situation, the invisible boundaries that still existed between them.

As she looked around at her family, at the warmth and affection that filled the room, she couldn’t help but think of the future, recalling that once upon a time, she had wanted to have her own large family.

But now, the possibility of that dream becoming reality, of creating a similar atmosphere of love and belonging, was growing slimmer by the day.

“Are ye all right, my wee bairn?” her mother asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

Catherine quickly dismissed the thought, reminding herself that such dreams were better left unsaid. She smiled at the childhood pet name her mother used.

“I am fine, Mother. Perfectly fine.”