Page 4 of His Scottish Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #5)

CHAPTER FOUR

C atherine awoke to the unfamiliar silence of her new chambers.

The sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the opulent furnishings. She tossed and turned in bed, trying to fight off the overwhelming sense of dread that came with every passing moment.

Today was to be her first day as the Duchess of Rosehall, and the mere thought of it caused a sense of unease to settle in her stomach.

“Yer faither raised ye better than the sniveling coward ye are trying to be,” she groaned to herself, managing to force herself to sit up in bed.

For a moment, Catherine glanced at the empty spot beside her, suddenly recalling what the Duke had said about not requiring an heir. While she had not exactly been prepared to lie with him, she couldn’t deny that she had expected something to happen.

Waking up alone left an odd taste in her mouth that she did not know how to feel about, much like the feeling that had seeped under her skin after he had said he had no desire for an heir.

Something told her that this marriage would continue to be unorthodox and unusual, and it was all she could do to hope that she could survive it.

Eventually, she rose, donning a robe over her nightdress before she left her room. As she descended the grand staircase, her footsteps echoed in the vast, empty hall. The sheer size of the manor was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the lively, albeit smaller, home she had left behind.

Absentmindedly, Catherine wondered when she would stop longing for the home she left behind, because all she seemed to do was yearn desperately for it.

She found Anna waiting for her in the sunroom, a small, brightly lit, cozy space that seemed as though it belonged to a different house, nearly cut off from the style of the rest of the manor.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Anna greeted with a warm smile, her eyes filled with genuine concern. “Did you sleep well?”

Catherine managed a small smile for the younger girl, settling into a chair that the footman had pulled out for her. “Adequately enough. Thank ye, Anna. It’s just… so quiet here. It’s hard to adjust.”

As she sat down to a simple breakfast of toast and tea, a subtle wave of disappointment washed over her. She had half-expected, perhaps foolishly, that her husband might join her for breakfast. It seemed like a natural, easy way to start their married life and get used to each other’s presence. But the empty chair at the head of the table told her that perhaps she was the only one interested in making the most of their situation.

It was strange when she let herself ponder it. Was this to be their life? Meeting each other at scheduled instances and never sitting down to a proper meal together? Would they only exist as a married couple in sense and vows, but not in reality?

His absence only served to amplify the loneliness that had settled within her.

“You know,” she said suddenly, overwhelmed by the heavy emptiness in her chest and desperate to break the silence. “Before this, I only ever lived with my family. Our meal times were always quite lively. If you were not used to our routine, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything over the clatter of plates and the lively chatter of my siblings and my parents. Margeret—my older sister—was always looking after everyone, ensuring that they all had what they needed and were in perfect health. Graham—my dear younger brother—is a witty, spirited young man. Despite his age, he is impressively insightful and seems to derive a lot of joy from sharing with the family random things he learned from his studies.”

She paused, her lower lip wobbling slightly.

“Even little Isobel always lights up the room with her bright eyes and adorable babble. I miss them all so much, it is becoming unbearable.”

With every passing day, she yearned to return to where she had come from more and more.

How am I going to cope? How do I try to keep my heart afloat, when I’m away from all I have ever kenned?

Anna hesitated with a look of pity, holding the teapot steadily as she had been about to refill Catherine’s teacup. “I am sure they miss you greatly, as well. Change is always daunting, Your Grace. But you’ll find your place here, in time. You are doing well enough for now.”

With the maid’s assurance, Catherine finished her breakfast and returned to her chambers to prepare for the day ahead.

Anna followed her, as she had been appointed as her lady’s maid, and she made quick work of her mistress’s attire, making her presentable for the duties she would need to delve into soon.

“Mrs. Starling is one of the oldest servants in the household—and she has been here for quite a while. She is rather strict and very particular about certain things. But I believe you will win her over in no time,” Anna encouraged as she helped Catherine into the dress she had chosen to wear.

Once Catherine was presentable, she went back down to the foyer, smiling apologetically at the stern woman dressed in an immaculate black frock, who seemed to be waiting for her.

The woman’s graying hair was pulled into a severe bun, and her sharp eyes appraised Catherine with thinly veiled scrutiny.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she intoned, her voice devoid of warmth. “I am Mrs. Starling, the housekeeper at Rosehall Estate. I’ve come to acquaint you with the estate and your duties.”

Catherine wiped her clammy hands on the skirt of her dress under the guise of smoothing wrinkles. “Thank you, Mrs. Starling. I appreciate your guidance. I look forward to learning all I possibly can and ensuring that I serve you as a duchess deserving of your respect.”

Mrs. Starling stared at her for a moment longer and then mumbled, “I suppose we’ll have to see. Right this way, Your Grace.”

The tour commenced in the grand foyer, its marble floors gleaming under the light of an elaborate chandelier. As they moved through the manor, Catherine couldn’t help but compare it to her childhood home.

The Lennox residence had always been filled with laughter and warmth, her siblings’ playful banter echoing through the halls. In contrast, Rosehall felt cold, its grandeur overshadowed by an oppressive silence.

“This is the main drawing room,” Mrs. Starling announced, her tone clipped.

The room was appointed with ornate furniture and adorned with rich fabrics, yet it lacked the coziness Catherine associated with such spaces.

“It’s… lovely,” she offered, though the word felt hollow.

She could almost hear her younger brother’s laughter and see her sisters gathered by the hearth, their faces illuminated by the fire’s glow.

She believed that what the estate lacked was signs of life. It was strange to have a house so big but containing so few people. She did not understand why the interior felt so cold and hollow.

Mrs. Starling’s demeanor was as cold as the house. She spoke in a clipped tone, detailing Catherine’s duties with a hint of disapproval. She was very unlike the housekeeper at her old home, Agnes.

Agnes was not just a servant; she was a part of the family. She existed in their lives as a warm, maternal figure who had practically raised Catherine and her siblings. She had been a confidante, a storyteller, and a gentle disciplinarian, her presence a constant source of comfort and stability.

Catherine was unsure that she could rely on Mrs. Starling the way she had been able to do with Agnes, but she was determined to do all she could not to disappoint her new housekeeper.

Mrs. Starling’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Your duties, Your Grace, include overseeing the staff, managing the estate’s affairs, and organizing social events befitting your station. There are other tasks that the Duke might assign to you, but since we are not sure what they will be, I shall leave it up to him to bring them up to you when the time comes.”

Catherine nodded, trying to absorb the information. “I understand. I will do my best to ensure that every task I am given is fulfilled properly.” She paused, hesitating for a moment before she added, “And I hope to add my personal touch to the décor, to make it feel more like a home.”

She felt slightly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of her new responsibilities, trying not to show that she felt uncertain of her abilities under the weight of a dukedom pressing down on her shoulders.

A flicker of disapproval crossed Mrs. Starling’s face. “Of course, Your Grace. However, the Duke has specific preferences, particularly regarding certain rooms.”

They entered a corridor lined with doors, each marked with a brass plaque. As they continued the tour, Catherine noticed that many of the rooms had a recurring theme. Crimson drapes, plush red carpets, and an abundance of settees positioned at odd angles.

“These rooms,” she began, hesitating. “They seem… uniform in their design.”

Mrs. Starling’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The Duke requested these arrangements, Your Grace. He often entertains… special guests and requires appropriate settings.”

Heat rushed to Catherine’s cheeks as the implication sank in. She averted her gaze, focusing on the intricate patterns in the carpet. “I see.”

The remainder of the tour passed in a blur. Each room, though lavishly decorated, felt devoid of life. Catherine’s heart ached for the familiar chaos of her family home—the impromptu musical sessions, the shared stories, the palpable sense of belonging.

As they concluded the tour, Mrs. Starling handed her a ledger. “This contains the household accounts, schedules, and inventories. It’s imperative you familiarize yourself with them.”

Catherine accepted the heavy book, its weight a tangible reminder of her new role. “Thank you, Mrs. Starling. I’ll review it thoroughly.”

With a curt nod, the housekeeper departed, leaving Catherine alone in the vastness of the library, where the tour had concluded. She sank into a leather armchair, the ledger resting on her lap, and allowed herself a moment to grieve the life she’d left behind.

Eventually, she grew bored of the numbers and letters in the ledger and began to crave a change of scenery.

“It is a lovely day,” she noted, peering out of the window. “Perhaps a walk in the garden would be nice.”

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the estate as she wandered through the gardens, seeking solace among the meticulously trimmed hedges and vibrant blooms. The scent of roses filled the air, reminding her of the wildflowers that grew abundantly in the meadows near her childhood home.

“I have to stay. I have to do my best. I know it looks trying and difficult, but I must not falter or give up. I must do my best for my family,” Catherine stated with deep conviction, needing to remind herself why she was here and what her efforts were for.

She would not give her husband any reason to believe she wasn’t worth the choice he had made to marry her.

Lost in thought, she was startled by the appearance of Mr. Oswald, who was standing behind her when she turned around. He gave her an apologetic look, clearly aware that he had startled her.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not mean to frighten you,” he said earnestly, his gentleness making her feel a little more at ease.

“It is quite all right, Oswald. What can I do for you?”

“The Duke requests your presence in his study this evening.”

Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. Finally, she had been summoned.

“Did he mention why?”

“No, Your Grace. Only that he wishes to discuss certain matters with you,” the butler said.

Catherine nodded. “I-I’ll be there. Thank you, Oswald.”

The butler bowed and made his way back to the manor, leaving her to her thoughts.

She was nervous and somewhat eager to see what the night would bring, silently hoping that it would somewhat be easier in comparison to everything else.

As evening descended upon Rosehall, Catherine’s nerves grew. The prospect of meeting her husband in his study filled her with a mixture of anticipation and dread. It was an odd thing to be summoned like a servant, but she supposed that was her new life now—being at her husband’s beck and call.

And yet she had dressed carefully tonight.

Her gown was a deep green, the color of the pines back home. The fabric clung to her waist before flowing down in soft folds, chosen with the singular purpose of making an impression. She had even dabbed a bit of perfume on her wrists and throat.

She wasn’t sure why she was putting in so much effort, but it felt necessary.

The man vexed her to no end, and yet she had stood before the looking glass and smoothed the fabric, ensuring every hair was perfectly in place.

Anna had assisted in styling her hair, weaving delicate pearls through the auburn strands.

“You look stunning, Your Grace,” she remarked, her eyes reflecting pride.

Catherine could only hope so, because she had been so nervous at dinner she had barely eaten. She was intent on looking her very best when she went to see her husband.

She offered a smile, hoping that her outward impression would eventually make its way inward. “Thank you, Anna. I only hope the Duke shares your sentiment.”

The hour of the meeting approached, and Catherine found herself pacing the length of her chambers. Memories of her family’s encouragement flashed through her mind, but they did little to quell the anxiety twisting in her stomach.

Taking a deep breath, she whispered to herself, “Ye are a Lennox. Ye’ve faced greater challenges than this. Stand tall.”

Summoning her courage with a deep inhale, Catherine made her way to the Duke’s study. The corridors seemed longer than usual, each step echoing her apprehension. Upon reaching the heavy oak door, she paused, smoothing her gown and inhaling deeply before knocking.

“Enter,” came the deep timbre of Sampson’s voice.

Pushing the door open, Catherine stepped inside, her gaze immediately drawn to her husband.

Sampson stood by the expansive mahogany desk, his cravat loosened and his dark hair slightly tousled, as though he’d been running his fingers through it in contemplation. The sight was a stark contrast to the composed man she had married.

His eyes lit up with amusement as they settled on her. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he drawled, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Is this splendid vision truly my Duchess, or has a fairy queen graced my study?”

Heat crept up Catherine’s neck, settling in her cheeks. “I thought it appropriate to dress… accordingly for our meeting,” she replied, striving for composure.

“This must have surpassed the boundaries of propriety. It looks as though you wished to impress me. And I am thoroughly impressed by you,” he said in a low voice, his eyes fixed on her.

Catherine began to squirm as he approached her, the scent of sandalwood and something distinctly him tickling her senses.

He leaned in slightly, inhaling the air around her. “And is that a hint of perfume I detect? You’ve gone to quite the trouble, my dear.”

Her embarrassment flared, but she squared her shoulders. “As your wife and the Duchess, it is my duty to present myself appropriately.”

A slow smile curved Sampson’s lips. “It hasn’t even been a week since we were married and you are already clinging to the idea of a dutiful wife.” He circled her, his gaze appreciative yet inscrutable. “Tell me, Catherine, what expectations do you have for this evening?”

Her pulse quickened under his scrutiny, and she tried not to squirm. “I… I am uncertain, Your Grace. I assumed we might discuss my new responsibilities.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “Responsibilities, indeed. I hope you are aware that the responsibilities of a duchess differ from that of a wife,” he reminded.

“I am.” She nodded intently, determined to survive the night, one way or another.

“Can you differentiate the extent of those duties? Where you are required to stop being a duchess and approach me as my wife?”

His tone was light, but it carried an edge that confused her. As usual, her feelings seemed to reflect on her face, and he frowned.

“I am not sure I?—”

Suddenly, he was in front of her, his hand reaching up to wrap his fingers around her chin and tilt her head back slightly so he could look her in the eye.

“As my Duchess, your duties revolve around the household. As my wife, your duties revolve around my well-being. Can you handle such a duty? Can you care for me and meet every single one of my needs?”

His touch burned, and she couldn’t help but flinch slightly, the action making him grin dangerously.

“You must stop being so easy to tease, Duchess. Come.”

He pulled back and nodded towards a table on which sat a bottle of wine and some candles that lent the room some warmth. He picked up the bottle and poured them each a glass.

When she joined him, he held out a glass to her and said, “Let us play a game, Duchess.”