Page 12 of His Scottish Duchess

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 Iamthoroughly 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.

---