Page 21 of His Scottish Duchess

When Fergus Lennox had written to him about the daughter he was giving to him in marriage, he had spoken in great detail about qualities he thought were admirable in her. Qualities he one day hoped would become invaluable to Sampson.

The letter had led Sampson to expect her practicality, her intelligence, and her willingness to fulfill her obligations. But he hadn’t anticipated this… enthusiasm.

“The staff is quite taken with her, Your Grace,” Mr. Oswald continued. “They say she has a kind heart and a firm hand—a rare combination.”

“Indeed,” Sampson murmured, his mind racing.

He had expected Catherine to be a dutiful wife, a competent manager of his household. But this… this was something else entirely. She was exceeding his expectations, challenging his assumptions.

“She works tirelessly, Your Grace,” Mr. Oswald added. “Often late into the night, poring over ledgers. And she is already scheduling meetings with suppliers. She seems determined to prove herself.”

“Prove herself?” Sampson’s smile widened. “To who? Me?”

“Perhaps you, Your Grace,” Mr. Oswald said, his voice neutral. “Or perhaps to herself.”

Sampson pondered this for a moment, a flicker of understanding dawning in his eyes. Catherine, who he had initially expected to be a quiet and unassuming Scottish lass, was proving to be far more complex than he had initially thought. She was a woman of hidden depths, of unexpected strengths.

She was challenging his opinions and views, and it irked him to no end.

He had wedded for the sake of his business, a marriage of necessity that would open more doors for him. But now, he felt distracted by her spirit, her determination, her unexpected fire. While he did admire her courageous approach to her new role as a duchess, he was tempted to make good on his teasing about her wifely duties.

He wondered what she would be like in his bed, those defiant lips moaning his name, her skin flushed and shimmering with sweat. He wondered if she would try to resist him, or if the promise of pleasure would be too strong for her to do anything other than what he wanted.

Sampson refrained from crossing that line, for now, because he wasn’t keen on making her think that their marriage was anything more than an arrangement tailored to suit their needs.

“Thank you, Oswald,” he said, dismissing the butler with a wave of his hand. “That will be all.”

Mr. Oswald bowed and retreated, leaving Sampson alone with his thoughts.

He stood for a moment, gazing out the window at the view of the grounds beneath the orange glow of the setting sun, his mind filled with images of Catherine.

A wave of anticipation washed over him. He had never been one for surprises or disruptions to his carefully ordered life. But Catherine, with her quiet strength and unexpected determination, was proving to be a delightful exception. He found himself looking forward to their next encounter, to the inevitable clash of their wills.

“You are a puzzle I will solve,” he muttered under his breath. “Sooner or later.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“As such, I believe if we were to source our greens from Mr. Edwin, we would be able to save a lot of money and have enough to spare for grains and other edible supplies.”

Catherine watched with bated breath as Mrs. Starling carefully went over her notes, mulling over the explanation she had just provided. It felt as though an eternity had passed before the housekeeper looked up at her and nodded curtly.

“This is… rather impressive, Your Grace. Very concise and detailed enough to relay to the maids, so that when they are out on errands, they will know just what to do. Well done, Your Grace,” the older woman said, still nodding in approval.

Catherine gasped and made to clap her hands excitedly, but was stopped by the housekeeper’s hard gaze. Instead, she cleared her throat and smiled politely.

“Thank ye, Mrs. Starling. I am glad ye approve,” she replied, barely managing to hold back her enthusiasm.

The days that followed her arrival at Rosehall found her settling into a rhythm of duty and quiet observation. She had immersed herself in the intricacies of managing the estate, determined to prove herself worthy of her new role. Each morning, she met with Mrs. Starling, the formidable housekeeper, and together they reviewed the household accounts, planned menus, and oversaw the staff.

Catherine asked countless questions, eager to learn every detail, her genuine interest in her tasks surprising even Mrs. Starling. She found herself fascinated by the sheer scale of the estate’s operations, the intricate web of responsibilities that kept it running smoothly.

It also provided her with a deeper sense of understanding of just how hard her mother worked to keep their household afloat. Catherine hoped to do that here too, to create a nurturing environment for her new household and her husband. With any luck—and a lot of hard work—they would be able to grow as well as she had in Scotland, if not better.

By the end of each day, Catherine felt a sense of accomplishment, a quiet satisfaction in her newfound competence. Whatever mistakes she had made were reviewed and learned from, and she was grateful for the opportunity to do so.

Mrs. Starling, though still reserved, gave her a brief, almost imperceptible nod of approval before retiring for the evening. It was a small gesture, but Catherine considered it a sign of progress.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Your Grace,” Mrs. Starling had said with a curtsy before she left.

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