Page 39 of His Scottish Duchess

Catherine blinked, slightly confused. Eleanor’s husband had attended her wedding?

That was when a deep voice cut through the air.

“Do not overwhelm her so soon, dearest. She looks out of her depth already,” a man stated, wrapping an arm around Eleanor’s waist and pulling her flush against his side.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Frederick. Greet her properly!” Eleanor whisper-hissed, playfully smacking his chest with the back of her hand.

As the man fixed his gaze on her, Catherine realized what the gnawing feeling had been. She knew him. He had been the only one to attend her wedding, and her husband had claimed they were friends.

“Frederick Montague, the Duke of Ironvale.” Frederick nodded at her in acknowledgment.

Catherine nodded, bowing her head slightly to him.

It was quite interesting, how he had none of the imposing energy he had carried the first time she had seen him—likely because he had not had his wife with him. It was clear how much he adored Eleanor, from the way he held her so preciously and looked at her.

It made Catherine wonder if she would ever find such love.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Duke. I’m very sorry that I was unable to send a proper thank you note for attending our wedding,” she replied with a small smile, feeling very comfortable around the couple.

Frederick smiled warmly. “Think nothing of it, Duchess. I might have looked slightly forlorn because I had been told that I could not bring Eleanor along, but I am glad to have been able to attend as a witness. Your husband, as annoying as he might be, is a very dear friend to me, and it was truly no large feat to attend his wedding. Eleanor has been positively buzzing with excitement to meet you.”

Eleanor reached out to hold and squeeze Catherine’s hand. “We must have you over for tea soon,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “And perhaps a game of cards. We’ll have such fun!”

“Perhaps you should ask her what she considers fun, dearest,” Frederick pointed out with a cheeky smile. “Not everyone likes to sit out in the cold to plant little rose seedlings.”

Eleanor pouted at him, then she turned to Catherine. “Do not mind my dear, worry-wart husband. He is merely concerned because I am still recovering from a cold. However you choose to spend your time is fine by me. I only ask that you come over for tea sometime,” she told her with an earnest expression.

“I would be greatly honored, Duchess,” Catherine returned honestly.

“Please, don’t be so formal,” Eleanor said, looking aghast. “You may call me Eleanor.”

Frederick chuckled, his gaze tender as he looked at his wife. “This must be the most entertained you’ve been since your dahlias bloomed,” he teased, patting her shoulders gently. “Are you sure you are not cold? I fear you will catch a chill.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, Frederick, you fuss too much. I am perfectly fine.” She then brightened, her gaze sweeping over the ballroom. “Though I must admit, I am longing for my garden. And our little one.”

“Indeed,” Frederick said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glanced at Catherine. “I suspect my dear wife was a nature sprite in a past life, given her fondness for all things green and growing. Fondness she has now passed on to our son. It is as though I have the forces of nature living under my roof.”

Catherine smiled, charmed by their easy banter and evident affection. She felt a pang of what she could only describe as yearning as she watched them—a longing for a similar connection, a similar warmth.

Just then, Sampson’s hand returned to its position on her lower back, and he pulled her to his side.

“Shall we dance, Catherine?” he asked, his voice low.

Catherine’s smile faltered. “Oh, Your Grace,” she began, her voice laced with a hint of panic. “I-I am not a very good dancer. I fear I would only embarrass myself.”

“Nonsense,” Sampson replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You only need to impress me, and you have already done so with the way you look in that dress.”

He pulled her towards the dance floor, his grip firm but gentle.

“But…” Catherine trailed off as he led her into the swirling throng of dancers.

As they moved together, Sampson’s hand never left her waist, his touch a constant reminder of his presence. His eyes never strayed from her form, his lips pulled intoa slight smirk.

He leaned forward suddenly and whispered, “I know I asked you to dress up for the occasion, but I cannot help but want to hide you away from the world, now that I see that you attractattention far too easily. I feel particularly inclined to lock you in a room somewhere and show you that a lot of fun can be had, particularly without this lovely dress you’re wearing.”

“Do… do you always think of me in a state of undress?” she ventured.

“Not always. It is not as though we cannot do some of the activities I have in mind while clothed,” Sampson stated. “But perhaps this once, I would like to show off your remarkable beauty to these rather fortunate bastards—not because they deserve to behold you, but because I believe that some treasures should be marveled at and worshipped.”

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