Page 47 of His Scottish Duchess

“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 aproper 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 thebullet,” 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 toher. 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.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Inearly had it!”

Graham’s youthful voice, laced with a mixture of triumph and exasperation, carried across the meticulously manicured lawn. It was a cry that was becoming increasingly familiar to Sampson as the Lennox family, in the throes of a particularly spirited game of croquet, displayed a level of competitive zeal that he had rarely witnessed outside of the most cutthroat business negotiations.

A collective groan rippled through the small gathering, punctuated by Mary’s theatrical sigh of disappointment.

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