Page 48 of His Scottish Duchess

“Dinnae despair, laddie. You will get it next time,” she said, giving her son a smile.

On the other side, Catherine and her sister Margaret cheered happily at their brother’s downfall, quite pleased with the advantage it provided them. The game picked up again, with thefamily freely talking and cheering amongst themselves, creating an atmosphere that Rosehall Estate hadn’t seen during the years Sampson had lived there.

Sampson leaned against the sturdy back of his chair, the hard surface a comforting contrast to the smooth coolness of the glass he held loosely in his hand. The afternoon sun, though warm, was tempered by a gentle breeze, creating a perfect ambiance for the outdoor activity. But Sampson’s attention was less focused on the game and more on the woman who moved with such vibrant energy amidst her family.

Catherine. His wife.

He watched her, a soft, almost involuntary smile curving his lips. There was a lightness about her in the presence of her family, a playful spark in her eyes that seemed to burn even brighter than usual. She had shed away her usual air of stiff grace and had taken on a more lighthearted personality.

It was clear she loved her father’s jokes because Sampson was always startled by the loud sound of her laughter at the punchline. Her eyes shone in a way he had never seen whenever she was speaking to any of her family members, the somewhat permanent smile on her face so naturally beautiful that it seemed as though she had never been without it.

Every moment he watched her in their midst was an instance where he felt pleased with his choice to invite her family over. He marveled at this version of her, so free from the rigidity ofpropriety and a keeper of so many stories she couldn’t help but tell.

It was also quite a sight, how she interacted differently with her family.

While she was teamed with Margaret, they operated with a seamless understanding, their whispered strategies and knowing glances speaking volumes of a long-standing camaraderie. They presented a united front against Mary and the impetuous Graham, their combined efforts often resulting in Mary’s mock protests and Graham’s frustrated sighs.

“Surely that isnae fair, Maither! They cannae just be good at this game! Ye lot are cheating, but I dinnae have proof!” Graham whined at some point.

“Perhaps you should spend less time climbing the trees in Father’s orchard and practice your aim,” Catherine shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.

Margaret chuckled and pointed her mallet at her brother, telling him with a grin, “The Duchess has spoken. It’s yer turn, anyway. Come forth and lose, so we can ken for certain the extent of yer skills.”

Graham began to huff about ten minutes later when, just as Margaret had expected, he lost.

“Maither! Margaret cheated! There’s nay way she made that last shot on her own! There must be some trickery afoot!”

“Dinnae bother our dearest maither wi’ yer whinin’, when I warned ye sufficiently beforehand!” Margaret laughed.

While Mary consoled her son, Catherine stepped forward with a gentle smile as she patted her brother’s auburn hair.

“You’re with me for the next round. I’ll show you how to line up your shots well enough to make the execution look like magic!” she told him softly.

Catherine’s true character, Sampson noted, was greatly revealed when the exchange of partners took effect. She stayed true to her word, considering Graham’s lack of experience as she guided him in each round.

“You want to hold your mallet like this—yes, exactly. Do it like this, so your grip on it is comfortable. Now, plant your feet apart a wee bit… no, no. No—patiently, Graham. You must be patient with yourself so that you can learn!” she told him, confident as she guided him through each step.

It was refreshing and somewhat precious to see her competitive edge softened, replaced by unwavering support.

“Oh—ah.” She tutted softly as the ball Graham struck with his mallet failed to go through the loop. “That one was better,though! Your aim has certainly improved! You very nearly had it!”

Compared to the joy that had taken over Margaret and her boisterous tone, Catherine’s voice was filled with genuine encouragement, and she celebrated even her brother’s smallest successes with an enthusiastic hug that always brought a wide grin to his face.

Fergus, having gracefully bowed out of the more strenuous activity, settled into a chair under the pavilion beside Sampson, Isobel sleeping quietly in his arms. He watched his family with an expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a fond indulgence that mirrored the warmth Sampson felt towards Catherine.

Sampson, whose family gatherings were often strained and formal affairs—on the rare occasions they ever took place—was genuinely surprised by the Lennox family’s competitive spirit.

“They seem… remarkably invested in this game,” he commented, a slight amusement coloring his tone.

He watched as Catherine, her brow furrowed in concentration, lined up a particularly challenging shot for Graham, her tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth in a gesture of intense focus.

Fergus chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to emanate from his very core.

“Ah, ye should have seen them back in Scotland. This”—he gestured towards the relatively calm scene unfolding on the lawn—“is practically a tea party. The air in England clearly has a soporific effect. Usually, a family game of croquet can devolve into something akin to a strategically planned siege, complete with accusations of cheating and the occasional hurled mallet.”

Sampson threw back his head and laughed, the image of the seemingly serene Lennox family engaging in such fierce sporting combat both absurd and utterly endearing. His gaze drifted back to Catherine, who had just executed a perfect shot, sending her ball cleanly through the hoop. The sunlight filtering through the leaves of the oak tree caught the rich auburn highlights in her hair, creating a halo effect that made her appear almost ethereal as she danced about with joy.

A familiar warmth, a sensation that had become increasingly prevalent whenever he was near her, spread through his chest. He felt fortunate to have her as a wife, regardless of his initial motivations.

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