Page 77 of His Scottish Duchess

“I need a drink,” he muttered, the words barely audible before he turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her standing alone in the cold silence, her heart shattered into a million pieces.

The shock of his sudden departure kept her rooted to the spot for a long moment. She stood there, unmoving, his harsh words ringing in her ears. The intimacy they had shared, the tentative hope for a future together, all seemed to have evaporated, leaving behind only a cold, empty void.

Slowly, the numbness began to give way to a crushing wave of heartbreak. Tears streamed down her face silently as she grieved the loss of a life she nearly had. She had offered him her love, her understanding, and he had thrown it back in her face.

The pain was a physical ache in her chest, a suffocating weight that made it difficult to breathe.

After a while, the overwhelming need to escape the stifling confines of the room took hold. With trembling hands, she began to pack her belongings, her movements mechanical, her mind reeling.

She couldn’t stay here, not without him, not with the raw pain of his rejection still hanging in the air. She needed solace, comfort, and the familiar embrace of her family.

“I cannot—I cannot stay here alone,” she whispered, before a sob tore from her throat. “I’m sorry, Sampson. I truly am.”

And then she left the room.

The journey back to Spranklin Manor was a blur of tears and sniffles. Catherine tried to hold herself together, to maintain some semblance of composure for the sake of the inn’s staff and the carriage driver, but the fear that gnawed at her was relentless.

Had she lost him? Had his devastating confession driven such a wedge between them that they could never find their way back to each other?

It was unfair. Unfair that after all of the uncertainties at the beginning of their marriage, and just as things had gotten good, his past would come to rip them apart.

Just as she had acknowledged her feelings for him and realized he might feel the same.

The thought was a terrifying weight in her chest. She felt scared and utterly alone, the cruel irony of desperately wanting the one man who seemed determined to run from her tearing at her soul.

It was late when the carriage finally rumbled to a stop outside Spranklin Manor. The house was quiet, with most of the lights extinguished, and her family was not expecting her return. She paid the driver with trembling hands and stumbled up the familiar steps, her heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread.

What would she say? Whatcouldshe say? How on earth would she explain what transpired and what it meant?

A new wave of horror washed over her suddenly. What if Sampson decided she was more trouble than she was worth and decided to divorce her and reinstate the debt her father owed him?

No, Sampson wouldn’t do that.

Wouldn’t he? Did she even know him anymore?

The door was opened by a startled Graham, his eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing with concern as he took in her tear-streaked face.

“Catherine? What in God’s name…?”

The carefully constructed dam of her composure that she had tried to hold together during the last hour of the carriage ride finally broke. The moment she saw her brother’s familiar face, the bubble of her emotions burst, and she crumbled, a sob escaping her lips that quickly escalated into uncontrollable tears.

Her parents, alerted by Graham’s startled exclamation, rushed to the door, their faces etched with worry as they saw their distraught daughter. Her father’s strong arms enveloped her in a comforting embrace, but it was her mother who gently guided her into the familiar warmth of the parlor, stroking her hair with a soothing hand and murmuring soft words of comfort.

“Hush now, my wee hen,” Mary crooned, her voice thick with concern. “What’s happened, my darlin’? Where is yer husband?”

At the mention of Sampson, Catherine cried even harder, her heart calling out for her beloved, knowing she would get no response.

“Margaret, fetch a cup of tea and a blanket for yer sister. She needs to warm up and get some liquid into her. Poor thing’s goin’ to cry herself dry at this rate.”

All the while she wept, her family stayed close by, exchanging looks of concern while trying to soothe her. Their loving presence was reassuring, but Catherine could hardly feel much other than the heartbreak that permeated every inch of being.

The pain was too deep, too great a burden to cast away so easily.

It took a long while for her sobs to subside enough for her to speak. By then, her mother had chased the men off to bed, Graham taking Isobel to the nursery himself, leaving just Mary and Margaret.

“Take yer time, dear sister,” Margaret said gently, running a brush through Catherine’s hair like she used to whenever she was upset as a child. “Whatever it is, we will be here with ye to figure it out.”

Catherine inhaled deeply and tried to think. She couldn’t bring herself to relay Sampson’s horrific confession. But she desperately needed to speak about what had happened between them, dying from the grief festering within her. So, she carefully crafted a narrative, highlighting his pain and guilt.

---