Page 12 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Lord Hargrave chuckled, a low, resonant sound that was calming as it was infectious, and Catriona was instantly at ease.
“Lady Marchant, your wit is as sharp as ever. Following you? Perish the thought! I simply have an uncanny knack for beingwhere the most charming ladies are. Some may call it a curse, I confess it is my most holy vocation.” He bowed slightly, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Though I confess, I did hear whispers of your presence at the tea shop. One cannot resist the allure of such esteemed company,” he said as his eyes met Catriona’s.
“Where are my manners?” Lady Marchant exclaimed, touching her hands to her chest. “Please allow me to present Lady Craigleith, the late wife of the Viscount of Craigleith, and her daughter, Miss Catriona.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Lord Hargrave said with a small bow. “Please tell me, how are you all getting on this afternoon?”
“There are few things I enjoy more than sweets, Lord Hargrave, and so you can imagine I am quite happy,” Catriona said playfully, excited to have such diverting company at their table.
“Oh, most certainly, although I endeavor to imagine anything sweeter than the company at this table,” he complimented, as Lady Marchant and her mother smiled like schoolgirls. “Which reminds me, I am having a ball next week and I think as guests of Lady Marchant, you all simply must come. How does that sound?”
Her mother, ever the pinnacle of maternal enthusiasm, clapped her hands together like a monkey. “A ball! How absolutely splendid! Catriona, did you hear? A ball!” Her eyes, usually soft and gentle, sparkled with almost girlish excitement. “We haven’t attended a proper ball in ages. It’s just what we need to lift our spirits!”
Catriona, however, felt a knot tighten in her stomach.
“A ball,” she echoed, her voice barely whispering as she tried to feign excitement.
She knew her mother’s eagerness was genuine, and she couldn’t bear to dampen it. But the thought of an evening spent in the crowded ballroom, surrounded by chattering debutantes and eligible bachelors, filled her with a sense of dread.
“How… lovely,” she managed, forcing a smile that felt as brittle as spun glass.
“Lovely indeed!” Michael beamed as his attention was now focused on Catriona. He gave her a wide smile. “I do hope you’ll grace us with your presence. As a houseguest of Lady Marchant, you and your daughter are friends of ours. Why, your absence would be a lamentable loss.” He paused, a hint of playful challenge in his voice. “Unless, of course, you’ve already made other, more pressing engagements?”
“Certainly nae!” Lady Craigleith interjected, before Catriona could formulate a polite refusal. “We wouldnae dream of missin’ it, would we, Catriona?” She gave her daughter a gentle nudge, her eyes pleading. “It’s a wonderful opportunity to… to socialize. Just think of how happy yer cousin Isobel is now, married and successful.”
Catriona sighed inwardly. “Of course, Maither. We wouldnae miss it for the world,” she said, her voice laced with a faint, almost imperceptible, resignation. She looked at Michael,attempting a slightly more genuine smile. “Thank ye for the invitation, Lord Hargrave.”
“I assure you, it will be an evening to remember. I’ve secured the finest musicians, the most exquisite decorations, and a veritable feast fit for royalty.” He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “And, of course, the most captivating company. Even my most boring friend, the Duke of Wilthorne, will be there.”
Lady Marchant tapped her fan against her chin, her eyes narrowed in playful scrutiny.
“It has been some time since I have had the pleasure of the Duke of Wilthorne’s company in a social setting,” she remarked. “I hope you’re able to secure some more eligible gentlemen for my young friend here.”
“Besides, I hear the latest dance steps are quite scandalous. We wouldn’t want her to miss out on that, would we?” Lady Henry said, the first words the old woman had uttered all morning. In fact, Catriona had forgotten she was sitting as she was just behind Lady Marchant, with an unfortunate history of falling asleep in public.
Catriona’s cheeks flamed an embarrassing pink.
“I expected better from you, Lady Henry!” Lady Marchant scolded. “You’re incorrigible!”
Lord Hargrave laughed, a rich, warm sound. “Indeed, Lady Marchant, please rest assured I have taken every precaution regarding Lady Henry’s concerns. And allow me to say it is lovely to see you again, as I did not notice you were there at first. Please forgive me,” he said with a small bow in her direction, to which she nodded. “The gentlemen will be vying for the honor of a dance with Miss MacTavish, I assure you. And as for the scandalous dances… well, a lady of your refined taste, Lady Henry, will surely appreciate the artistry behind the movement. Yes, I heard the stories from my grandfather of your debut.”
The women began laughing wildly as even Catriona found herself joining in, reveling in his undeniable charm.
He turned back to Catriona, his expression softening. “I promise, all joking aside, Miss MacTavish, it will be a night of enjoyment. And perhaps…” he paused, his gaze lingering on her face, “perhaps even a little surprise.”
He bowed a final time to the group, smiled, and slowly made his way to the exit. Once he was out of earshot, the voices at the table started.
Lady Craigleith, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, beamed. “Surprises are always welcome! Och, Catriona, just think of the gowns! We must start plannin’ immediately! Silk, lace, perhaps a touch of velvet? And the jewels! Och, the possibilities are endless!”
Catriona, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that the “surprise” Lord Hargrave hinted at might be less delightful than her mother imagined.
She forced another smile, trying to ignore the fluttering of apprehension in her chest.
Coming back to reality, she said, “Aye, Maither. Gowns and jewels. How lovely.”
As they returned to Lady Marchant’s, Lady Craigleith’s face was in a flurry of excitement that she hardly registered the sarcasm from her daughter.
“We must get new gowns! The finest silks! The most exquisite lace!” The excitement became tinged with stress—they were hardly paupers, but they couldn’t live as extravagantly as some other ladies in the ton.
