Page 13 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Catriona tried to calm her mother, gently patting her hand, but her anxiety was now palpable, a tangible weight in the air. The usually serene woman was a bundle of nerves, her fingers twisting a delicate lace handkerchief into knots.
“What is the matter, Maither?” Catriona asked as she noticed her mother was now patting her neck with the handkerchief. She had begun to perspire, which was most unlike her.
“This is just so very important, we cannae afford a misstep,” she emphasized. “Our finances are… precarious, Catriona.”
“I know, Maither,” she said softly.
“Ye have to realize, the flood… it ruined everythin’. Our cattle, our crops… everythin’. We’re teeterin’ on the edge, me dear.”
She looked at Catriona, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. “If you dinnae find a husband, or if yer faither’s heir sells the estate… we’ll have naethin’.”
Naethin’.
“Absolutely naethin’. We’ll be destitute, Catriona, dependent on the charity of others. Imagine, after all these years…” Her voice trailed off, choked with emotion.
Her mother paused for a moment or two, steadying herself. It was most unlike her to be so transparent about her fears, and Catriona knew this. She placed her hand on her shoulder, bringing her into a tight hug.
“Let’s nae descend into melodrama, Catriona.” Though her tone was reassuring, the flicker of concern lingered on her now composed features. “I appreciate that ye understand that this ball is… significant. It’s an opportunity. A necessary opportunity. I suggest ye take it seriously, me dear.”
She paused, emphasizing each word. “‘Lord Hargrave’s connections are impeccable from what Lady Marchant has told me. He moves in the highest circles. And he has, shall we say, a certain… influence. If ye were to make a favorable impression, to capture the attention of a gentleman of means… well, it would solve many of our problems.”
Those words hung in the air, heavy with expectation and familial duty. The pressure was immense, a suffocating weight on Catriona’s shoulders. It wasn’t just about finding a husband anymore; it was about survival. It was about securing their future, preventing their descent into poverty. What would her father say? He would want her to be strong for the family.
“Think of yer faither, Catriona,” her mother pleaded as if reading her mind, her voice barely a whisper. “He would want ye to be safe, to be provided for. He wouldnae want us to suffer.”
“I understand,” Catriona whispered.
“Good,” her mother replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “That’s me girl. Now, let’s discuss gowns. Lady Marchant may be able to help. We have much to plan, and little time to waste.”
Chapter Six
“Cha tèid misg gun cheòl.” There will be no intoxication without music.
“What people do not understand is that sheep need so much more than the basic necessities to thrive,” Mr. Featherstone went on.
“I have my cousin play the violin for them every Thursday afternoon. I swear that it improves their mood and quality of life! I read once that the same approach can be taken with plants if you can believe it,” he rambled on, as their discussion bypassed the more tedious pleasantries to something that surprisingly interested Catriona.
A sea of candlelight reflected off the polished ballroom floor, transforming the mere wood to a shining golden hue. Crystal chandeliers, heavy with prisms, scattered light like a thousand tiny stars on the walls that were thick with heavy curtains. However, the sparkle of the chandeliers were incomparable tothe array of diamonds and emeralds adorning the ladies of the ton.
Catriona was engaging in the delicate art of conversation when she offered Mr. Featherstone an inquiry about his prize-winning Leicestershire sheep. Once started on the subject, she could hardly get a word in as he went on about the merits of music for all animals.
Catriona could feel her heartbeat pulsing in time with the music as she fixed her mind on the task at hand. Yet the mission of finding a man felt less like the pursuit of happiness and more like a stone lodged in her chest. She had to remember why she was here: to charm the right man.
Not for love—there was no room for such luxury. What she needed was a marriage of convenience, one that would carry her back to Scotland, back to the land that called to her in quiet moments. She would never again be the same girl who had left. But with the right suitor, she could return to her home, as her father would have wanted.
The fate of her family—the very roof over their heads—rested squarely on her shoulders.
“I have a surprising number of dogs,” Mr. Featherstone explained, as he began talking of his love for hunting and sport. “They are all named after vegetables.”
At that, Catriona could no longer suppress her laughter.. The tightness of her gown had amplified the curves of her bosom,which quivered with her sudden giggle. It was then she caught Mr. Featherstone’s gaze on her, roving over her curves as he stopped speaking.
Catriona felt confident that evening. With the help of Lady Marchant, she was able to secure a fashionable gown of shimmering sapphire blue. It hugged her generous curves perfectly, a product of the latest fashion.
Her mother had helped her pull the wayward strands of her hair back, letting her curls cascade artfully down her shoulders. These locks were secured with tiny pearls that she could only imagine danced in the ambient light of the room.
To finish the look, Lady Marchant lent her a prized family heirloom, a rich diamond choker adorned with tiny sapphires. It was then that she pictured herself as a part of that radiance, perhaps as Arianrhod in her celestial domain.
And yet, beneath the surface of polite smiles and witty repartee with Mr. Featherstone, Catriona’s mind was spinning like a top. Surely there were other men she could entertain in conversation with if she could only find a polite escape.
