Page 20 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
She prayed with all her might that those ladies would get exactly the type of company they deserved in life.
“Och, tha sin math,”a voice whispered from behind her.
Catriona instantly knew the meaning—her joke had been well made.
Catriona whirled around to find a woman about her age, whose eyes sparkled with happy amusement.
Lady Craigleith and Lady Marchant stood nearby with a third woman she did not know, their expressions a mixture of surprise and curiosity at witnessing the encounter.
Lady Marchant presented Catriona with a flourish. “Miss MacTavish, allow me to introduce you to Lady Northley,our gracious hostess, and her beautiful daughter, Miss Eliza Fortmond.”
After they’d all curtseyed, there was an immediate, unspoken bond between them as one would pick out a playmate in a schoolyard. Catriona could feel a hint of the same rebelliousness that she often had to suppress in society in Eliza. She knew instantly that they would be fast friends. Moreover, the thought of a new friend, or any friend at all, sent her positively reeling.
The three elder ladies retreated into a conspiratorial huddle, their pronouncements on suitable matches and advantageous alliances punctuated by knowing nods and thoughtful sighs. This provided Catriona and Eliza with an opportunity to sneak away and engage in thoughtful conversation. They immediately found common ground in their shared exasperation over their mothers’ relentless pursuit of suitable husbands, but that was common enough for most girls their age.
“I’m sure you won’t believe this one!” Eliza started with another story of failed love. She twisted her lips to the side in a most comical way, making a face to imitate another one of her would-be suitors. “He really put his lips like this, and they were not stuck this way or some other malformation, I assure you! He thought it looked attractive. And indeed, he was a baronet, but all he would talk about was taxidermy and his mother,” she said with an exasperated sigh.
“That sounds horrid,” Catriona said. She laughed at the thought, recalling her brief chat with Mr. Featherstone. “I once had a man tell me that he plays music to his sheep.”
“Oh my, don’t tell me that you’ve been subjected to Mr. Featherstone!”
The pair began laughing wildly when Lady Northley cast a look in their direction that silenced them, a stark reminder of Catriona’s true need for securing a proper match and all that hung in the balance.
“You see, my family’s finances are well, a bit precarious, ye could say,” she started, deciding that she could confide in Eliza. “It is just Maither and I now, and well… And while it is important for a woman of our age to marry for the reasons we have been told our whole lives… the very real necessity driving me maither’s insistence on a swift and profitable match is much more than that.”
The carefree glint in Eliza’s eyes softened with genuine sympathy.
She took her hand and placed it on her shoulder. “You’re a real catch, Catriona,” she said. “I can tell. You know, I had a Scottish governess growing up, that’s how I could tell what you were saying to those cows. You remind me so much of her in the most pleasant way. You’ve got a fiery spirit and a big heart,” Eliza finished as she clasped her hand in hers.
Then, Catriona noticed that Lady Northley’s delicate brow was furrowed as her gaze lingered on various eligible bachelors that were scattered amongst the guests.
“We must find a way to… facilitate closer acquaintance,” she whispered to Lady Marchant. “Time waits for no woman, and we have to make haste to secure the most advantageous arrangement.”
They may as well have been playing chess.
Suddenly, Eliza clapped her hands together as if an idea had just come to mind.
Her deep brown eyes lit up as she began to explain, “The horse races! At Ascot! They’re in a few days. Mama, it will be agrandsocial event. Every eligible bachelor in the county will be there, practically tripping over themselves!” Her enthusiasm was infectious as she thought of the sport of such an event. “I was just talking about it the other day with Lady Campbell!”
A flicker of excitement sparked within Catriona. She had long admired the elegant grace of horses, the thunder of their hooves as they cracked on the ground. As a young girl, she had many dreams, and they were always the same. She was dressed all in white, riding astride a white mare, wildly careening through the Highlands, like a warrior queen.
Of course, the mere mention of such a spectacle caused her mother to begin fidgeting uncomfortably. “Horse races? So utterly…unladylike. The dust, the noise…the smell.”
Eliza and Catriona looked at Lady Marchant, their eyes pleading. “Nonsense, Lady Craigleith!” Lady Marchant tipped them both a conspiratorial wink. “It would be anexcellentopportunity tointroduce Catriona to a wider circle of influential gentlemen. Not all of them have time for such social gatherings as this, but the thrill of the race draws them like bees to honey! Why, the sporting set is often remarkably well-connected.”
Catriona’s mother considered Lady Marchant’s explanation carefully, the group silent as she sipped her tea slowly.
Finally, after what felt like minutes, she sighed and then nodded her head in agreement, “All right then.”
A silent thrill coursed through Catriona as she grabbed Eliza’s hands in hers.
At last, a breath of fresh air.
An escape from the suffocating confines of the drawing room that had felt like a prison for far too long. The thought of the open air, the excitement of the crowd, the thundering of hooves—it promised a moment of freedom, of life outside the endless expectations of society.
And if she was very lucky, perhaps she would catch a glimpse of the duke.
The thought stirred something within her, an unexpected flutter that had nothing to do with the thrill of the races.
