Page 28 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
“Perhaps,” Eliza conceded. “Although you must admit he is quite handsome, despite his cool exterior. And his niece, Lady Lydia, is the sweetest little thing.”
Catriona’s expression softened instantly at the thought of her. “Indeed, she is an adorable lass. I feel sorry for her. I ken somethin’ happened to her in her past, but I dinnae ken what. I dinnae ken if I want to.”
“It’s a dreadful story, and you can imagine how saddened we all were,” Eliza’s voice lowered, tinged with sincere sadness, as they found a quiet corner amidst the crowd. “My mother told me that her parents… they were all ambushed in their carriage a year ago. She is lucky to have made it out alive. A gruesome affair.”
Catriona’s breath hitched as she considered what the poor girl must have seen and all that she had lost at such a young age.
“Och, how awful!”
Aye, I too ken the gapin’ hole of a lost parent. There is nae greater pain.
“Dreadful,” Eliza repeated, nodding grimly. “And the poor child… she hasn’t spoken a single word since. The shock, they say, has rendered her mute. They do not know if she will ever be able to speak again, from what my mother has told me.”
That is why the lassie doesnae speak. Mute… with grief.
Catriona’s heart ached even deeper for Lydia as she clutched her chest. It was unimaginable. And at the same time, she thought of all that had fallen on the duke. Dealing with the loss of his brother was bad enough, on top of that, the profound trauma of his niece, and her care had to be an immense weight to carry.
Perhaps he isnae just a stiff-necked prig. Aye, maybe he is weighed down by his own sorrow that he cannae see.
“Lady Eliza,” Lord Harrington said, his bow elegant and sharp as he approached the ladies. “You look radiant this evening. Your mother said I could find you here, she was just telling me of your trip to Paris. I trust you enjoyed yourself?”
“Lord Harrington,” Eliza replied, her cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment, almost to match her gown. “I certainly did, and you are too kind. Please allow me to introduce my dear friend, Miss Catriona MacTavish.”
“The pleasure is mine, Miss MacTavish,” he said as he bowed to her, taking in her generous curves as his eyes traveled up and down her gown. “May I also introduce a dear friend, Lord Charles Attiford.”
Lord Attiford also turned his attention instantly to Catriona, a practiced charm in his grin. “Miss MacTavish. It is always a pleasure to encounter such rare beauty at the theater”
“Lord Attiford,” Catriona responded, her tone polite but lacking appropriate warmth for such an exchange, as she offered a small bow.
She was not used to the attention of men and struggled to find her voice. Instead, she just smiled. That would have to be good enough.
It was then that Catriona felt a familiar yet unwelcoming figure striding purposefully towards their group, the scent of pine and leather in its wake.
The duke.
Richard’s eyes were fixed on Catriona as he made his way in her direction. He noted that she was currently engaged in an exchange with the bumbling oaf, Lord Attiford, and his equally bumbling companion, Lord Harrington.
A knot tightened in Richard’s chest as his hands tensed into tight fists in his pocket. An unfamiliar wave coiled within him, possessive and angry at the sight of her with not just another man, butmen.
As he drew closer, he caught the tail end of Lord Attiford’s attempt at gallantry.
“…and Miss MacTavish, the exquisite color of your gown is most becoming. What would you say it is?”
“It’s emerald, Attiford,” his voice cut in as he sliced through Lord Attiford’s floundering compliment. “A rather expected shade for a Scottish lass, wouldn’t you agree?”
He stepped directly between Catriona and the two lords, his presence an undeniable intrusion, as she and Lady Eliza gave a curtsy.
Lord Harrington and Lord Attiford exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Your Grace,” Harrington offered, a light smile on his face. “How delightful, meeting you here.”
“First a ball, then the races, now the theater?” Lord Attiford jested playfully. “Why, you’re a regular man about town these days.”
“Indeed,” Richard replied, his gaze unwavering on the two men as he stood perfectly straight, lording his height over them—he had to have at least five inches on them.
The two lords, sensing the distinct chill emanating from the duke, mumbled hasty excuses to find their seats.
“Well, the curtain waits for no one,” Harrington joked. “Enjoy the performance, ladies.”
“Yes, a most promising tragedy, I hear,” Lord Attiford added quickly, before both men retreated with haste into the mass of theatergoers.
