Page 34 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Did the prying of those partygoers make Lydia react so severely? It was almost as if she saw a specter, the way she bolted from the scene. What could have inspired such a response?
Richard ruminated on the topic as he added more kindling to the fire, finally settling on the overwhelming nature of the garden party as the source. Surely, such functions were enough to upset even the most even-keeled person.
Yet, a persistent unease gnawed at him, creating an ache deep in his stomach. The memory of that single, whispered syllable replayed in his mind over and over and over again.
Why that name? And why then?
Cat.
Across town, in the tastefully modest drawing room of the Marchant residence, Catriona poured Eliza a cup of tea. Her fluid movements as she prepared their cups betrayed the nervous energy that grew inside of her. She was grateful to have something to do with her hands, to occupy her body as her anxiety prickled deep in her chest.
“It’s worse than I let on, Eliza,” she confessed, her voice low and strained in a tone that did not sound like her. She began to explain her family’s current situation, grateful to confide in her friend. “Aye, me faither’s heir is quite serious, the little shite. If I dinnae secure a proposal, and soon, Maither and I will be… I dinnae dare say it. We will lose everything. Our home, me faither’s memory…”
It was then her voice broke, the carefully constructed composure finally giving way to all that she had at stake. She could feel the weight of all that she had suffered since the tragic loss of her father buckle inside her. She could hold the artifice no longer.
Once Catriona put down the cups, Eliza reached across the small table and squeezed Catriona’s hands in hers.
“Don’t despair, my dear friend,” she whispered. “You are a most capable lady, and beautiful enough for any man of the ton. We will find a way. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to help you.”
As Eliza went on about plans, Catriona’s brow furrowed slightly at a distraction she could not put her finger on. She felt a palpable shift in the air.
Is it a mouse? A gust of wind?
She could have sworn there was a faint rustling sound from the hallway just outside the drawing room door.
She glanced towards it, a flicker of unease filling her before she ultimately dismissed it. She and her mother had now spent several weeks in the Marchant home, which had its own creaks as an old home with personality should.
“Is something the matter, Catriona?” Eliza asked.
“Aye,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea to steady her. “I think I’m startin’ to spook easy. Maybe one of the Marchant ghosts is comin’ for me!”
“Well, perhaps he could be a good match?”
Catriona burst out in laughter, her chest finally feeling a bit lighter.
Chapter Twelve
“Èist ri gaoth nam beann gus an traogh na h-uisgeachan.” Listen to the wind upon the hill till the waters abate.
“I cannae think of how this would be without ye here,” Catriona whispered as she took Eliza’s hand. “Ye look lovely this evenin’, perhaps we will both walk away with a match?”
Relax. Steel yer heart and yer gaze on the prize. A proper match. Tonight is the night.
Another week had quickly passed when Catriona found herself among other guests at Lord Harrington’s elegant estate.
The grand ballroom shimmered with ambient candlelight as she admired the ladies’ gowns. Rich tones of amber, ruby, and violet were the evening’s favorites.
Catriona had chosen a delicate shade of lavender, which was one of her best gowns. She saved it for the most important of occasions and hoped that this would bring her good luck, as well as a sound return on their dwindling resources.
Her mother and Lady Marchant stood close by, as they gathered their bearings before venturing out to circulate among the other guests. It was then Lady Northley and Eliza joined their circle. As Catriona’s most loyal friend, her presence was a source of comfort she relished.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Eliza said with a laugh. “Don’t let my mother hear you, she has her own machinations this evening, I fear!”
Despite the undercurrent of anxiety that swelled within her, coupled with the usual gossip surrounding her “uncouth” origins, Catriona found herself the object of some attention.
Several gentlemen, drawn perhaps by her exotic beauty or the still lingering vestiges of her family’s social standing, sought her hand for a dance. One, Lord Beaumont, was particularly persistent.
Catriona decided upon their first exchange that Lord Beaumont’s conversation was about as dry as dust, but he was wealthy and respectable.
