Page 68 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Michael looked at him. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to reconsider. With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked towards the door, pausing at the threshold before making his exit.
“Don’t let grief turn you into someone John wouldn’t recognize, Richard. You would never recover from that.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Gheibh faidhidinn furstachd.”Patience will get relief.
“Catriona!” Eliza’s voice rang out as she burst through the doors of Wilthorne Hall, bypassing the staff in a rush to reach her friend. “Oh, my dear Cat!”
Catriona wrapped her arms tightly around Eliza, a choked sob of relief escaping her lips as she pulled her even closer.
“Eliza,” she whispered. “Och, Eliza! Ye surely are a sight for sore eyes. I cannae tell ye how happy I am to see ye.”
“Tell me, my love. What troubles you so much?” Eliza whispered as Mrs. Jennings urged the staff to give them space, to privately greet one another. “This is so unlike you, and I am worried!”
“Please forgive me for bein’ such an open book,” Catriona recovered, wiping her eyes and realizing the spectacle she hadcreated in front of the staff. “Let’s get ye settled! We’ll have plenty of time to catch up now that ye are here.”
After the servants helped Eliza bring her luggage to the guest quarters, Catriona strolled with her through the vast estate. She showed her exquisite paintings and tapestries first as they meandered the great halls of Wilthorne.
“It’s Richard,” Catriona offered finally, once they were out of earshot. “He’s been so distant. Cold as a snowy day! And then... Lord Mortridge... I ken there’s somethin’ about him, Eliza. Somethin’ that really chills me to the bone. There is so much ye dinnae know…”
Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill, as she explained her suspicions to Eliza. Lord Mortridge and Lydia. The garden party, then the village festival. It was too much to ignore. Then Richard’s reaction to her worry, and his departure. It felt cathartic to be able to unload to someone trusted and receptive to her words.
“I hear you, Catriona,” Eliza whispered. “Every word, I do. Your feelings are real, and we will talk through it all. We will make sense of this together… but look over yonder, I think a little birdie may be listening to us.”
Eliza gestured gently towards a small, still figure huddled behind a curtain.
“This little one needs us now. Let’s focus on her, shall we?”
Catriona nodded with a smile, grateful her friend had noticed Lydia’s concealed presence. Surely the words she had shared were not for the girl’s impressionable ears.
Together, they moved towards her. Eliza knelt by the curtain and pulled it away slowly, the smile on her face was soft and inviting.
“Hello there, little dear,” she said gently. She took out a dainty porcelain doll from her pocket. “I brought someone to meet you. Her name is Penny, and she comes to you all the way from Paris. You see, she desperately needs a companion, and I thought you would be the perfect friend for her.”
Lydia’s gaze drifted from Catriona to Eliza and then to the doll.
“She’s actually a very brave adventurer,” Eliza continued playfully. “She’s sailed across stormy seas and climbed the tallest mountains! She would love to explore Wilthorne with you, I am sure of it. Plus, you’ll have someone to speak French to, should you ever want to take it up!”
Tentatively, Lydia reached out and touched Eliza’s arm in silent thanks. A faint, fragile smile touched her lips as she looked at her clothing, focusing last on the doll’s tiny, pink-painted ballet shoes.
“Puh-puh-pretty,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she reached out for the doll. She clutched it tightly to her chest as she repeated once more, “Pretty.”
“Thank ye, Eliza,” Catriona whispered as she put a hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “Thank ye.”
“Lady Eliza, what a delightful surprise! And Your Grace! Truly, you look radiant as always,” Lord Mortridge announced as he slithered into the parlor. “Please forgive my sudden intrusion and unorthodox entrance. Your staff seemed to be indisposed upon my entry, so I made myself welcome.”
He offered a wide, Cheshire smile as Catriona clutched her chest in shock at his audacity. She steadied herself to be polite and not to let her feelings betray her composure. Her mind began reeling at the sudden appearance.
What sort of man would just burst in on a group of ladies unannounced in such a confident manner?
How had this man managed to get past the staff? This was a duke’s manor, not some roadside inn. And what terrible timing—just when Lydia had begun to find a sense of peace, this man arrived like a storm on the horizon. It was as if he could sense it, like a vulture circling something fragile.
When he first appeared, Lydia had barely made a sound, but Catriona hadn’t missed the small, broken cry as the girl threw herself behind her skirts. Even now, those tiny hands were clinging to the fabric, holding on as if her life depended on it.
Whatever charm the man carried in his voice or smile, Catriona felt no doubt in her gut—he was trouble, plain and simple.
“And little Lydia!” he said too loudly, finally noticing her presence behind Catriona’s skirts. “Look at you hiding back there like a tiny animal! What a brave girl you are, recovering so well after your little tumble at the fair.”
