Page 69 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Though she did not answer, he continued speaking.
“Did you enjoy the Punch and Judy show, my dear? Such amusing puppets, weren’t they?” He asked as he took another step closer toward them, his voice overly sweet and cloying.
“Lord Mortridge,” Catriona finally said, her voice carefully balanced and even. “It was kind of ye to call. However, His Grace is currently in London on business and is expected back in a couple of days. I would suggest ye write to him to establish a mutually beneficial time for a meetin’.”
“Ah, business!” Mortridge replied playfully, an artificial smile still affixed to his face as he clapped his hands together. The sudden sound startled them all, which only deepened his smile. “Always keeping the duke occupied. A man of his standing has many responsibilities, of course.”
He looked around the room, studying the furniture and furnishings in a way that made Catriona fidget in her seat.
How do I get rid of him?
“Lady Eliza,” he said, turning to face her now. “What brings you to Wilthorne?”
“A visit with my dearest friend, my lord,” she said, her eyes darting to Catriona in a silent plea that this hellish visit be done. “In fact, we were just about to… ummm…”
“Oh, of course! How silly of me to think you did not have plans to attend to?” Lord Mortridge asked rhetorically as he began to exit the room. “I will leave you ladies to your day. I’ll write to His Grace to see a better time for a meeting. How long did you say he would be away for exactly?”
“A couple of days, we expect,” Catriona offered tightly. “He didnae say the exact day.”
“Well, I surely hope for a swift return and profitable business. Good day, ladies, Your Grace,” he said as he exited the room.
As soon as he was truly gone, Catriona knelt, her gaze gentle but searching as she checked on Lydia.
“Me lassie,” she said softly. “Ye need to tell me, why are ye so scared of that man?”
Lydia remained pressed against her, her small body still trembling. She didn’t meet Catriona’s eyes, her gaze was still fixed on the empty space where Lord Mortridge had just stood.
After a long, agonizing silence, she finally spoke.
“Bad man.”
Bad man indeed. But why?
That night, as Catriona lay in bed, she could not stop her visions of the afternoon’s interloper.
She was so sure that Lord Mortridge had a hand in what had befallen Lydia’s parents, and yet without Richard in her corner, there was little a woman could do. Even a duchess.
She looked out of her window again, willing for some sign from her husband. As furious as she was she needed something, just to know that he was all right. It pained her to think of him out there, angry and searching.
Where are ye, Richard? Where have ye gone?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Cuimhnichibh air na daoine bho’n d’thainig sibh.” Remember the people whom you come from.
Reeves, the duke’s London butler, entered silently with a tray. “Coffee, Your Grace? And some toast?” he asked politely, his composure as unwavering as ever.
Richard groaned in acknowledgement, accepting the steaming mug and waving off the nourishment. The aroma, though familiar, did little to settle his churning stomach, and the thought of food was too much.
As Reeves opened the velvet curtains, the stark sunlight became an unwelcome intruder as Richard rubbed his swollen eyes. Reluctantly, he levered himself up. The staleness of the room clung to him like a shroud as he looked at the study.
However, to his shock, the former scene of his drunken despair was now eerily pristine. Every book was back on its shelf, the inkstain vanished, and the shattered glass swept away as if it had never existed.
“Did fairies come in here while I was sleeping, or did you take pity on me?” Richard asked, stifling a shiver at the involuntary mention of fairies as his mind drifted to a Scottish lass. He shook his head at the thought and took a deep sip of his coffee.
“The staff at Wilthorne have been inquiring after your well-being, Your Grace,” Reeves added, almost on cue. While his tone was careful, the implication hung in the air. The duchess had been inquiring, not the staff.
“They are too kind, of course,” Richard remarked as he waved a dismissive hand, not offering more on the subject.
