Page 61 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
Catherine had been characteristically more direct in her expressions of approval and acceptance.
“You look positively radiant, Graham,” she had declared with the kind of sisterly bluntness that left no room for argument.“Marriage clearly agrees with you in ways that all your books and business dealings never could. There's a peace about you now that was never there before.”
“Now that ye're all perfectly aware that I'm properly occupied with caring for my beautiful wife,” Graham had replied with mock sternness that fooled absolutely no one, “Perhaps ye'll do me the great courtesy of sending word before your next visit instead of appearing on my doorstep like traveling performers seeking shelter.”
“We only surprised you because we were so surprised to hear you'd married at all,” Margaret had retorted with a grin that made her look decades younger. “Send us proper wedding invitations next time – with adequate notice and beautiful stationery – and we'll behave like the proper duchesses we're supposed to be.”
Mary's farewell to Joan had been particularly tender, the older woman's earlier coldness now seeming like something from another lifetime entirely. She had embraced her daughter-in-law with the kind of maternal warmth that Joan had dreamed of receiving throughout her lonely childhood, whispering words of encouragement and acceptance that would echo in Joan's heart for months to come.
“Take care of him, dear,” Mary had murmured against Joan's ear, her voice thick with love and genuine gratitude. “He's needed someone like you his entire life, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. And let him take care of you as well – heneeds to feel needed, to feel that his love makes a difference in your world.”
Graham's goodbye to his mother had been equally moving to witness, filled with the complex emotions that marked relationships between parents and adult children who had navigated difficult years together. He had held her close, speaking to her in rapid, smooth Gaelic that Joan couldn't understand but whose affection was unmistakable in its tone and rhythm.
Mary had scolded him gently in return, her words a mixture of maternal concern and pride, urging him to take better care of himself now that he had a family depending on his well-being. The exchange had been intimate and healing, speaking to years of misunderstanding, finally giving way to renewed closeness.
Isobel's goodbyes had been marked by characteristic enthusiasm and multiple promises to write lengthy letters filled with all the gossip and adventures that Graham was missing by living so far from Scotland. She had extracted solemn vows from her brother to respond to her correspondence promptly and in detail, threatening dire consequences if he reverted to his previous pattern of brief, business–like notes that revealed nothing of his inner life.
When the final carriage had rounded the corner and disappeared from view, the three members of the Lennox family had remained standing together in the morning air, each lost in their own thoughts about the week that had passed and the relationships that had been forged or strengthened.
“I like your family very much,” Joan had told Graham softly, her voice carrying the kind of sincerity that came from genuine surprise at her feelings.
The smile that had spread across Graham's features in response had been absolutely radiant, transforming his entire face with joy and satisfaction. “They clearly adore ye as well,” he had replied, pulling her into his arms with the easy affection that had developed between them over recent weeks. “Though I suspect ye've completely stolen their hearts, just as ye stole mine.”
“Sophia certainly has,” Joan had laughed, remembering the way all of his relatives had competed for her daughter's attention, each determined to be the favorite aunt or uncle or grandmother. “I thought Catherine might try to smuggle her away with the other children when they left.”
“Aye, she would if she thought she could get away with it,” Graham had agreed with obvious fondness. “My sisters have always been rather... acquisitive when it comes to children. They've been waiting years for me to provide them with nieces and nephews to spoil.”
Life fell back into an easy pattern several days after the family's departure, but eventually, Joan found herself facing a different kind of challenge entirely. She and Graham had accepted Catherine's invitation to attend a garden party at her estate – their second social engagement as a married couple outside of their own home. And once again, Joan was overcome with a nervousness that came as a result of her maternal anxiety.
The thought of leaving Sophia behind, even with their trusted and devoted household staff, made Joan's stomach churn with a kind of fear that she couldn't entirely rationalize. After all, it was not as though she had never been separated from her daughter for more than a few hours since Sophia's birth. But it seemed as though the very idea of traveling to another estate – however briefly, however close – would always feel like an abandonment of her most fundamental duty as a mother.
“Are you quite certain we cannot bring her with us?” Joan asked Graham for what she realized was the third time that morning as they prepared to depart for Catherine's estate. She stood before her dressing table, ostensibly arranging her hair but trying to calm the growing panic that seemed to be taking root in her chest like some poisonous plant.
Graham paused in the process of adjusting his cravat, meeting her eyes in the mirror with the kind of patient understanding that never failed to make her feel both grateful and guilty for her excessive worries.
“Joan, mo chridhe,” he said gently, his voice carrying the soothing tone he might use with a frightened animal, “She'll be perfectly safe here with Mrs. Wintersdown and the rest of the staff. They've been caring for children in this house for decades, and they all adore Sophia completely. We'll only be gone for a few hours at most.”
“I know that logically,” Joan replied, her hands trembling slightly as she attempted to secure a particularly stubborn curl that insisted on escaping its designated position. “I understandthat she'll be well cared for, that nothing terrible is likely to happen in the space of an afternoon. But I can't shake this feeling that something is wrong, that I shouldn't leave her behind.”
Graham moved behind her, his large hands settling gently on her shoulders with the kind of warmth that usually brought her comfort. She could see his reflection in the mirror, his green eyes filled with concern as he studied her face for signs of whatever was causing her distress.
“What sort of feeling?” he asked carefully, his voice taking on the alert quality that suggested he was taking her concerns more seriously than mere anxiety. “Can ye describe it more specifically?”
Joan shook her head, frustrated by her inability to articulate the nameless dread that had been growing stronger with each passing hour. “I don't know exactly. It's probably nothing more than foolishness – a mother's natural reluctance to be separated from her child. But there's something... something that feels wrong about leaving her today.”
Graham was quiet for a long moment, his hands still resting on her shoulders as he seemed to weigh her words carefully. Finally, he spoke with the kind of gentle reasonableness that she had come to associate with his approach to solving problems.
“If ye're truly uncomfortable with leaving her, we can certainly stay home,” he said, his voice carrying no trace of disappointment or frustration. “Catherine will understandcompletely – she's a mother herself, after all. She knows how difficult it can be to leave one's children, especially when they're still so young.”
The offer was tempting, almost overwhelmingly so, but Joan forced herself to consider the broader implications of such a decision. Catherine had gone to considerable trouble to arrange this gathering, had spoken enthusiastically about introducing Joan to various neighbors and friends, and had made it clear that she considered Joan's attendance something of yet another social debut as Graham's wife.
“No,” Joan said finally, straightening her shoulders in a gesture of determination that she hoped she actually felt. “Catherine has put so much effort into planning this gathering, and I know she's looking forward to introducing me to everyone. I won't disappoint her by allowing my excessive worries to keep us at home.”
But even as they traveled toward Catherine's estate in their carriage, Joan's unease continued to grow. The countryside that usually delighted her with its gentle, vibrant beauty seemed somehow ominous today, the shadows beneath the trees appearing deeper and more threatening than usual.
Graham noticed her continued distress almost immediately, his hand finding hers where it lay clenched in her lap. His fingers were warm and strong, offering the kind of physical comfort that had become as essential to her peace of mind as breathing itself.
“Joan,” he said softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand, “Ye're wound tighter than a watch spring that's been overtightened. What can I do to help ease your mind?”
