Page 109 of The Duchess Trap
“You might have sent word,” Catherine said, trying to muster a smile. “I’d have had tea ready.”
“I thought if I warned you, you’d find a reason to be gone,” Helen replied softly. “So, I took my chances.”
Catherine looked away, a small, helpless laugh escaping her. “You know me too well.”
“I do.” Helen crossed the room and took in the sight of the children through the windows. “They’re mending well. Your presence and fortitude have done wonders for them.”
Catherine’s throat tightened. “I’m trying.”
Helen glanced at her. “And you?”
Catherine busied herself with stacking papers on the nearby desk—drawings the children had left behind. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The gentle insistence in her voice made something inside Catherine tremble. She set the papers down carefully, aligning the corners so they would not shake in her hands.
“Duncan and I…” She stopped, swallowing hard. “We’re fine.”
Helen arched a brow. “You’ve never been a good liar.”
Catherine laughed once, low and joyless. “No. I suppose I haven’t.”
Helen waited, giving Catherine the space to choose truth over pride.
Finally, Catherine exhaled. “He…he and I...”
Catherine could not bring herself to confess the truth to even her dearest friend, Helen. It was shameful to think that, after all she and Duncan had been through together, he wished to revert to their old ways. In one way, she admired that he was a man of his word. But in the same breath, she cursed him for being so cruel as to shut her out completely.
The hush in the room stretched, filled only by the faint laughter of children drifting up from the garden below.
“The other night,” Catherine said softly as her fingers worried the edge of her sleeve, “Duncan showed me a letter.”
Helen’s brow furrowed. “What letter?”
Catherine hesitated. For a moment, she only stood there, her gaze flicking to the writing desk near the window. She crossed the room slowly, every step heavy with the effort of remembering what courage felt like.
She opened the drawer and took out a folded scrap she had kept—not the real threat, of course, but the copy she had made to remember. The ink had smudged slightly from where her hands had lingered too long over it, the edges worn from being unfolded and refolded in quiet hours when she couldn’t stop herself from looking.
She handed it to Helen.
Her friend read in silence. The room seemed to shrink around them, the air tightening with every second that passed. When Helen finally lifted her gaze, her expression had changed—softer but lined with unease. “Felton?”
Catherine nodded. “He said as much.” Her voice faltered, low and flat with exhaustion.
“And is this why your husband has kept you from…”
“From everything,” Catherine interrupted. She could hear the shift in her tone as she ventured to share her innermost feelings with her friend. “He spends his days locked in the study, sending letters to solicitors, gathering evidence, and preparing statements. When I try to speak with him, he says it isn’t the time.” She paused. “When I ask when itwillbe, he says nothing.”
Helen’s eyes softened. “And when you told him how that makes you feel?”
Catherine shook her head slowly. “My feelings do not matter.”
Helen gave an annoyed snort. “Of course, your feelings matter, Catherine. God granted you a kind, gentleness unlike no other. Naturally, you feel things acutely. And surely your husband must recognize these qualities in you.”
Catherine’s gaze drifted back to the window. Outside, the children had gathered in the garden, their laughter carrying faintly through the glass. Thomas had tripped in the grass, and Mary helped him up, their small hands clasping tightly.
She felt the sting of tears again, but this time she didn’t hide them. “I told them they were safe,” she murmured. “And they are. He’s kept his promise to them. But…with me…I only wish he had been so infallible.”
