Page 119 of The Duchess Trap
“I see.” She reached for the basket again, folding the last of the linens with brisk precision. “Then you’ll want to know the latest reports. The carpenters have begun repairs on the east wing of Brightwater. The new roof tiles arrived this morning. The doctor assures me the children’s health is improving—Thomas’s cough has lessened, and Mary no longer wakes with nightmares.” She set the folded cloth down, her voice steady, almost mechanical. “The expenses remain within the estimates you approved.”
He said nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, “You’ve been keeping busy.”
“There’s much to be done.”
“And you’ve done all of it yourself.”
“I had help,” she said, her tone clipped. “Mrs. Simms has been invaluable. So has Helen.”
He took a slow step forward, stopping a few paces behind her. “You’ve managed all this without rest.”
The children’s laughter swelled again in the background, a cruel contrast to the quiet fury tightening her chest.
She folded her arms, the sunlight catching on the pale curve of her wrist. “If you’ve come to inspect the progress, you’ll find everything in order.”
“Catherine.” His voice was soft. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
She gave a short, brittle laugh. “No? I suppose you have a rather long memory.”
He took another step closer, close enough that she could see the faint lines of wear around his eyes, the exhaustion carved into his features. He looked older, heavier somehow, yet there was something different beneath, an energy she hadn’t seen since the fire.
“You’ve carried more than anyone should,” he said quietly. “The children, the staff, the rebuilding—all of it. You’ve done it with grace, and I applaud your efforts.”
Her throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want your praise,” she said. “I want your honesty.”
He hesitated. “You’ll have it.”
But she shook her head. “You said that before, and what came was…was…”
“I have always been honest with you, Duchess.”
“I suppose that is true, too. Even if I do not care for your brand of truthfulness, I must accept that you have kept all your promises.”
She turned away again, unable to bear to look her husband in the eye.
She took a moment to collect herself. She hoped he would say something and take on the burden of creating conversation, but he did not.
“I can handle everything here,” she said without looking at him. “You needn’t concern yourself.”
He stepped closer, his shadow falling across the grass beside her. “That’s not why I came.”
“Then why?”
“To help.”
Her breath caught again, sharp and unsteady. But before she could respond, several of the children came running from the other end of the garden—Thomas, Mary, and two of the younger ones, laughing breathlessly.
“Your Grace!” Mary cried. “We finished the game! Look!” She held up a daisy chain with both hands, petals crushed and uneven.
Catherine managed a small, strained smile. “It’s lovely.”
Mary ran forward and looped it over her wrist before spotting Duncan. “Oh! Good morning, Your Grace.”
He inclined his head, gentler than Catherine expected. “Good morning, Mary. That’s fine work you’ve done there.”
