Page 21 of The Duchess Trap
Catherine smiled, cupping his cheek. “Do you know, the bravest knights are the ones who fall and rise again?”
The boy giggled despite himself, the wobble in his lip easing as the others laughed and clapped at the thought of their duchess stumbling in the yard.
Catherine’s laughter spilled easily, as though it had been locked away and finally freed. For a little while, she forgot her corseted ribs, forgot the heavy silence of the Duke’s townhouse, forgot the way his mere presence twisted her into an anxious ball of wax that simply sat about waiting to be molded.
And yet, his shadow intruded even here.
Would the Duke ever set foot in this yard? Would he ever stoop to kneel among them, to praise their crooked horses and patchwork blankets?
The image was so absurd she nearly laughed aloud. He was too proud, too rigid, too cold.
But that was a disobliging thought. She had only allowed him to be one version of himself in her imagination. A second ideaflittered through her brain. This one caused a flicker of heat to uncoil in her chest as she imagined him standing just beyond the children, tall and broad, the sun striking golden sparks in his hair. In this fantasy, the Duke laughed broadly and bent so he could tweak the nose of a shy child.
She shook her head sharply, scolding herself.
He is only one sort of man. He cannot be equally moody and exceptional. From what he has shown me this past week, I’m inclined to think of him as more temperamental than anything else.
She sent a hasty glance around the yard.
And the children should not be subjected to his ever-changing demeanor.
A tug at her sleeve drew her back. A boy, no older than seven, peered up at her with wide eyes. “Is it true, then? Did you get married?”
Catherine blinked, caught off guard. “Why, yes,” she said carefully. “It is true.”
A chorus of gasps followed. “A duchess!” one girl squealed, clapping her hands. Another chimed in, “Married to a duke!”
Catherine pressed a hand to her cheek, trying to hide her blush. “Yes, to a duke.”
“What’s he like?” the red-haired boy demanded. “Is he fierce?”
“He must be fierce,” another added knowingly. “All dukes are.”
Catherine laughed, shaking her head. “He is… something like that,” she allowed.
They exchanged glances, not quite satisfied.
Then a little girl, bold and curious, tilted her head. “Did you fall in love with him?”
The question hung in the air. It was so innocently asked that Catherine knew she must reply. But she could not summon a proper response. Her body jolted, her lips parted, but no answer came.
Love?
Her face turned a brilliant shade of maroon. She forced composure into her voice. “I… respect the duke.”
The children groaned. “That isn’t the same!” one boy protested. “Respect is for teachers.”
“Or vicars,” another added with a giggle.
“Yes,” the bold little girl insisted, folding her arms. “But love is different.”
Catherine pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to steady. “Sometimes,” she said softly, “respect must come first.”
They frowned, clearly unconvinced. She laughed to cover her discomfort, drawing them back to safer topics like school lessons, favorite games, and plans for tomorrow. Yet the question echoed still, whispering beneath her ribs.
Did you fall in love with him?
No. Once she looked at all her true feelings and examined them carefully, the answer was not so very vexing.
