Page 108 of The Duchess Trap
She could not bring herself to finish that statement. So much had changed between them since that fateful night when theywere locked in that room together that she was sure her husband had long forgotten about his once-made promise.
Her heart fractured in the silence that ensued.
For a moment, she simply looked at him, at the man she had come to love more deeply than she’d ever thought herself capable of. The man who had carried her from fire, whose touch had once felt like safety.
And now, this stranger with his cold words and distant eyes sat in Duncan’s place.
She drew herself up, every muscle trembling. “Very well, Your Grace.”
“Catherine—”
But she was already turning away. Her throat tightened. She had no words left. Only the hollow ache spreading through her chest.
She looked at him one last time—the man she had loved, the man who would not love her back. Then she turned and walked to the door.
“Catherine.” His voice was low, strained.
She stopped, her hand on the handle, but didn’t turn. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
The door closed behind her with a soft click, sealing the silence between them.
The corridor outside was dim, lit only by the flicker of a single candle. Her reflection wavered in the glass of a nearby window—pale, tear-streaked, unrecognizable. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady the uneven rhythm of her heart. It felt as though the air itself had been stolen from her lungs.
Christmas has come and gone. He no longer cares to keep up appearances. The fire at Brightwater only served to remind him of how much he had already sacrificed on my behalf.
She made it to her chamber before the first sob escaped her. She caught herself against the door, burying her face in her hands, the quiet sound of heartbreak swallowed by the walls.
CHAPTER 30
“Mary, love, you’ve tied the ribbon too tightly. Look, poor Thomas’s neck is turning red.”
Catherine’s voice was gentle, though her smile didn’t quite reach her heart. She bent down to fix the knot herself, loosening the bow until the small girl could breathe again. The children giggled, relieved, and she forced a quiet laugh to join them. It sounded hollow in her ears.
The playroom at Belgrave House was filled with the warmth of a spring morning, sunlight spilling through the tall windows and pooling on the polished floorboards. Crayons and bits of paper lay scattered across the tables, half-drawn pictures of cottages and gardens and skies too blue to be real. The scent of soap and fresh bread lingered in the air. It should have felt like home.
But Catherine hadn’t felt at home anywhere in days.
“Mrs. Simms says we’ll go back to Brightwater soon,” Thomas said brightly, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “Will you come too, Your Grace?”
She looked up from the ribbon, her heart aching at the hope in his small voice. “Of course,” she said softly. “I’ll always come.”
He beamed, satisfied, and ran off toward the other children, his laughter echoing through the high-ceilinged room.
Catherine stood slowly, smoothing her skirts. She looked around at the children she loved, the staff who smiled at her with gratitude, the bright house that had been their refuge, and still, there was that quiet emptiness inside her.
It had been four days since Duncan’s silence had shattered her.
He hadn’t spoken more than a few polite sentences to her since. Their breakfasts were silent, his eyes fixed on the morning paper. At night, she heard the low murmur of his study door closing and the quiet tread of his boots long after midnight. Once, she thought she heard him pause outside her room, but when she rose from bed to look, the corridor was empty.
She had thought heartbreak would come like thunder, loud and impossible to miss. But this was quieter, crueler. It was the sound of absence.
“Mrs. Simms,” she said softly. “Would you make sure they all have their lunch in the garden today? The weather’s fine, and I think they could use the air.”
The matron curtsied. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Behind her, the door creaked open. “You’re here early,” came a familiar voice.
She turned. Helen stood in the doorway, her expression a mix of affection and concern.
