Page 122 of The Duchess Trap
He crossed the room in a few long strides, pausing by the great tree. “You’ve turned this house into a forest,” he said, faint amusement curling through his voice.
“Into a home,” she corrected gently.
Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat neither spoke. Then Thomas tugged at Duncan’s sleeve. “Your Grace! You’re tall enough. You can hang this one!”
Duncan looked down, taking the ribbon the boy thrust toward him. “Ah,” he said gravely. “An important task.”
The children crowded around as he reached up to tie the ribbon to the bare branch, his shoulders stretching, his height impressive enough to draw gasps of admiration. When he finished, Mary clapped.
“It’s perfect!” she declared.
“Nearly as perfect as your duchess,” Duncan said, glancing at Catherine.
Her lips curved before she could stop them. “Flattery won’t save you from being handed another ornament.”
He laughed under his breath, the sound sending a ripple of warmth through her chest.
Within minutes, he was helping the children hang the last few trimmings, pretending to compete with them over who could find the best spot for each decoration. His composure softened in their company; he lifted one boy onto his shoulder to reach a high branch, teased another about tying knots that would never come loose.
Catherine watched from near the hearth, her heart too full. The sight of him like this, unguarded and playful, filled her with an ache she didn’t quite know how to name.
He caught her gaze once, mid-laughter, and the look lingered.
It had been months since that morning in the garden. Since then, he had kept his word in quiet, steady ways: walking with her to Brightwater’s site, listening when she spoke, never retreating again behind the wall of silence that had once divided them.
And now, standing amid laughter and ribbons, she thought:perhaps this is what healing looks like.
Before she could tell her husband just how delighted she was to spend yet another Christmas season by his side, the sound of wheels crunched on the snow outside. The children rushed to the windows.
“Guests!” Thomas shouted. “It’s two other carriages!”
Catherine straightened her skirts, suddenly self-conscious. “Helen and Stephen, likely.”
She turned as the butler entered. “Lord Suthmeer and Lady Helen,” he announced.
Helen burst through the door in a swirl of red wool and laughter, with Stephen trailing closely behind her. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, her curls windblown and charmingly disheveled.
“Catherine!” she cried. “You’ve turned the place into a Christmas dream!”
Catherine smiled, embracing her. “You’re late. We nearly started without you.”
“Stephen’s fault,” Helen said with a teasing glance. “The moment he saw me on the road, he insisted we stop so we could arrive together—properly dramatic, of course.”
“Pure generosity,” Stephen said solemnly, earning laughter from everyone nearby.
Duncan approached to greet them, shaking Stephen’s hand. “You survived the roads, then.”
“Barely,” Stephen replied. “But the reward was worth it.” He glanced toward Helen, and his smile softened.
Catherine caught the exchange and couldn’t help but grin. “You two are getting worse at pretending.”
Helen blushed scarlet. “We’re not pretending at all. Stephen asked me to marry him.”
“Ah,” Catherine said, delighted. “Finally.”
“Indeed,” Duncan murmured, smiling. “Congratulations.”
As Helen laughed and Stephen gave a mock bow, another voice came from the entryway.
