Page 19 of The Duchess Trap
The air in Brightwater was different. Alive.
The smell of bread drifted from the kitchens, children’s laughter carried through the narrow halls, and chalk dust clung to the sleeves of teachers who moved briskly between lessons.
Catherine inhaled deeply, relief loosening the tight coil in her chest. Here, she could move. Here, she could matter.
The matron, Mrs. Simms, met her at the door with warm surprise. “Miss Terrell—I mean, Your Grace! We had not expected you so soon.”
Catherine smiled, easing off her gloves. “I could not stay away. Tell me, have the children been well? No more fevers spreading, I hope?”
Mrs. Simms shook her head. “Only a few coughs, nothing serious.”
The tenseness in Catherine’s shoulders eased so gradually that it was almost as if she had never been uncomfortable throughout the entirety of her existence. “I am glad to hear it. And their lessons, are they keeping pace?”
“As best they can,” the matron said with a fond sigh.
“Good.” Catherine’s smile softened further. “I should like to see the children immediately, but my sense of prudence requires that I peek at the registers, if I may. It will help me understand where the most attention is needed.”
Now that she knew her husband had extinguished all her family’s debts, she could not resist checking the ledgers and seeing the influx of cash. Catherine could not recall a time when she, or those at the orphanage, had done anything other than economize, and it felt deliciously freeing to know that now they could splurge a little.
“Of course, Your Grace. Come.”
They walked together through the halls. Catherine’s eyes drank in every detail: the rows of benches where little bodies perched, the faded but clean curtains framing the windows, the crack in the plaster above the staircase she had always meant to see repaired. So much to be done.
And now, thanks to the Duke, we have the means to do it all.
The matron spread the registers across a desk in the office, neat columns of names and ages inked across the pages. Catherine bent over them eagerly.
“All is well,” Mrs. Simms said, “though a few children have been kept abed with coughs.”
Catherine traced the names with her fingertip. “Then we must see that they have broth and extra blankets in their dormitories. No child should linger ill for want of care. And here, look: several boys are nearing the age for apprenticeships. We must write to the guilds at once, before they are swept into idleness.”
The matron nodded approvingly. “You have a keen eye, Your Grace.”
Catherine’s chest warmed at the words. She was doing something —preserving her mother’s legacy and protecting the children who would otherwise be forgotten.
“And now for the ledgers.” Mrs. Simms produced a heavily marked book. She laid it wide on the desktop, covering the class registers, so that Catherine could peruse it.
She skimmed the first column and tapped her finger atop the sum at the bottom of the page.
“That looks fine…Normal,” she murmured.
“You should know, Your Grace,” Mrs. Simms began, “the Duke has been generous. Not only has he purchased the building, but he has also sent funds for every repair we might need. New windows, new roof, even proper beds for the older boys. His instructions were clear.”
Catherine froze, breath hitching. “He—he did this?”
“Yes. It is more than I had dared to hope for.” Mrs. Simms’s eyes softened. “We owe him much.”
Catherine turned away quickly, pressing her palm to the edge of the desk. Her throat ached. The man who sat across from her atdinner, cold as marble, had thought of every window, every bed, every draft that might chill these children.
If he can do this for Brightwater, why can’t he spare a single kindness for me?
How could he be both? Thoughtful and ruthless. Generous and merciless. He preserved her mother’s legacy while making her feel like a stranger in her own marriage.
“Your Grace?” the matron asked gently.
Catherine swallowed hard, forcing her voice to show a sense of calm she certainly did not feel. “It is well. We shall see that his gifts are not wasted.”
For hours, she worked alongside Mrs. Simms, inspecting lessons, peering into classrooms where rows of wide-eyed children recited their letters, and helping the gardener mark repairs for the sagging fence around the yard.
