Page 49 of The Duchess Trap
Catherine blinked, still dazed. “I—yes, I believe so.” Her gaze flicked toward the far end of the room, where a small commotion still lingered. “My father—he…”
“I saw,” Helen said gently, laying a steadying hand on her arm. “The poor man could hardly stand. Half the room was whispering before anyone moved.”
“Since the marriage, since I left him, he’s only grown worse,” Catherine murmured, the words catching in her throat. “It feels as though my leaving took what little steadiness he had left. I should have gone to him?—”
“And done what? Shared his humiliation?” Helen’s tone was firm but kind. “No, my dear. I see that the Duke has alreadygone to see to him.” Helen’s eyes darted toward the far side of the ballroom where Duncan’s tall figure now stood, speaking low to a footman while two servants discreetly guided the Viscount toward the doors. “Your husband may be many things, but inattentive is not one of them.”
Catherine’s pulse stumbled. “He should not have to?—”
“He should, and he does,” Helen said matter-of-factly. “And from the look of it, he’s handling the matter with a good deal more grace than anyone else could have.”
She gave Catherine’s hand a reassuring squeeze, her expression softening. “Now breathe. The moment is already being forgotten. And besides…” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I daresay the ballroom is far more interested in your dancing than your father’s claret.”
“What?” Catherine looked up and met her friend’s joyous expression. She was baffled. “My dancing?”
Helen arched a brow. “What on earth was that display?”
Catherine shook her head slowly. She was still muddled by all that had happened over the course of the last quarter of an hour. When she said nothing, Helen explained, “Half the room stopped breathing when your Duke approached you and Mr. Selkirk. But then, in the blink of an eye, all was well again, and you and the Duke appeared to be more enamored with each other than ever.”
Helen released a soft laugh.
“I had not thought there was much affection between you, especially when taking into account what you told me during our last private conversation, but have my eyes deceived me, Catherine? Have you and the Duke somehow become better…”
“I hardly know,” she interjected, her voice low, strained.
She was not certain what others saw when they looked at her and Duncan, but she knew that if her father had not interrupted and she had permitted her husband to lead her out onto the balcony, the heat simmering between them would have boiled over.
Helen gave her a pointed look, lips twitching with suppressed amusement. “Well, truth be told, I have never seen a man more smitten than your Duke. He looks at you as though you are his last breath.”
“Helen!” Catherine hissed, scandalized, even as the memory made her knees weaken.
“Oh, hush.” Her friend waved a dismissive hand. “Better to be envied for passion than pitied for indifference.”
But Catherine did not know how to react. Her fan trembled against her lips.
Passion.
That was what they had seen. Not the humiliation of being called out by her father. Not the way Viscount Portsbury had slurred his words and spilled claret down his sleeve. All those gathered saw was a Duke and Duchess who were taken with one another. They glimpsed a bit of the lusty desire that rolled between the pair and admired their union all the more for it.
Before she could summon a retort, a trio of women swept toward them, silks rustling, jewels glittering in the candlelight, Catherine recognized them at once: Lady Ashcombe, Lady Stanhope, and Mrs. Keating. These three women represented the very picture oftonrefinement and venom.
“Your Grace,” Lady Ashcombe cooed, approaching with a flutter of lace and a smile too sweet to trust. “We were simplydreadfullyconcerned. Such an unfortunate little scene. I do hope your father is quite well?”
Catherine’s spine straightened, the smile fixed on her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “He will be, thank you.”
“How very reassuring,” Lady Stanhope said smoothly, her gaze sweeping Catherine from head to toe. “One does so hate when these…family embarrassments occur in public. But at least you have His Grace to manage such matters for you.”
“Indeed,” Lady Ashcombe chimed in as her lips curved into a flattering smile. “And what a fortunate match it is. Marriage to the Duke of Raynsford! Why, quite theachievement.”
The pause lingered just long enough for the sting to land. Helen’s fingers tightened protectively around Catherine’s arm.
Mrs. Keating gave a soft, pitying laugh. “Though I confess, Your Grace, I would never have guessed it. All those years devoted to your little orphanage. How touching. It seems compassion can open doors that ambition alone cannot.”
“Or perhaps,” Lady Stanhope added sweetly, “His Grace mistook one for the other.”
Catherine’s fan stilled. She did not entirely understand what these women meant to say. In one instance, she could have sworn they had converged so they might attack her father and call his behavior into question. But, in the very next breath, it appeared that they were insulting her and Duncan—making a mockery of their hasty marriage. Even though Catherine found their words difficult to interrupt, she fully understood the vitriol those cuts contained.
She met their gazes squarely, her voice steady though her pulse thundered. “If compassion offends you, my ladies, I suggest you make better acquaintance with it.”
