Page 25 of A Season for Christmas

“My lady.” He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing them against the back of her glove. She could feel the burn of it through the fabric. “You look stunning, as always.”

“Thank you. And you look impeccably handsome, as always.” This close to him, she could see the way his gaze lingered over the swells of her breasts, his eyes darkening with interest. Likely having the same thoughts about stripping her as she was about him.

It was a very good thing his room was right next to hers.

Winding her hand about his arm, he turned to escort her down the hall.

Their personal lives were going to have to wait. Right now, they had a duchess to meet, a supper to get through, and a mission to accomplish.

12

Catherine

The Duchess of Clarence was nothing like Catherine expected. From the way the duke had spoken, she’d thought his mother would be a formidable woman, determined to see her only son marry well—as long as he married a virginal young debutante who understood her duty to the title—and become the dowager duchess. Instead, she was greeted with what most of thetonwould call an eccentric.

Dressed in bright red and yellow, with yellow feathers bobbing above her head as if she was attending a ball rather than a family dinner, the duchess was about a foot shorter than her son, plump and beaming with goodwill. With all the ruffles descending down her dress, she looked like a very bright cupcake, all of them swaying as she flitted about like a dramatic sparrow. From the moment she met Catherine and Samuel, she chattered—which only bolstered Catherine’s opinion of her as being bird-like.

She complimented Catherine’s dress, scolded Samuel for the length of time since his last visit, and chided her son about moving too slowly to seat himself at the table, all inthe same breath. Gregory appeared resigned by his mother’s antics, while Samuel was delighted. Catherine landed on amused.

If she had not seen Samuel’s expression, she would have chided him for not warning her about the duchess’ eccentricities, but it was clear he had somehow forgotten. Or perhaps time had dulled his memories of how eccentric she was… or perhaps she had grown more so over time, or he had not seen her as outlandish when he was younger. All explanations were highly possible.

“You must call me Marguerite, and I will call you Catherine, and we shall be friends. You shall also call Gregory by his name. Since we are all to be together for the holiday, we should not stand on formality.”

It was hardly in Catherine’s power to refuse a duchess’ declaration of friendship—not that she was given the chance to accept or reject before the duchess had already turned her attention to her son.

“She is very pretty, is she not? If only she were a little younger. And not a widow. Though, she is a very young widow.”

“Mother.” Gregory appeared pained as he looked at Catherine from his place at the head of the table. He was as handsome as Samuel, perhaps even more so, yet looking at him did nothing to make her heart jump the way it did for Samuel. “I apologize for my mother. Her need to see me married has apparently obliterated her good manners.”

“Oh, posh.” The duchess waved her hand at him. “She seems like a very sensible young lady, and sheisa widow. She understands the way of the world.”

“It is a miracle you managed to garner all that about her when you have barely let her get a word in,” Gregory retorted.

Rather than appearing chastened, his mother just laughed and winked at Catherine.

“I am a very good judge of character.”

“You are a terrible judge of character,” Gregory muttered. Then cleared his throat when Samuel glared at him. “Though, in this case, you are correct about Catherine. But… anyway.” He looked between Samuel and Catherine rather desperately. “Please, tell us about your journey.”

Hiding her laughter, Catherine joined Samuel in recounting their travel and the inn at which they stopped. It turned out both the Duke and Duchess of Clarence were familiar with both Klaus and his inn, and the duchess was delighted to hear he was doing well.

The conversation wound about as they ate their way through several courses, sliding naturally from their travel to the current gossip of London. The duchess was clearly eager to hear all about the goings-on of the city but balked at the idea of going to London herself—something which tightened Gregory’s expression. He quickly changed the subject by asking about the current play at the Globe. His mother immediately perked up again, full of interest.

Whether the duke was annoyed by his mother’s lack of interest in leaving the estate and thereby giving him a reprieve from her matchmaking aspirations or if there was something else amiss was rather unclear. Catherine got the impression there was more to his reaction, though she could not guess what.

After dinner, the duchess stood and beamed at the two gentlemen. “Catherine and I shall retire to the drawing room. Come join us when you have finished your brandy.”

Although Catherine would have liked a nip of brandy as well, one did not argue with a duchess. Especially because she did want some time with the woman away from her son,to see if she might talk about the late duke and what suspicions she had of his demise.

They retired to the drawing room, where—rather than calling for tea—the duchess immediately went to a sideboard.

“What would you like, dear? I have sherry, brandy, cognac, ratafia, orgeat… we could open the bottle of champagne, though I will need to call for Paulson to open it for us.” The duchess looked over her shoulder at Catherine. “I believe I’ll be having a sherry, myself.”

Catherine laughed, partly at herself for thinking the duchess would do anything by the book other than push her son toward a proper marriage. Everything else about her was decidedly improper. The gleam in her eye put Catherine in mind of a naughty child getting away with something they knew they should not be doing.

“Sherry sounds perfect, thank you.” Even more so because she had noticed during dinner that the duchess’ tongue loosened with every drink she had. A sherry or two might help lubricate the flow of information Catherine was looking for.

“Sit, sit,” the duchess commanded as she picked up two glasses, bringing both of them and the bottle to the couch. “Now. Tell me about your intentions with Samuel.”

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