Page 57 of The Duchess Trap
CHAPTER 18
“Is His Grace not joining us this morning?”
The question escaped before Catherine could stop it. Her tone was light and carefully measured, almost casual, but the silence that followed made her acutely aware of how much she had betrayed.
The butler hesitated, his hands folded neatly behind his back. “His Grace departed for his business engagements an hour past, Your Grace. He left no instructions beyond the usual.”
“I see.”
She reached for the cup of tea before her, though her appetite had fled at once. The silver spoon clinked gently against the porcelain as she stirred, though there was nothing left to dissolve.
Across the table, sunlight spilled through tall windows, striking the polished crystal and scattering soft patterns along the linen. It was a beautiful morning—gold and bright and still. Yet it felt hollow.
She had risen earlier than usual, her pulse thrumming with the foolish hope that he might meet her here, that perhaps this morning might not begin in silence. She had taken care dressing, choosing the gown of pale blue muslin because the color softened her complexion, and even pinned her hair differently.
And now he was gone.
She wondered at his absence, of course.
Did he go to see my father? Did he wish to make sure Papa was cared for when he awakened?
She fiddled with her teacup as she pondered such a notion.
Duncan showed a fraction of his true character last night in putting my needs first, but would he feel obligated to visit my father today?
She was not sure his charitable nature could match her own and so she convinced herself that Duncan had not left at the break of day to rally her father’s spirits.
But then, where is he?
Catherine laid the spoon aside and sat very still, watching the faint curl of steam rise from her untouched tea. Her hands itched with the restless desire to do something, but there was nothing here to command, nothing to soothe the sharp ache that pressed behind her ribs.
If she remained, she would go mad.
She rose, the chair scraping faintly across the floor. “Have the carriage prepared,” she said. “I will go to my father’s townhouse at once, then head directly to Brightwater.”
The butler bowed low. “At once, Your Grace.”
The carriage slowed as they turned onto the narrow street that led to the orphanage. When it halted, Catherine stepped out, her shoes striking the cobblestones.
Brightwater had changed.
The walls had been freshly whitewashed; the old roof no longer sagged with decay. The scent of new timber mingled with the faint sweetness of baking bread. Windows gleamed where once they had been dulled with dust, and the garden bloomed again. Lavender and marigold framed the path like sunlight made tangible.
Catherine stood for a moment on the threshold, breath trapped in her throat.
He did this.
Duncan’s hand lay upon every stone, every pane, every life within. Yet he had only once graced this place with his presence on two separate occasions.
“Your Grace!”
Mrs. Simms appeared in the doorway, wiping flour from her apron. Her eyes crinkled in delight. “What a surprise! The children will be beside themselves to see you.”
Catherine smiled faintly, though her heart trembled beneath the expression. “Then I hope I’ve not disrupted their morning too terribly.”
“Nonsense. They’ll abandon their lessons at the sight of you, and I’ll not scold them for it.”
The warmth in the woman’s tone loosened something tight in Catherine’s chest. She followed her inside, greeted by the hum of voices and the unmistakable scent of chalk dust and candle wax. The halls were as she remembered, but brighter now. Hope had crept back into the walls.
