Page 65 of The Duchess Trap
The rhythmic sway, the soft creak of leather, the muted thunder of hooves—all had lulled Catherine into a fragile reverie. She turned her head, meeting the older woman’s knowing gaze.
“Radiant?” she echoed, startled.
The dowager smiled faintly. “Do not feign surprise, child. Half the park saw you laughing, and the other half is already writing about it in their letters. You did well. You looked alive.”
Catherine lowered her eyes, embarrassed but faintly pleased. “I had them to thank for that. They were quite determined I should be amused.”
“Indeed, they were. Harbury especially. She could tease a ghost if given enough wine.”
That made Catherine laugh, the sound soft and fleeting. But the warmth it left behind faded almost instantly. “I hope I did not appear foolish.”
“Foolish?” The dowager clicked her tongue. “My dear, Society thrives on foolishness. You only seem foolish when you do not play along.”
Catherine smiled faintly, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
Would Duncan think me foolish?
She could almost see his expression, that cool, impenetrable calm that revealed nothing and yet made her pulse tremble.
Still, she could not help imagining what he might have said if he had seen her there—flushed from laughter, a ribbon come loose from her bonnet, the sunlight turning her hair bright.
“You’re thinking of him,” the dowager said, not unkindly.
Catherine’s eyes widened. “I—no, I was only?—”
“My dear, you needn’t deny it.” The dowager folded her fan with deliberate care. “I am old, not blind. I know the look of a woman at war with her own heart.”
Catherine hesitated, her fingers twisting in her lap. “He is…difficult to understand completely.”
“As all men are,” the dowager said with a wry smile. “Some simply hide their hearts better than others.”
“Hide?”
The older woman nodded slowly. “Yes. My grandson has been hiding for most of his life.”
Catherine turned to face her fully now, her brow furrowed. “From what?”
“From ghosts.” The dowager sighed, her expression softening.
The carriage rocked gently, the sound of the wheels filling the silence between them.
Catherine stared down at her gloved hands, her throat tight.
She had sensed the distance in Duncan, especially on mornings like this one, when she woke to find him gone. Sometimes, she felt so close to him. But then, in other moments, she felt a chasm separating them.
“These ghosts, I believe, they haunt him still,” she murmured. “I do not know what causes his intense bouts of silence or his standoffish behavior, but I worry.” She gulped. “I worry because of the burdens I can see him carrying.”
“He carries those same burdens everywhere,” the dowager replied. “You must be patient with him. His heart is in the right place. It’s just that Duncan keeps his real feelings hidden. He endures a great deal to maintain multiple personas, but if you show him kindness and diligently stick by his side, your efforts will be rewarded.”
Catherine nodded slowly, her mind turning over the words like a fragile secret.
Hidden. Yes, that was precisely what he was—hidden even when he stood inches from her, hidden even when his voice dropped low enough to make her tremble.
She turned her gaze to the window, the city flickering by in muted tones of grey and gold. She wanted to understand him—to reach whatever quiet part of him still bled beneath that calm exterior. But every time she drew closer, he retreated as though her nearness burned.
What would it take to make him stay?
“Patience,” the dowager said softly, as though reading her thoughts. “And perhaps a little stubbornness.”
