Page 82 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"Wise girl." The Duchess stood. "James, might I have a word?"
Mother and son stepped into the hallway. Catherine could hear their low voices but not the words.
"She'll come around," Vivienne said quietly.
"Who? The Duchess? She seems fine."
"Your mother. Margaret. She'll realise what she's lost and she'll come back."
"I don't want her back."
"Yes, you do. Not now, not soon, but eventually. She's your mother, Catherine. That means something, even when it hurts."
"She sold me, Vivienne. She literally tried to sell me to Sir Reginald."
"She was desperate. Frightened. Two thousand pounds... she must have been terrified."
"That doesn't excuse it."
"No, but it explains it." Vivienne sighed. "Margaret was always afraid. Even as a child. Afraid of being poor, of being overlooked, of being ordinary. Fear makes people do terrible things."
"Were you ever afraid?"
"Constantly. But I was more afraid of not living than I was of making mistakes."
James returned some minutes later, his expression thoughtful yet unreadable.
“My mother proposes a dinner tomorrow evening,” he said, his tone deliberately measured. “A small affair, toformallywelcome you into the family.”
Catherine arched a brow. “Another examination of my manners?”
His mouth curved faintly. “A celebration, she insists. She was much impressed by how you bore yourself with your mother.”
Catherine let out a quiet breath. “I did nothing remarkable.Youare the one who managed her.”
“I merely settled an account. You faced her.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I should like to take you away from all this—if only for an hour.”
“Take me away?” she repeated, startled by the intimacy of the phrase.
“A walk in the park, perhaps,” he said. “Or ices at Gunther’s. Anything to restore a little colour to your cheeks.”
“James, we ought to...”
“What weought,” he interrupted gently, “is to see to your peace of mind. The rest may wait.”
It was hopeless to resist him when he spoke in that tone—quiet, steady, offering not command but care. She allowed him to lead her downstairs, where his carriage waited.
Chapter 15
They went first through Hyde Park, and when the promenade became too crowded, James suggested a brief call at the British Museum. His mother’s name was sufficient to procure them a private viewing under the care of an elderly curator who seemed charmed by the young couple’s evident affection.
Within the echoing halls, the cool air carried the faint scent of dust and ink. James guided her toward the Egyptian gallery, his knowledge of the artifacts both unexpected and precise.
“You are well acquainted with this place,” Catherine observed, watching him pause before a towering statue.
“I spent much of a summer here when I was sixteen,” he replied, almost absently. “It was quieter here than at home.”
“Quieter?”
