said, and staggered to his feet, too. In fact, there was a lot of rattling about as they all stood, casting around for discarded cloaks and reticules, hats and bonnets. In the flurry, Catriona tried to get a look at the duke’s face, but his back was very much to the door, and Vasily Orlov chose that moment to sidle up to her with a leering sort of smile. “Norwood was remiss in mentioning the beauty of his niece,” he purred.
Catriona stepped away from him and followed her uncle as he and his party stumbled into bright sunlight.
The Balhaire coach was gone, and in its place, a large barouche coach waited. It sported red plumes at every corner, and the gold seal of Montrose was emblazoned on its doors, much like the sort of coach Catriona had seen at Norwood Park when she was a child.
“By devil, has Montrose shown his face in town?” Uncle Knox said as he linked Catriona’s arm through his.
“He has indeed,” Lord Furness said as they stood together, admiring the coach. “Did you not see the gentleman in the inn? It can be no one but him, not with the garish signet ring he wore.”
“What? In the inn? I did not,” Uncle Knox said. “Jolly well brave of him to come round, I’d say. Come along, Cat darling, you are with me. I’ve a new buggy, a cabriolet. From France,” he said, as if that pleased him.
“What of my trunks?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder for them.
“Someone will bring them.”
“Uncle, I—”
“There now, darling, don’t fret about a thing. All is taken care of. I should not be the least surprised to see your trunks already delivered safely to your suite at Dungotty. The Scotch are surprisingly efficient.”
She wondered if she ought to be offended by his surprise or his generalized view of her fellow countrymen, but her attention was drawn to her uncle’s new carriage. It had two seats, a hood and two horses to pull it.
Uncle Knox helped her up first, but as he was unsteady on his feet from the ale and whisky, it took two attempts for him to haul himself into the seat beside her.
“Do you mean to drive?” she asked, alarmed.
“I had a mind to, yes. Don’t look so frightened of it, darling! Do you not trust your dear old Uncle Knox?”
“No!”
He laughed. “Well, then, if you prefer, you may drive,” he said gallantly.
“I prefer.”
He clucked his tongue at her. “So like Zelda you are. It’s uncanny.” He gladly handed her the reins. “Look here, look here!” he called to his companions. “My niece means to drive! That’s the way of it in Scotland, the women are as hard as brass!”
“Uncle!”
“I mean that in the most complimentary way,” he said as he settled back against the leather squabs. “My own sister is more Scot than English now, can you believe it? To think how she fought against being sent to Scotland to marry your father,” he said, and laughed heartily before pointing. “Take the north road.”
Catriona set the team to such a fierce trot that Uncle Knox had to grab on to the side of the carriage to keep from being tossed to the ground.
He was eager to call out points of interest as they drove, but Catriona scarcely noticed them, she was so tired. But when the road rounded a thicket, she did indeed notice, sitting at the base of a hill, an estate so grand, a house so vast, that she thought it must belong to the king.
The stone was dark gray, the dozens of windows, even from this distance, glistening in the afternoon sun. There were so many chimneys that she couldn’t possibly count them as they rolled by. “What is it?” she asked, awestruck.
“That, my dear girl, is Blackthorn Hall, the seat of the Duke of Montrose.”
The house disappeared behind more thicket. They climbed a hill in the cabriolet, and the road twisted around, at which point they were afforded another view of Blackthorn Hall and the large park behind it. A small lake was in the center, the lawn perfectly manicured. There was a garden so expansive that the colors of the roses looked like ribbons in the distance. The stables were as big as Auchenard, the hunting lodge near Balhaire that belonged to Catriona’s nephew, Lord Chatwick.
“Quite grand, isn’t it?” Uncle Knox remarked.
The road curved away from Blackthorn Hall, and Catriona returned her attention back to the road. “Did he really kill his wife, then?”
“You’ve heard it already! That is indeed what the locals say, but I don’t know that he did. Perhaps he sent her off to a convent. Whatever happened, it seems to be fact that she disappeared one night and no one has seen hide nor hair of her since.”
“And no one has looked for her?” Catriona asked.
“Oh, I suppose they have,” he said. “She was, by all accounts, a ginger-haired beauty, beloved by the tenants. I have heard it said she was a bright spot of light in a dismal man’s shadow. How he must have resented her,” Uncle Knox mused.
“Why?”
Uncle Knox laughed. “Don’t you know, Cat? Gentlemen of a certain disposition do not care to be overshadowed by the weaker sex.”
“But murder?” Catriona asked skeptically.
“Yes, well, some men are driven to mad passion by the right woman, darling.” He tapped her hand. “Mind you remember that.”
Catriona rolled her eyes. “Have you met him, then?” she asked. “The duke?”
“What? Why, no,” he said, sounding as if he’d just realized it and was surprised by it.
“If I lived here, I should make a point of meeting him,” Catriona said. “I’ll no’ believe such rumors without meeting the man.”
“So much like your aunt Zelda, aren’t you?” he said, shaking his head. “She would have walked up to Blackthorn and banged the knocker and asked his grace, ‘Did you murder your wife?’”
Catriona smiled.
Her uncle suddenly sat up. “There it is, there is Dungotty!” he said, swiping his hat off his head to use as a pointer.
Dungotty was a glorious house. It was half the size of Blackthorn Hall, but quite bigger than Catriona had expected, and rather elegant. It was at least as big as Norwood Park, her uncle’s seat and her mother’s childhood home. Dungotty was nestled in a forest clearing, and a large fountain spouted water from the mouth of three mermaids in the middle of a circular drive. They were arranged with their arms around each other, their faces turned up to the sun as if they were singing.
As Catriona steered the team into the drive, two men in livery and wigs emerged and took control of the team and helped Catriona and her uncle down.
“I’ve the perfect suite for you, my love,” Uncle Knox said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “It was once inhabited by the dowager of Dungotty.”
“Who
