Page 40 of A Highland Duke to Claim Her Heart

“That is not the reason,” he informed her. “It is because he knows that doing me a favor may result in me doing him a favor in the future.”

“Ahh.” Cassandra’s eyes twinkled. “I see that the politics of Scotland are the same as the politics of London. Every good deed is in exchange for another.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Ewan drummed his fingers along the table as he thought. “I have always found Lord Whitmore to be hard to get to know,” he admitted. “Perhaps it would be good to have him here with your father’s presence. And also…” He gestured at her.

This prompted her to raise another eyebrow. “And also my presence?”

“Well, a lady in the house can make it more hospitable.”

“Then it is agreed,” she said, smiling mischievously. “We will host Lord Whitmore, Lady Whitmore, and my father for the next few days, and you will convince Lord Whitmore to work with you to introduce new farming methods to the Highlands.”

It was a good plan, but still, by the early evening, as the carriage holding their guests trundled down the path toward the house, Ewan was already regretting it.

He never felt comfortable having people to Calder Castle, and indeed, being in any sort of group made him feel aware of himself and how much space he took up. Lord Whitmore was one of those men who was always easy in large groups. He was affable and charming, but he had never warmed to Ewan, whom he seemed to find too quiet and surly.

At least, that was Ewan’s impression.

And indeed, when the man stepped down from the carriage a few minutes later, he seemed to be bouncing already, his energy so strident and forceful that Ewan immediately felt himself closing up in response to it.

“Welcome to Calder Castle,” Lord Pembury said as he followed Lord Whitmore out of the carriage. “This is my daughter, the Duchess of Calder, and her husband, the Duke of Calder, whom I know you have met before.”

Lord Whitmore briefly bowed to Ewan before returning his gaze to Cassandra. His smile widened, and when he took her hand, he pressed his lips to it, bowing low and gallantly.

“Your Grace,” he murmured, looking up at her with sparkling eyes. “I have heard tales of your beauty, but I assumed that your father was exaggerating, that the love of his child may have blinded him. But now that we meet, I see that you are every bit as lovely as he assured me you were.”

“Oh…” Cassandra’s cheeks flushed pink, and she seemed to be unsure what to say. “Thank you, my lord… That is very kind of you.”

“Indeed not, I am simply speaking as I see,” he said, releasing her hand but continuing to gaze at her in awe. “The duke is a very lucky man indeed.”

He glanced again at Ewan, who was standing stiffly next to his wife now, trying not to let his hands curl into fists. He did not like the way that Lord Whitmore was speaking to Cassandra as if he, Ewan, was not there.

Was it customary in circles of thetonto speak to another man’s wife of her beauty in such effusive language?

He was not sure, but either way, he did not like it.

“Lord Whitmore,” he said, stepping forward and attempting to redirect the conversation. “I am very eager to speak with you during your visit. The new proposals that I have submitted to your committee on changing agricultural practices—”

“There will be plenty of time to speak of that later,” Lord Whitmore said, waving a hand dismissively. “For now, I would very much prefer to speak to your lovely wife about how she is adjusting to her new life in the Highlands.”

He offered Cassandra his arm, and she took it. As he led her into the house, she glanced back over her shoulder at Ewan. He could not entirely read her expression, but he thought that it was apologetic.

Or perhaps it was guilty.

Things did not improve once they had moved inside, changed for dinner, and were seated around the table in the dining room. As lady of the house and the guest of honor, Cassandra and Lord Whitmore were seated next to each other, and Lord Whitmore was leaning close to Cassandra as he spoke to her just low enough that Ewan could not make out his words from the other end of the table.

He himself was seated next to Lady Whitmore, a tall, elegant woman with sad brown eyes and dark hair, who kept alsoglancing down the table to where her husband was speaking animatedly with Cassandra.

“They do seem to be amusing each other, do they not?” Lady Whitmore asked dryly at last.

Ewan, who was about to take a sip of his wine, hesitated with the glass just inches from his lips. Down at the far end of the table, Cassandra was laughing, her hand pressed against her chest.

Something tight and angry curled in his stomach.

“The duchess is a very charming host,” he said loyally. He would not have Lady Whitmore saying or suggesting anything that would malign her.

“And my husband is a charming guest,” Lady Whitmore said with a sigh, reaching for her own glass and taking a long drink. “I suppose it is always like that in a marriage. There are those who are charming, and those who are doomed to love them. It is a lonely life for us, but it is one we must be resigned to.”

Ewan frowned at Lady Whitmore. He wanted to say something to contradict this, to assure her that his marriage was not lopsided in its love, but what could he possibly say? He and Cassandra were not a love match. And he had not even been able to perform his husbandly duties for her. No wonder she was enjoying the attention of another man.