“Shh, it’s nothing.” He continued breathing with her, and in a few minutes she felt almost normal.
“Good mercy, what was that?” Catherine asked as she closed her eyes for a moment.
“I’m not sure what the technical term is, but my mother calls them the ‘can’t breathes.’”
Catherine focused on his face, the detail of his features. “Your mother? Does this happen to her?”
“Yes. Not often, but when something is overwhelming…or reminds her of my father, or of my brother…” His focus fell to the floor, his shoulders rounded as if carrying a weight.
“I see. And you? Does this happen to you?” Catherine asked, then thought better of her intrusive question. “Your Grace, forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question.”
“It’s Quin, and to answer your question, no. I’ve never had the ‘can’t breathes.’” He hitched a shoulder. “But there’s always a first time for everything.”
“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy,” Catherine replied. “I dearly hope you never have to endure it.”
“So do I.” Quin stood abruptly.
Catherine’s brow furrowed at his quick movement, and she wondered if maybe she had offended him. But a moment later, she saw her grandmother’s winded approach. “Dear heavens, how hard it is to find a footman in this place.” And then, as if just realizing Quin’s presence, she offered an apology. “My apologies, I was in a panic, but I see that Catherine’s come through it. Dear heavens, ducky, don’t do that to me again. I thought I was going to lose you and then have to explain the body,” she stated with an attempt at humor.
Catherine started to giggle, the loose movement relaxing her further. She turned to Quin, who seemed to have some internal debate on how to take her grandmother’s attempt at humor.
“She’s joking,” Catherine said through her amusement.
“Dear Lord, Quin. Take a joke. I was trying to add levity to the moment. I tend to do that when I’m scared out of my wits. It’s better to do that than dissolve into a salty puddle of tears,” Lady Greatheart answered.
“I see.” Quin nodded, studying Catherine’s grandmother as if reassessing her, and then turned to Catherine. “I’ll take my leave now that you’re in very capable hands.”
“I’m not sure about the capable part, but they are most certainly willing,” Lady Greatheart remarked.
“Thank you…Quin. I honestly don’t know how I would have come through that without you,” Catherine said with deep appreciation.
“I have a feeling you would have been fine, but I’m happy to have offered my assistance.” And with a jaunty bow, he moved down the hall in the direction of the library.
“Well, shall we go, ducky? I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one evening.”
“That is for certain,” Catherine agreed.
When she arrived home, she proceeded to her grandfather’s study. It was late, but she wasn’t tired enough to sleep, her mind restless. She walked into the large room, its scent taking her back a full decade to when she was a young girl and she’d visited her grandfather as he’d worked on estate business. Books lined one wall, and the other was covered by heavy drapes hiding large windows facing the back courtyard.
The study had remained quite vacant, save for a few times her grandmother used it for sorting through estate matters since all the ledgers were still kept in the room’s many cabinets. The aromas of pipe tobacco and peppermint still lingered in the air, and Catherine watched as Brooks directed a footman to start a fire in the long-vacant hearth. Tea was brought in by a maid, and once all was addressed, each exited in turn, leaving her alone in the great room.
It had been a strange night, and she sought the solace of numbers, of finding something absolute and true. She withdrew the ledgers, sifting through them and tracing her fingers over her grandfather’s handwriting, then flipping the pages to her own handwriting, a stark contrast, and a legacy that told a story. What had rested upon his shoulders now rested upon hers. Balancing the numbers, directing information, and suggesting options of investment or sale to her grandmother—it was much to take on, but she had loved it. It was a constant in a world that seemed ever so interested in changing. It gave her a steady rhythm when her heart was out of sorts from the evening’s events.
It took her mind off the current complications of life and made her calm as she added the sums from one ledger and recorded the total in another, the neat and tidy rows all comforting in their order. After an hour, the sweet ache of fatigue beckoned her to her rooms to find rest. So she tucked the ledgers away and softly padded into the hall.
Her maid quickly helped her undress and slip into a soft muslin night rail, and the soft pull of the brush on her hair lulled her deeper into a relaxed state. When the maid had finished, Catherine excused her and sought the comfort of her bed. The low fire in the grate crackled warmly as Catherine snuggled deep into the soft sheets.
Yet as she was lying in her bed that night, the oddest thing happened.
Rather than seeing Avery’s blue gaze in her mind’s eye, she saw green.
Five
“Your Grace, your mother is waiting for you in the parlor,” his butler notified Quin as he finished adding up the ledger.
“Why in creation is she here?” Quin asked, mostly to himself.
“She didn’t say, Your Grace,” his butler answered.