“No,” he replied, completely cool in demeanor, which only irked her further. “I was saying that maybe you weren’t being honest with yourself.”
Catherine’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Truly.”
“Yes. But I don’t take you for a woman without courage, so please explain how I offended you so.” His voice was level, interested but not irritated.
Catherine contemplated his expression. His green eyes studied her openly, curiosity echoing in his words and demeanor. Very well, she decided. She accepted his calm demeanor almost as a challenge.
She chose her words carefully. Let there be no confusion. “Your Grace…”
He winced at her words, but she continued.
“If I were to offer my friendship to you only to keep you from being isolated and lonely, would that, in truth, be considered friendship? Or merely pity?”
She watched as her words were received, then nodded when his regard sharpened with understanding. His eyes focused on hers, and he gave a curt nod.
“You think I pity you.”
She arched a brow. “Did your words imply anything less?”
“You misunderstood.”
“That is possible, but would you have deduced the same if I were to say that to you?” She hitched a shoulder. “And what is worse is that you’re one of the only people of my acquaintance whom I’d trust to know how pity is absolutely the devil. Haven’t you fought it yourself? The looks, the questions, the way people walk on eggshells around you?” She took a step closer to him, bringing them almost toe to toe. “Just because I had a moment of weakness does not make me weak, Your Grace. It makes me human. I’m able to conquer things that try to break me. The same goes for you. But I did not offer you my assistance because I trust that you are able to overcome as well. I ask only for the same courtesy.” She finished, gave one final look, and then turned to ascend the stairs.
She took the stairs carefully, though she wanted to fly up them. It was a harsh conversation, but deep inside she knew the truth of it. Tomorrow she’d likely regret her words, but in that moment, she felt free.
Because in telling someone of her humanity and strength, she believed it herself.
And felt stronger.
Seven
Quin closed his eyes. The carriage swayed as he left the Greatheart residence. He’d given his excuses to Lady Greatheart and taken his leave, his mind spinning with Catherine’s words.
Good Lord, he felt like a beef-witted fool.
So much for good intentions and honor. He’d done nothing but offend, and deeply. And it had all been going so well; it had been one of the most enjoyable conversations of his recent memory, till it all went to hell.
He replayed the conversation in his mind, each point she’d made like an arrow piercing his pride. It stung, her accuracy. But what hit the center of the target had been her final words…
“Just because I had a moment of weakness does not make me weak, Your Grace. It makes me human.”
He winced at the memory. Because she was correct, and though it hadn’t been his intention, he had been acting from pity. Honorable pity, but pity nonetheless. There were few things he hated more than other people’s pity.
What a bloody disaster.
He replayed the scenario in his head again, irritated with himself. She had courage, perhaps a touch of daring as well. Even his mother had never confronted him so, and it was sobering, humbling as hell. With clarity and precision, she had put him in his place. And he owed her a great apology.
She’d carried herself with the grace of a queen as she ascended the stairs, and he hadn’t been able to pull his attention from her. Respect had welled within him, and he’d had the distinct impression that she would appreciate such a compliment.
Odd, that. Usually ladies appreciated compliments on their coiffure, dress, or smile. Perhaps the sparkle of their eyes or shape of their lips, or talent on the pianoforte, but he knew instinctively that Catherine would appreciate the compliment of his respect far above all the rest. Maybe that was the best way to apologize. Aside from the simple words, an offering of equality.
At peace with his new revelation, he opened his eyes. The scenery of Mayfair passed by his carriage window, adding to the serenity of the moment. Sunlight filtered through the glass and warmed his fingers. It would have been a good day for a stroll in the park; perhaps next time, with the right motives included. He reflected that it was good to have friends who weren’t afraid to be honest. It was a testament to the person’s authenticity. And he realized that maybe Catherine wasn’t his responsibility to care for. Maybe she was the friend he needed for this season of life.
Maybe somehow she’d need him too. He rapped on the ceiling of the coach and called to the driver, “Please return to the Greatheart residence.”
There was no time like the present, and since he had already planned on an afternoon in the ladies’ company, he might as well swallow his pride. The carriage paused, then made a sharp turn. Anticipation as well as a healthy dose of trepidation tightened his chest as they reapproached the Greatheart residence. As the carriage came to a halt in the drive, Quin took a fortifying lungful of air and alighted from the vehicle—again. As he ascended the stairs to knock on the door, it opened before he reached it.
“Your Grace.” The butler bowed. “How may I assist you? Did you perhaps leave something behind?”