Quin watched, biting back a grin as Morgan’s eyebrows rose at the turn of the conversation.
“Thank you, Lady Greatheart. He was a good man,” Morgan said by way of a reply. He hid his amusement, his lips in a thin line. It took a moment before he sobered and looked to Quin. But not before Quin noted the former struggle.
That was the beauty of friends. One knew them well enough to gather the nuances that made them singular, not just a face but a person.
“What are we discussing?” Lady Greatheart inquired.
Catherine grasped her grandmother’s hand. “We were talking about the color of the season. You’d never imagine how knowledgeable Lord Penderdale—er, Morgan—is regarding ladies’ fashion.”
“Oh?” Lady Greatheart turned to Morgan, her eyes narrowed as if sizing him up.
Morgan shot Catherine a bemused expression. “That’s not entirely accurate.”
“Oh, I was wondering if you perhaps were one of those fellas who…” She shrugged. “Never mind. I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She batted her hands as if disregarding the thought.
Quin had a difficult time keeping his entertainment in check as he watched Morgan struggle with an appropriate reply in the presence of polite company, and likely he was considering if Lady Greatheart constitutedpolitesociety. It was dreadfully amusing.
“So, what color?” Lady Greatheart replied before Morgan could decide how to answer.
“Pardon?” He finally found his voice.
“For this season. Supposedly, you know the best colors. Of course, I know my own opinion, but it never hurts to get a second opinion.” Lady Greatheart flicked her wrist, punctuating her question.
Morgan answered quickly, “It is my understanding that blossom is the color of the season, but if I may quote my sister…” He cleared his throat and took on a very serious expression. “‘Not the usual color of rose, a lighter color, not enough to be vulgar but with depth to the hue,’” he finished, a proud expression in his eyes as if he’d completed some great challenge.
“I’m impressed,” Lady Greatheart remarked, blinking rapidly as if not sure to believe what had just happened.
“It’s my pleasure to be of assistance,” he replied, then turned to Catherine. “If you wish, my sister has mentioned you with the highest of praise. Might I be so bold as if to ask if she may call on you sometime?” Morgan asked.
Catherine nodded, then answered, “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”
“Brilliant,” Morgan replied, then leaned forward as if to whisper a secret. “It would be my pleasure, too, for her to have a companion with whom to speak of the season’s events.”
“I see. You’re trying to save yourself the trouble,” Catherine challenged playfully.
“You are an astute lady.” Morgan nodded. “And so, before you can change your mind, I’ll take my leave. It was lovely to see you, Lady Catherine, Lady Greatheart.” He bowed to the ladies and then turned to Quin. “I’ll see you at White’s, I’m sure.”
Quin offered his hand in goodbye, then watched as Morgan walked away.
After several steps, Morgan turned, and Quin noted the way his attention flicked from himself to Lady Catherine and then back.
Quin decided that he’d try to find his friend tonight at White’s; clearly, there was some curiosity about his presence. He’d set the record straight quickly.
It was a friendship with Lady Catherine.
Nothing more.
It couldn’t ever be anything else. Sometimes the past created one’s future, shaped it. And his was written in the ashes of the rubble. And while several words were written, Catherine’s name wasn’t one of them.
Eight
A Man ought to form in his own Mind an exact and clear Idea of what Liberty is.
—Catherine the Great
“My lady?”
Catherine blinked several times, stretching her toes as she slowly awoke. It had been a lovely dream, preceded by blissful sleep. Something about the terrible conversation with Quin finding a peaceful resolution and their amble in the park had allowed her a peace she hadn’t felt in an age. Sleep had been sweet, both swift and lingering.