Ten
I am one of the people who love the why of things.
—Catherine the Great
As much as it grated on her pride, Catherine was thankful that Quin had volunteered to accompany her to the meeting with the solicitor. With a reluctant sigh, she studied herself in the mirror, thankful for a chance to collect herself before forcing the calm facade that would be necessary in a few moments. She’d push aside her emotions, study the facts, become a student of them, and move forward; that was her only option until her grandmother healed.
And she would heal.
She would gain her strength, her wit, her courage and rise above whatever illness harmed her and held her captive for the moment. It wasn’t stronger than she was, and eventually, it would lose.
It had to.
Quin was waiting, and as she peeked at the clock near the window in her room, Catherine noted the time. The solicitor would arrive soon, and it would be unpardonably rude to make him wait. She released the tension in her chest in a long exhale. Striding through her door, she turned left and headed to her grandmother’s rooms rather than taking the hall that led to the stairs.
As she neared, a servant rose from her seat just outside the door. “My lady.” The woman curtsied.
“Any change?” Catherine inquired.
“None, my lady. She’s sleeping. I was able to coax her to take a bit of broth about an hour ago. Do you wish me to check on her?”
“No need. I’ll see to her myself,” Catherine said.
She twisted the knob to the door slowly, keeping the mechanism as quiet as possible. Tiptoeing into the room, she noted her grandmother’s sleeping form, and the sweet sound of her breath gave Catherine a wave of relief. The witty woman with a heart bigger than the continent was far too still, too silent, and Catherine fought tears.
“Fight, Grammy. You’re strong. Don’t let it win,” Catherine said, the words like a prayer. Lightly tracing her grandmother’s hand, she lifted her fingertips to her lips, kissed them, and placed her fingers back on her grandmother’s, baptizing her with the kiss.
“I’ll be back soon,” Catherine promised the silence and then retreated to the door.
“Any change?” the maid asked, her voice eternally hopeful.
Catherine gave a mournful frown. “She’s sleeping peacefully.”
At the maid’s nod, Catherine made her way to the stairs. It was time.
As she entered the parlor where Quin was sitting, she offered an apology for his wait. They had forged a unique friendship, and it was still uncharted territory for her. He owed her nothing, yet he had offered his assistance, his friendship. He was harder to read than his brother. Avery had been, in many ways, predictable. His easy manner and candor in life had been consistent, and his opinions and views could easily be known by reading his face. He’d been open, while Quin was far more closed in countenance. While Avery had engaged in conversation for hours on end, she intuitively knew that Quin was a man of many fewer words—but those words were well placed, intelligent, and filled with purpose.
“Thank you for waiting,” Catherine offered, studying the tea things.
Brooks or another servant had seen to refreshing the pot and adding another plate of biscuits.
“It was nothing,” Quin replied. “If I may be so bold, what exactly is the solicitor planning to explain?” He had risen when Catherine entered, and as she took a seat, he sat as well. “You’re of age, so everything should be straightforward, I’d imagine.”
Catherine nodded. “I’m my grandmother’s sole heir, which does serve to make things less complicated, but as I’m a mere female, in circumstances like these, a trustee oversees the estate for me.” Catherine struggled to keep the irritation from her words. It was how things were done, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. “My cousin, Lord Bircham, was delegated by my grandmother decades ago, should this ever happen. But the gentleman passed away, leaving the responsibility and title to his son.”
“I see. Do you know him?” Quin asked, his green eyes intent on her. They flashed with intelligence.
“No, I believe I met him once when I was much younger, but I can’t rightly remember. He has a small estate in Cambridge,” Catherine answered.
Quin shifted in his seat; the name sounded familiar. And being from Cambridgeshire, it was likely he’d at least heard of him. “Is he married?”
Catherine’s heart pinched, certain where his line of thought was leading him. “No.”
“I see.”
And she was certain he did, just as she hadseenas well when she’d discovered the connection. Would this Lord Bircham wish to try to take advantage of his position and pressure her to marryhim? It was possible, but she hoped irrelevant to the circumstance. Unfortunately, only time would tell.
The silence stretched for a moment before Brooks entered the parlor, announcing the solicitor’s arrival.