The constancy and organization represented by the rows of the library gave a calm to Quin, his ragged soul exhaling the breath that had been held for far too long. Reaching out, he allowed his fingers to slide over the spines of the nearby books, each one unique, an adventure in knowledge of its own.
A book was lovely because one could always skip to the end to find out what happened.
Unlike life, which hit a person like a hammer on glass, shattering from the inside out.
How many hours had he planted himself at this very table as he studied? Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back in time. But unlike with a book, one couldn’t just flip a few pages back in life to start over.
It was done, and life moved forward, whether one wished it to or not. In the silence and isolation of the Cambridge University Old Library, Quin gave himself the permission to mourn. It had been necessary to be in control, strong, and collected, because everyone around him was falling to pieces. As a duke, as the head of his family, he didn’t have the luxury of losing control, of showing weakness.
Here in the silence, in the isolation that should have felt lonely, Quin found himself finally able to release the bone-deep pain that had held him in chains for the past six months. With every silent tear that rolled down his face, the burden lifted. The pain remained; it was part of him now. It wouldn’t ever fully leave; it was his. But the weight was slowly releasing, and as he wiped the salty tears from his eyes, clarity and peace overwhelmed him. The suffocating feeling lifted and in its place came a conviction that come what may, he would survive, and better yet, a determination to thrive in honor of his brother compelled him.
It wasn’t a long time that he allowed himself the luxury to mourn, but the cleansing was deep. Quin collected himself. Odd how a library was more comforting than home.
But to him, it made sense. He’d always found books the greatest of friends.
And the ultimate confidants.
Quin pushed away from the table and stood, straightened his shoulders. After replacing the chair back under the table, he moved to leave. A book that hadn’t been returned to its proper location caught his eye. Usually, the patrons were finicky about replacing the borrowed books, and when one occasionally forgot, the library staff or other faculty were keen to return it to its proper place. This particular tome had somehow been overlooked, so Quin lifted the book from its resting place, studying the title so that he might put it back where it belonged.
The Westernization and Civilization of Russia.
Interested, Quin flipped through the pages of the volume, quickly ascertaining it referred to the time period of Catherine the Great. As he opened the book, he skimmed the pages, quickly finding he agreed with the author’s praise of the longest-ruling woman in Russian history. It was a welcome distraction, and finding his seat once more, he gave in to the impulse to read several chapters before he checked his pocket watch, noting that his carriage would be waiting.
He returned the book to its home in the shelves and cast a longing last scan at the alcove. Eyes forward, he reminded himself, and made his way back to the center aisle leading to the door. Focusing on what was ahead rather than what he was leaving behind, he pushed on the brass handle and stepped into the waning light.
The barouche sank under his weight, but as the driver took them back out onto the road, Quin could have sworn that he felt two stone lighter.
Grief would do that.
So would the promise of healing.
And he was hopeful that he was on the road to the latter.
Two
I beg you take courage; the brave soul can mend even disaster.
—Catherine the Great
Lady Catherine Greatheart stirred her tea slowly, realizing she wasn’t sitting up straight and equally not caring a fig.
“Ducky—”
“Grandmother…” Catherine spoke the word carefully but with a warning edge to her tone.
“I was just going to mention that your sugar cube melted about a minute ago and you’re still stirring…” The charming Lady Greatheart arched a brow.
Catherine paused in her stirring, realizing her grandmother was entirely correct. Then with an impish grin, she stirred three more times just because.
“Always pushing. But I must say, it really is part of your charm,” her grandmother replied, sipping her tea.
“I find that hard to believe.” Catherine lifted her own teacup.
Her grandmother lowered her chin. “Many may say such a thing, but in your case, it is unfortunately the truth.”
“Unfortunately?”
“Yes. Because then you won’t outgrow it.” She gave a slow, disappointed shake to her head, but the corners of her mouth curved in slight amusement.