A slight breeze shifted the curtains on the other end of the room, and the clean scent of early spring wafted on the air. It wasn’t cold weather, so Catherine was thankful her grandmother could enjoy the bit of freshness, even if she wasn’t awake enough to realize it.
“Grammy?” Catherine said, placing a hand on her grandmother’s. Thankfully, it was warm, not the awful chill that had greeted her that first morning. Certainly, that was a good indication that her body was healing? Maybe? Catherine wasn’t sure anymore. Hope hadn’t helped yet, and she wasn’t sure it ever would. But as long as her grandmother drew breath she would be nearby, giving her love.
“It’s a lovely day today. You’d be eager to be out and about, I’m sure. I went shopping,” Catherine said, taking a seat in the chair beside her grandmother. “I made some adjustments to the gowns, and I think you’ll approve.” She said the latter to herself, imagining her grandmother’s reactions.
She traced the lines of her grandmother’s fingers and continued. “I’m meeting the Duchess of Wesley today…” She waited, watching for any reaction in her grandmother’s expression. At times, her eyes had fluttered as if she’d heard the words. No such reaction today. Catherine continued, “I’m going to ask for her help. I need some information, and I think she’s the one I can trust. I guess we’ll find out the hard way if I’m right,” she added, again mostly to herself.
“Anyway, I miss you.” Her voice trembled. “I really miss you. Keep fighting, Grammy. Be strong.” She bent and kissed her grandmother’s cheek, closing her eyes and willing her own strength into her grandmother’s frail form. “I’ll be back later to tell you how everything went.”
As she was standing from the bed, her grandmother’s hand twitched. Catherine paused and hazarded a look from the delicate hand to her grandmother’s face.
Her eyelids opened for a moment, then slid closed, but her lips formed a single syllable.
“Love.”
Tears sprang to Catherine’s eyes as she hastily sat back down beside her grandmother and gently squeezed her hand. “I love you so much.” The tears flowed swiftly, and Catherine reached up to touch her grandmother’s face. “Rest, but thank you. I needed that, to see that you’re fighting. Grammy…I just need you to overcome whatever this is,” Catherine said as she gently wiped the tears from her eyes.
Grasping her grandmother’s hand once more, she was relieved to feel a slight squeeze, giving hope to her heart. When her grandmother’s hand relaxed, Catherine noted the way her chest rose and fell softly with sleep. Rising once more, she padded from the room and spoke with the maid about her grandmother’s reactions.
Tears welled within the maid’s eyes as well. “Should I call back the doctor, my lady?”
Catherine paused. “No, she’s doing exactly what she needs to. She’s resting and fighting. He said she’d come from it on her own. There’s nothing more he can do…”
“I see. I’ll remain by her side, my lady.”
Catherine nodded. “And please come and notify me if she awakens again.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Catherine cast a loving look back to her grandmother’s sleeping form as the maid went to sit beside her in a nearby chair. Tears threatened, but they were tears of joy—of relief, which was a welcome change from the tears of pain and loss she’d cried far too often during the past year.
She walked the short distance to her rooms to prepare for her upcoming conversation with the Duchess of Wesley.
As she changed her dress, she practiced the questions in her mind, trying to find the best way to ask everything. In short order, she was ready and taking the stairs to the parlor.
The Duchess of Wesley was prompt, arriving the moment the clock struck four. Brooks announced her, and Catherine stood quickly as she entered the room.
“Your Grace, thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“Of course!” The Duchess of Wesley gave a warm expression at Catherine’s words. “I was all too happy to receive it. Tell me, how is your grandmother?”
Catherine gestured to a chair, and the duchess took a seat on a wing-backed one near the small circular table before them.
Catherine sat down across from her guest and answered the question. “Much the same. I assume your son told you what transpired?”
“Yes. Poor thing. I hate that this happened to her.” The Duchess of Wesley clucked her tongue. “And the doctor has been in consistently?”
“Yes. Every other day,” Catherine replied, shifting a little. She wasn’t sure how to start the conversation and yet was impatient to begin.
A maid entered with a tea tray and set it on the table between them. The hot steam swirled from the cups as Catherine poured. As she handed a cup to the Duchess of Wesley, she gathered her courage. “I was wondering, my lady, if you have ever heard of Lord Bircham. He’s from Cambridgeshire.”
Catherine watched the Duchess of Wesley’s expression narrow as she tilted her head to the side. “Bircham.”
“Yes.” Catherine hoped she wasn’t overstepping; she needed an ally now more than ever.
“Isn’t he… Yes. I remember him.” She nodded, her expression illuminating with a memory. “He’s about the age of my son—Quinton—though I’m not sure they went to Eton together. Odd, that.” She frowned. “But as far as I know, he hasn’t come to London in some time, and he is unmarried.” She studied Catherine. “Why do you ask?”
It was truly now or never. “Your Grace, may I trust you with some information?”