“And you say this from experience, no doubt,” Catherine remarked from just over her teacup as she took a sip.
“Love, where do you think you come by it? Your father? God rest his soul, a more circumspect man never walked the earth.” She gave a slight heavenward squint.
“Papa was the most genuine person I know.”
“This is true, but the poor man couldn’t understand sarcasm unless it was written in Greek.”
“At least he was intelligent.”
“No arguing there. But I rather think you inherited the best qualities of both your parents. You’re brilliant like your father. I’m not sure what I’d do if you weren’t inclined toward mathematics. Those ledgers would certainly be the death of me! And your mother, well…she was the beauty, inside and out.”
“And you, of course.”
“Of course.” Lady Greatheart gestured with a flick of her wrist. “Now, what are we doing today? I’m tired of holing up in this estate mourning. I know he was a great man, ducky, but you’re young. You have many days ahead of you…and as it turns out, I don’t, and I’d like to spend them somewhere other than inside these walls.” She sent a dirty look to the nearest wall.
Catherine smirked, then gave in to a small snicker. It was freeing to laugh. There had been little of it since the accident. By now, she should have been married for nearly six months and bearing the title of duchess. But fate had a different plan and nearly shattered her heart in the process.
And the price paid by the families that mourned had been great, was still great. Hadn’t she suffered her own share of loss though? She understood better than most the price of moving on without those one loved. At a young age, pneumonia had stolen her mother, only to have her father follow her soon after. Her grandmother said it had been a broken heart that took his life, and Catherine had no reason to think otherwise. It had been a love match of the sincerest variety between the two of them. She had hoped that the match between her and the duke would produce the same kind of relationship.
Her thoughts wandered to Avery, the late duke. So much had been lost that night. Friendship, shared interests, and so many opportunities. Even as she thought the last word, it shamed her because of how it sounded mercenary in intent. But that wasn’t the case; her heart had been fully invested with Avery. They had made plans—such plans! As a duchess, her potential to help others would be near limitless. Funding orphanages, assisting the poor, sponsoring the arts…just to name a few. And all of it was reduced to the ashes left by the fire that consumed both her betrothed and the dreams they’d shared. What little she was able to do now was small in comparison to their grand plans. Yet losing Avery… That was by far the most painful.
Catherine didn’t delude herself into thinking there was an abundance of forward-thinking men like him, men who would appreciate a woman’s keen mind for mathematics and investment. A woman who would appreciate business ventures more than needlepoint. Avery was a rare find, and her heart had immediately known he was her match, but it was for naught. To have everything one ever wanted right at the tip of one’s fingers, only to realize it was only ashes. As the gray cinders sifted through, all that was left were a stained heart and hands. Shoulders caving slightly, she released her pent-up frustration.
“Lost in your thoughts again? Someone should give you a map,” her grandmother badgered.
“As if you never woolgather,” Catherine replied good-naturedly. Through all the loss she had suffered, her grandmother had been there—her pillar, her rock, her constancy and comic relief. There wasn’t a more blunt, cheeky, or brazen woman in theton, and Catherine loved her more than anyone else in the world.
“I’m old. People expect it. Besides”—she set her teacup down with a dainty clink—“I look aloof and thoughtful when I woolgather.” She offered a proud sniff.
“I see,” Catherine remarked with humor.
“Now then, what shall we do today?” The elderly woman leaned forward with a sparkle of mischief in her gray eyes. “And if you mention anything about ledgers or a new investment opportunity you read about, I’ll simply ignore you till you come up with a sensible answer,” Lady Greatheart said with a defiant lift of her chin.
Catherine replied with amusement, “But that’s ever so much more interesting than the color of the season. And I do have some interesting information—”
“Tut-tut-tut. I said no. And I give you far more freedom than a young lady should have in all those areas. Heaven help me.”
“It’s served you well. Because of my ‘freedom,’ as you put it, the estate has grown.”
At this, her grandmother gave her a withering glare. “I’m aware, as you remind me every time I tell you to do something more sensible—as per our current situation.” She gave a flick of her wrist to prove her point.
Catherine decided to capitulate. “Shopping? It’s been a while since we’ve visited Bond Street,” she offered.
“Brilliant. I need a new pair of gloves. Mine seem worn.” Her grandmother lifted a perfectly white and delicately gloved hand in the air, frowning as she studied it.
“Nearly threadbare,” Catherine said with a cheeky tone.
“I’m glad you agree. We should also stop at the modiste and see about some new dresses for you.” Her grandmother paused, then softened her voice. “The season will be here before you know it, ducky. And while you might not be ready now, I do believe that you shouldn’t put off moving forward.”
Catherine nodded, her eyes downcast as she absorbed her grandmother’s meaning. Themarriage mart, another season…the courting, the flirting. She wasn’t sure she could do it. But she didn’t have to…yet. It was another four months away. Perhaps by then? She wasn’t against the idea of love; the problem was all the unknowns. What if she’d already found her match, and there was no one else for her? What if no one ever measured up? How could she promise to honor another when she constantly compared him to a ghost? It wasn’t fair to him or to her.
But she couldn’t very well sit in her house for the rest of her life, avoiding potential suitors.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you, ducky. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.”
“No, you weren’t. You’re being sensible. And I understand that,” Catherine added quickly, wanting to put her dear grandmother’s fears to rest. “It’s just… What if I already had my chance at love? What if I have to settle? I don’t want to, and that sounds terribly selfish. Also”—Catherine peeked up at her grandmother’s dear face, encouraged by the lack of judgment on her expression—“it’s so much bloody work, Grandma!”
At this, her grandmother burst into a fit of hilarity. “Good mercy, child, you sound older than me!”