The only name he’d considered was his own, which scared the hell out of him.
Because he was going to London in a few days—seeing Catherine in a few days.
He had some choices to make.
And he felt entirely unable to make them.
But such was life…
It forced the choice when you least wished to make it.
Eighteen
It is better to inspire a reform than to enforce it.
—Catherine the Great
When Wednesday arrived, Catherine could scarcely believe the flurry of the past week. So much had happened, and so much had changed. The Duchess of Wesley had done more than expected, and she was a regular visitor to the Greatheart residence. Catherine learned her opinions on fashion were excellent, and they made a few slight changes to her already-altered gowns, preparing for the Wednesday evening party.
The Duchess of Wesley was hosting, and if that weren’t enough, she had come up with a list of names of suitable husbands.
It was truly too much, and Catherine had tried to keep the tears walled up behind her lashes when the Duchess of Wesley handed her the note. It was a sacrifice for her to do such a thing, to offer someone to whom she had no obligation the greatest gift of all.
Hope.
Catherine had scanned the listed names, then focused on the few she recognized.
Lord Stuarthall
Baron Hightow
the Duke of Westmore
Lord Partore
She trusted the Duchess of Wesley’s judgment. If she’d listed the names, then they needed to be seriously considered. And as Catherine readied herself for the evening, she thought over the gentlemen suggested. But it plagued her that one name was missing, because she was equally torn between wishing it were there and being relieved it was not.Quin.It would have put them all in an awkward position, but she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something the duchess wasn’t saying. Maybe she didn’t want her to consider Quin at all—not that she was. It was just… Well, she was overthinking it. Nothing was meant by the omission, she was sure, but Catherine kept thinking his name, seeing his face…and she wasn’t sure what that meant.
She’d missed his company, his perspective on things, and the strength with which he moved through problems, not seeing them as obstacles but rather challenges to think around, to solve. She’d grown to appreciate that perspective, adopted it in many ways herself. He’d only been gone a little over a week, and she had felt his absence.
But that would be true for any friend, wouldn’t it?
Pushing her confusing thoughts aside, she focused on preparing for the evening. She’d selected a blossom-colored evening dress. The neckline was only a quarter inch lower than usual. The color brought out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes, or so the Duchess of Wesley had said when she’d had it fitted earlier this week, checking the latest adjustments they’d made. The fine muslin hung in smooth arcs, with the tuck of the empire waist giving a fairylike impression to the gown. It was beautiful, and Catherine felt she made a striking appearance.
Millard worked tirelessly pinning her golden curls into loops and braids that crossed each other in an intricate design, and by the time the maid was finished, Catherine wondered if she was overdressed for a dinner party.
As she studied her reflection, taking in every nuance of her attire and coiffure, she reminded herself it wasn’t just a party. It was an introduction. A beginning. The beginning set the stage for the rest of the story, and Catherine was going to make sure her story was one worth the telling.
As the clock in the hall chimed, she made her way to her grandmother’s room. “Grammy,” Catherine murmured, “I’ll be back later, and I’ll be sure to tell you all the details tomorrow. I promise.” She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her grandmother’s forehead.
Recently, her grandmother had started to respond more, feeding Catherine’s hope for her eventual recovery. But as she noted her grandmother’s closed eyes, she realized this wasn’t one of those moments of conversation.
The slow rise and fall of her chest was the only response to Catherine’s words, and with a loving pat to her grandmother’s hand, Catherine walked back into the hall. She straightened her shoulders. It was time.
The carriage was waiting out front, and as the footman helped her take the two steps in, she pulled in the trailing muslin of her gown and tucked it beside her, careful not to wrinkle it. The driver started on their way, and Catherine closed her eyes, savoring the comforting sway of the carriage as it carried her along.
The conveyance soon slowed and came to a stop in front of the Wesley town house. Catherine had arrived early, at the instruction of the Duchess of Wesley, but it looked as if several others had decided upon the same idea. As she alighted from the carriage, she smoothed her dress and took the steps toward the large gray door surrounded by windows glimmering with candles winking through the panes.
The butler opened the door before she took the last step, and she said her thanks.