Catherine lowered her chin, leveling a stare at Mrs. Burke that dared her to question that protectiveness. It was a veiled threat if Catherine had ever used one, but she wasn’t in the mood to play games. Let Mrs. Burke know which way the wind blew and use caution.
As if understanding the underlying message, the older woman sniffed and stuck her nose in the air, unperturbed. “If you’ll be so kind as to show me to my accommodations?” Her words were more polite than her tone.
“Our housekeeper wasn’t planning on guests,” Catherine started. “But my staff is unparalleled. I’m sure your rooms will be ready shortly. No doubt Brooks has already notified our staff of the change in plans.”
“Well, it’s not your place to question your guardian’s instructions.”
At this, Catherine whirled around to face the woman fully and, after striding toward her, stopped only a foot away. Keeping her voice level, she answered the woman’s faulty statement. “I’m of age, Mrs. Burke. And as such am under no guardian. Myestateis under care. I am not the property of said estate, and it would be well for you to remember that. As it seems you’re in a mood to quarrel, please inform me when the inclination passes.”
Mrs. Burke gave a small nod, but her stare was flint. “Of course.”
“And you are to address me as ‘my lady.’” Catherine pushed the propriety that had been hoisted upon her with Mrs. Burke’s arrival.
“My lady.” Mrs. Burke all but sneered the words.
Catherine took a step back, nodded her approval—which she hoped irritated the woman further—and then relaxed when a maid arrived with the tea service.
“I’ll be retiring to my room to read. Enjoy your tea. I’ll have the housekeeper take you to your rooms when they are ready. I bid you good day.” Catherine took her leave then, not waiting for Mrs. Burke’s permission or questions.
It was her house.
Her home.
No one, and that meantno onewas going to tell her how to run it.
Or place demands on her life.
She wasn’t sure when it had taken place, but she’d reached the end of her rope.
Something had to give.
And it wasn’t going to be her.
Twenty-three
Quin wasn’t sure what he was expecting after kissing Catherine—twice—but he surely wasn’t expecting the beak-nosed widow staring at him from across the parlor. If a gnarled old tree had a face, it would have looked like his new acquaintance, Mrs. Burke. He lowered his eyes to the teacup before him, trying to ignore her hard stare which had been on him unblinkingly since his arrival five minutes prior.
Initially, he’d planned to invite Catherine to his family house under the guise of his mother’s invitation. But when he’d asked his mother—a situation that had raised an eyebrow since his earlier denial of any interest—she had informed him of Catherine’s recent communication.
She’d been given a chaperone: an old crone by the name of Mrs. Burke.
Quin sipped his tea. It wasn’t as if he didn’t believe Catherine’s description of the woman as an old crone; he’d just…well, had never seen such a real example of it. Till now. If only the damn woman would stop staring a hole through him as if he were on trial.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, and Quin exhaled with relief. Ignoring the chaperone, he stood at Lady Catherine’s entrance. Her warm presence melted his tension and filled him with a new feeling that was decidedly more welcome.
“Good day,” he murmured, taking her hand and drawing her a few inches closer. The scent of rosewater filled his senses, and he allowed himself the pleasure of taking an extra moment to hold her hand before releasing it.
“Good day to you as well.” Catherine’s voice welcomed him, and he couldn’t help the approval that spread across his features in response.
“I assume your mother has communicated the pertinent information?” Catherine asked, her eyes darting behind him, and then back.
“Your use of adjectives was impressive.”
“Not only fanciful, I hope?” she flirted.
“Just accurate.”
“Lovely.” Catherine made her way to the sofa.