“If that is all, I’ll take my leave.” He headed toward the door more slowly than Catherine would have wished. “Oh, and the next time you send Mrs. Burke on a maid’s errand to have time alone with yourfriend, he will gain an unwanted mark on his reputation, and you will on yours. Good evening.”
Catherine resisted the urge to growl, stomp, or do some other such nonsense. She had taken a risk earlier, and she would gladly take it again, but it wasn’t worth ruining Quin’s reputation, or hers.
There had to be another way.
After Lord Bircham left, Catherine turned her attention to Mrs. Burke. The woman was regarding her with an expectant gleam in her eye, as if looking forward to any skirmish Catherine wished to begin.
“And here I thought a chaperone was to protect one’s reputation.” Catherine clipped the words.
“I can only protect that which I can see, mylady.” She emphasized the title, arching a brow. “You’d be wise to keep your prospects lower than a duke, regardless. You’re reaching too high.” She shifted her needlepoint and began stabbing the fabric.
Catherine’s brow furrowed with confusion, but then she realized Mrs. Burke didn’t know what had transpired the summer before. She opened her mouth to inform the woman, then paused. It wasn’t worth it, and she also didn’t want to expose herself, or Quin, to speculation. If Mrs. Burke didn’t already know that Catherine had been engaged to the former Duke of Wesley, then the woman didn’t need to know she was developing tender feelings for the current one. Sometimes privacy was more important than being right.
Catherine nodded, let her feel she’d won. It was of no import to her.
“If that’s all?”
Mrs. Burke regarded her coldly. “For now.”
Catherine took her leave and, needing to find something familiar, made her way to her grandmother’s chambers. The door was slightly ajar, and as she pushed the heavy portal open farther, her heart stuttered with relief and wonder at the sigh that greeted her.
“Grammy?” she exclaimed.
Lady Greatheart was sitting up in bed, feeding herself from a soup tureen upon a bed table that sat across her knees. A soft bread roll completed the small meal.
A tear trailed down Catherine’s cheek, and her eyes stung with more as she watched in wonder. Lady Greatheart hesitated, then set the spoon down, offering a weak grin that held more promise than a million words.
For the first time in so long, Catherine had more than just the hope that her grandmother would heal. She had proof, and it was balm to her soul.
“Catherine, come sit.” Lady Greatheart’s voice was hoarse, as if rusty from not being used, but it was familiar and wrapped around Catherine’s heart like a fluffy, warm blanket. Quickly she crossed the room and sat in the chair beside her grandmother, sharing a quick smile of hope with the maid on the other side of the bed.
“She demanded I let her feed herself this afternoon,” the maid commented happily.
Lady Greatheart gave a small huff. “I didn’t demand,” she nearly croaked, but the indignation bled through.
The maid gave a wry expression in response to that.
“Fine, I may have demanded it a bit. But I need to do more. If I’m…well, able to do more.” Lady Greatheart gave a dismissive wave with her hand as she spoke, then let her arm fall to the bed as if the movement had been exhausting.
“Little steps… You’ll get there.”
“It’s bloody frustrating,” Lady Greatheart retorted, but closed her eyes as she lay back on the propped-up pillows.
“I’m sure it is, but progress is progress, and every step forward is one to be proud of.”
Lady Greatheart opened one eye and regarded her granddaughter. “I’m exhausted, but for once, my curiosity is stronger than my need to sleep. What have you been doing? And why did I hear a strange voice in the hall earlier?”
Catherine placed her hand upon her grandmother’s, thankful for the warmth that met her. “It’s a bit complicated but nothing to worry about.”
At this, her grandmother opened both eyes and turned her head to meet Catherine’s avoidant answer. “What’s complicated?”
Catherine turned from her grandmother to the maid, a question in her expression. Should she give further details? Would worry cause her grandmother to have a setback? They had just had the clearest proof of hope. Catherine didn’t want to jeopardize her grandmother’s health in any way.
“Out with it, ducky.”
Apparently, her grandmother wasn’t going to let her wait. Catherine bit her lip and considered how best to inform her grandmother of the changes that had taken place. “In your”—she paused, struggling for a delicate way to phrase it—“lapse of health, Mr. Sheffield contacted the estate’s trustee, Lord Bircham—”
“You’re telling me the man’s still alive?” her grandmother asked with more strength than Catherine would have expected.