Catherine took a moment to regain her thoughts. “Er, his son is. So not the man Grandfather named, but his heir.”
“Oh…” Her grandmother gave a weak nod. “That makes more sense.” Then as if she finally realized what that meant, she narrowed her eyes. “Trustee of the estate? Just how long have I been up here?”
Catherine was vague, trying to keep many of the details from her grandmother till they were sure she was out of the woods. “A while.”
“Awhile,” Lady Greatheart repeated. Then apparently realizing she wasn’t going to get further information, she exhaled. “Fine. So Bircham is contacted…”
“And he’s come to London and brought a respectable chaperone”—Catherine tried not to wince at the words—“who is our guest and is probably who you’ve heard in the hall.”
“I see.” Lady Greatheart’s eyes darted to the door, then back to Catherine. “That would make sense, but I still don’t think it was necessary to involve Bircham. I’ll have a chat with Sheffield,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Well, since you’re on the mend, I’m sure we’ll be back to normal quite soon.”
At this, her grandmother agreed, then leaned her head back again while closing her eyes. “Yes.”
Catherine caressed her grandmother’s hand with her fingers. “Sleep. I’ll be back later.”
Lady Greatheart nodded, and the maid removed the tray from her lap and set it on the side table.
“I think we’ve turned the corner, my lady,” she said softly.
“Me too.”
Catherine regarded her grandmother, her eyes burning with tears again. It had been simply survival, these weeks without her grandmother’s voice or wit. And now that she had been given the gift once more, she realized how much she had missed her grandmother, with a bone-deep ache.
She wiped a tear from her cheek, then felt a soft touch at her elbow.
The maid had moved closer and was offering a white handkerchief. “Thank you.” The maid was teary-eyed as well.
“We’re a pair, you and I.” Catherine sniffled, but beamed at the camaraderie.
The maid nodded. “There is much to be grateful for today.”
That was the truth. And all the other obstacles of the day paled in comparison with the glory of something as powerful as hope.
Twenty-nine
I have no way to defend my borders but to extend them.
—Catherine the Great
Catherine awoke the next day with a full schedule, and it wasn’t the agenda of a debutante with fittings and parties and walks in the park. No, it was the plan of a woman taking charge of her life. Yesterday, the financial information she’d requested from Drury Lane Theatre had arrived, and she’d looked over it late into the night. With several conclusions drawn, she thought over her questions and plans as she readied for the day. The theater’s committee was meeting around noon, a bit early for her taste, but she’d been invited to attend, so she wasn’t going to miss it.
After breaking her fast, she spent a few hours in her study, outlining the plan for a small orphanage near the docks in London. It was an industrial area, but plenty of the poorer class lived nearby, and the area was known for its street urchins roaming about. Her heart ached, knowing many had nowhere to be safe, to call home, so it was her first-choice location. Lady Greatheart would approve of the plan; she was always soft-hearted toward the less fortunate. Today Catherine would explore several buildings for the orphanage, but it wasn’t somewhere she could go alone.
The request to be escorted there should have been asked of Quin yesterday, but she had been far too distracted by his proximity and the meeting later on with Bircham and Sheffield to have been thinking clearly. She quickly dispatched a missive to the Duchess of Wesley, for her to inquire if Quin would be available. It was a pity she couldn’t contact Quin directly, and with Mrs. Burke already on alert, the rules of propriety had to be followed more closely than usual.
With that completed, Catherine turned her attention to Lord Bircham’s suggestion for an investment. The linen paper with all the particulars of the venture rested on her desk under several other sheets, and she withdrew them reluctantly. As she scanned the page, she noted the details of the company. It was industrial, and its financial records for the past two years were promising—that much she had to admit. It dealt in tobacco from the Caribbean but didn’t sell locally; rather, it shipped the tobacco to Russia. She hadn’t thought of the Russians as needing tobacco, but it certainly could be the case. Reading further, she grudgingly realized the company was a very viable option for investment. With more financial backing, it could fulfill larger orders, and since they were at capacity, they were to the point of turning down new clients.
Catherine set the pages aside and bit her lip. As much as it grated against her nerves, she would likely approve of such an investment. Good Lord, she could nearly hear Lord Bircham crow as he touted some nonsense about her feminine sensibilities. Irritated, she noted the time, then reached for the bell pull.
In a few minutes, the butler entered the study. “How may I be of service, my lady?”
“Please notify Mrs. Burke that we are leaving in a quarter hour. And ready the carriage.”
“Of course.” Brooks bowed slightly, then went to do her bidding.
Catherine quickly freshened up and, with time to spare, stepped into the coach, nodding a welcome to the already-seated Mrs. Burke. The ride to the theater was a silent one. Catherine didn’t exactly wish to enter into conversation with her sour chaperone, and the feeling must have been mutual since Mrs. Burke didn’t engage her either. The drive took nearly a half hour from Mayfair to Covent Garden.