He nodded and turned his horse back toward the house. He was growing hungry, and morning was fading fast into a blue-skied April noon.
“What do you think he will say?” she asked, turning Thor and spurring him to catch up.
“I think he will say what he always says in these situations.”
“And what is that?”
“To do my duty.”
She laughed, and the reaction surprised him. She must have seen the look on his face because she added, “That sounds like something a father would say.”
“Yes, yes it does,” he agreed. “My father is nothing if not conventional.”
“And you are not?”
“Not at all. My father is a member of the old guard. Sometimes I think the man should have been on the boat with William the Conqueror. He has that conquering mentality.”
“And you do not.”
He saw the doubt in her eyes.
“I want reform. There are people starving in London and throughout the countryside. The poverty is wretched, while so many of us live in luxury.” He gestured to their horses and the beautiful rolling landscape surrounding them. “How can I have all this and begrudge a poor man, woman, or child a full belly?”
“You don’t have to convince me,” she said. “My cousin Maddie runs an orphanage, and she preaches reform all the time.”
“Yes, the orphanages are only the beginning. There’s so much to do, so many reforms to pass, and they are increasingly more difficult to shoulder through Parliament.” He spoke with real feeling, warming to the conversation, until he remembered that he was supposed to be learning more about her. And somehow she had tricked him into opening up.
“And what does your father think of all your efforts at reform?” Catherine asked, and Quint took the opportunity to direct the topic back at her.
“He thinks I am young and idealistic. He thinks poverty has always existed and will always exist. He thinks I waste my time.” The stables were coming into view, and Quint raised a hand to the boy waiting for them.
“I see.” She was looking into the distance when she said it, and Quint wondered what she was seeing there. Her own father, belittling her efforts? Finding her interests and diversions a waste of time? Or had she and Edmund Fullbright been of the same mind? Annoyed, Quint continued to teeter between believing her the victim of a barbaric father or a deceitful little vixen. Which was she?
Finally, he said, “And my father thinks I am the greatest son a man could have.”
She turned then, her eyes wide with surprise. “But you said—”
“A man can be proud of his son without approving all he does. My father thinks I walk on water. Perhaps it’s a good thing we have our political differences. If I were any more perfect, he’d petition to have me canonized.”
She smiled, and he slowed his horse to give them a few more minutes alone. “I do not expect perfection, Catie. My parents love me in spite of my flaws, and I will treat my children the same.”
“Your children?”
He nodded and took another chance to prod her. “I know you have not agreed to that aspect of our marriage, but I want you to know, before you make up your mind, that I will treat our children well, and I will love them no matter what.” He watched her closely and saw the flash of disbelief in her eyes.
“The sons, you mean,” she said.
The stableboy was approaching now, and he took Quint’s reins. With practiced ease, Quint dismounted and was beside her, his hand on her waist as he set her down. He looked into her eyes. “The sons and the daughters. If they are our children, Catie, I will love them with all my heart.”
Again, he saw the play of emotions on her face—disbelief, scorn, skepticism. “You don’t look as though you believe me, Catie,” he said, still holding her, hands wrapped around her warm waist. “Why not? Didn’t your father love you?”
The veil fell over her face, hiding her emotions for the first time that day. “Let me go,” she finally said, pulling out of his arms. “You’re hurting me.”
He held his hands up, palms out. “I’m not even touching you.”
“You don’t have to.” She turned and fled. He watched her go, and then bent to lift his greatcoat from his feet.
Chapter Thirteen
