Page 81 of Go, Rogue

She wants to ask about it—and she will—but later. For now, she needs a moment alone to think and to dress herself. After her time aboard The Elphame, the idea of having someone to do it for her feels ridiculous in a way she’s never realized before.

“I really can manage,” Catherine says to Claire, but the young woman doesn’t leave her.

“Mrs. Masters says I’m to give you anything you might need, Miss.”

What I need is a moment to myself, she thinks.

But what she says is, “How kind of Mrs. Masters. And where is the lady now?”

“She’s waiting on you for tea.” Claire pauses, and a knowing smile creeps over her face. “She is eager to hear your story, I think.”

Of course she is. What use is the latest on-dit without all the juicy details? None, that’s what.

Catherine stifles a roll of her eyes.

Graciousness, she reminds herself.

If Mrs. Masters needs to hear that story to accept her into this household, she’ll give it to her. Because Rogers has been clear that this is the best way to find Andrew, and she will do what it takes, for as long as it takes, to get him back.

“Then I suppose I must hurry,” Catherine says. “We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

And so she’s bathed and dressed as she has been every day of her life since birth. Every day, that is, except those she spent aboard The Elphame.

She pushes those thoughts from her mind and lets her body go through the motions. It knows them as well as it knows how to breathe: when to step into her underskirts, when to hold her arms out, when to breathe in for the corset to be drawn.

She’s irritated and dismayed by how quickly she falls back into the routine. Perhaps, she thinks, her time on The Elphame has not changed her as much as she imagined.

But no.

She shakes her head slightly. She is different; she knows she is. Because of herself and because of him.

Because he loves her.

He’s never said it, but she thinks she knows. She knows for certain she loves him. There is no mistaking the ache in her heart at his absence or the worry about his well-being that keeps her up all night. The way her mind turns back to him over and over, as if there is little else in this world that matters.

I’ll find you, Andrew, she thinks once more, letting the words soothe her as she makes her way down the stairs in a borrowed dress for tea.

Catherine primly takes her seat on the ornate, serpentine-style sofa (the same as is popular back in London) as Mrs. Masters gestures to the well-appointed room behind her.

“Of course we’ll have all this re-done,” she says. “Uncle has only recently been appointed the governorship, after he was knighted, so it’s a bit out of date. It’s just murder to find a decent fabric here. You really wouldn’t believe it.”

“It must be hard,” Catherine agrees.

“But Uncle deserves the best. He was knighted, after all.”

“So you mentioned.” Catherine endeavors to look suitably impressed. “And how kind of you to be of service to your family,” she adds, remembering she means to be inculcating a relationship here. “Sir Cleveland is lucky to have you.”

“One must do their part,” Mrs. Masters says. “What with my aunt ill in bed and my uncle busy with his affairs, someone has to see to the residence. He was so successful in Guyana, you know, that the queen personally asked for him to take over Jamaica.”

“For queen and country,” Catherine murmurs, and her thoughts turn to Claire and the question of slavery. She tries to imagine how to broach the subject with Mrs. Masters.

She might ask Claire too, but then she thinks of Andrew’s words to her: I don’t have the time nor inclination to explain myself to you, and she wonders if that’s why he has those books on Jamaica and the West Indies. So he can find out for himself without having to ask.

She wishes she’d read them, but she hadn’t. She will though, just as soon as she can. She can educate herself, too.

And Mrs. Masters is sipping at her tea and already moving the conversation back to Catherine’s shipwreck story. “It must be quite a shock for you to set out for Boston and end up in Jamaica instead.”

“Indeed it is.”