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“You are quite certain you wouldn’t rather be with your husband?” Eleanor asked.
Catherine looked up from the book she had been reading. She had noticed that Eleanor had not commented on the poems as frequently as she had when she had begun reading, but she had not followed that thought to its logical conclusion. It was only now, when she met Eleanor’s gaze, that she realized her sister-in-law had been distracted, likely for several stanzas.
“Reasonably certain,” Catherine said. “Would you rather be with your husband?”
Eleanor’s cheeks colored. She had a habit of blushing whenever the Viscount was mentioned, which Catherine found terribly charming. She herself was quite certain she did not go to pieces so over Henry, but then, she was not in the habit of looking at her own face when she thought of him. Perhaps a bit of color did rise in her when he was mentioned, or had when they had first married.
“Of course I do love him,” Eleanor said. “In those early days, I did wish to be by his side every moment. But now…” She paused, trying to collect herself, but that stubborn blush would not leave her.
“I know quite what you mean,” Catherine said, before Eleanor could stumble over any more words. “You want to spend time with other people as well.”
Eleanor nodded eagerly. “It is not that I don’t enjoy his company,” she said. “I do, very much so. But sometimes I would rather spend my time with a friend… or with a sister.”
The color was quite high in her cheeks now, and though her eyes were bright, she could catch and hold Catherine’s gaze. Her eyes always slipped away after a moment. Catherine had known her to be rather more reserved than herself and Isabella, but she had thought it merely proper modesty. She was quite friendly and comfortable with Henry, after all. For the first time, Catherine could not help wondering whether Eleanor might be a little shy.
A moment later, she corrected the thought. Eleanor was not shy. She was merely uncertain.
But of what?
Catherine closed the book, realizing a moment too late she had forgotten to mark her place. No matter; she would find it again in time, and if she read over another poem or two that she had read before, it was all for the better. Eleanor had certainly missed at least one while she was lost in thought.
“You do know I am glad to spend my time with you, do you not?” she asked. “I would hardly be here otherwise.” She would be out rambling, or in the village, or with one of the many Morland children who had few other obligations and were thus thrust upon her by mother or father or both now that there was another household to take up some of the mass of family their affection had engendered.
“Yes,” Eleanor said slowly, “but I am concerned…” She worried her lower lip for a moment before shaking her head. “It is a silly thing. I am sure it is nothing I ought to dwell on.”
Catherine wished she had not put her book down just then. This would have been a much better time. The solid thunk of the cover against the table would have been a most satisfying way to jolt Eleanor out of whatever thoughts troubled her. (And quite uncharacteristic thoughts too, Catherine was certain. She had always thought of Eleanor as a steady force for her, and it felt odd to consider the matter being the other way around.) “My dear sister,” she began, but Eleanor cut her off.
“That’s just the trouble,” she said. “I haven’t the first idea how to be a sister.”
Catherine suspected nearly anyone else would have thought it a ridiculous idea. After all, Eleanor was already a sister twice over before she had ever met Catherine. What she was not, however, was a sister to another sister, and Catherine had more than enough experience with brothers and sisters alike to know that the two of them were very different creatures.
“Oh!” she said, and laughed a little. “Is that all?”
Eleanor’s cheeks remained a brilliant pink, and she blinked quickly enough Catherine had to look sharply at her eyes to be certain she was not crying. “I suppose it is a small thing,” she murmured.
“It is,” Catherine agreed, “and quite surmountable. Would you like to learn how to be a sister? It will be more useful than these verses, I’m sure.” They sounded lovely, but neither of them were studying to be a poet, unless Eleanor had kept that secret from her, and it was not the sort of secret usually kept from sisters. Catherine’s sisters had always shared their various aspirations with her, however silly, and she had done the same.
Eleanor looked at Catherine in amazement. “Is it truly something which can be taught?”
“Of course,” Catherine said with another laugh. She rose and held out her hands. “How else does one learn it?”
“I suppose I thought one must be born to it,” Eleanor murmured.
“I will allow my younger sisters were,” Catherine said, “but I could just as easily believe that I taught them how to be a sister to me, and in turn I learned how to be a sister to them. Come.” She shook her hands a little, encouragingly. “I cannot teach you how to be a sister to all women, but I can at least teach you to be my sister. Will that content you?”
Eleanor’s smile was as soft and warm as ever. Any lingering doubts Catherine had about her friend’s well-being were assuaged at once. “It is the best I could hope for,” she said, taking Catherine’s hands and rising.
Catherine drew Eleanor into her bedroom, moving quickly. Eleanor followed along, her smile growing bemused but no smaller. She allowed Catherine to sit her down before the mirror and begin fussing with the various brushes and combs laid out.
“What is this?” Eleanor asked.
“I’m going to brush your hair,” Catherine said, as though it were obvious. It was to her, of course, but she supposed she ought not begrudge Eleanor her ignorance entirely. If it were not for several quirks of fate, she might well be in Eleanor’s shoes as well.
Eleanor twisted in the chair to frown a little at Catherine. “I do have a maid,” she said, but she spoke slowly, as though understanding were beginning to dawn on her. Before Catherine could say a word, she added, “Do your sisters brush your hair?”
“They try,” Catherine said with a laugh. “That is, they are considerably more skilled at it than when we were all younger and they wanted nothing more than to wrench a brush through my hair and stuff weeds and wildflowers into the tangles they created. Mostly, however, I was the one to take care of them, and for right now, I will be the one to take care of you… unless you would prefer the ministrations of your maid?”
Eleanor’s cheeks had begun to fade to their usual color, but now they flushed pink again. “No,” she said. “That is, I would like you to brush my hair. And perhaps sometime I might brush yours?”
“Of course!” Catherine said. “I would be delighted.” She would have trusted Eleanor to do so right then, but Eleanor was already sitting down, and Catherine already had one hand on the brush and another carefully plucking out pins to allow Eleanor’s hair to tumble about her shoulders.
She really did have lovely hair, Catherine reflected as she began. She carefully took up each lock and held it in one hand while bringing the brush through it with the other, so that the motion of the brush would not tug on Eleanor’s scalp. She knew to work carefully from having brushed the hair of many squirming sisters, but she knew already that Eleanor would be able to sit still and quietly, even if Catherine were to be reckless or cruel.
That only gave her all the more reason to wish to be careful with her. This shouldn’t be the moment to break Eleanor’s trust in her. Really, that moment ought to never come.
“Your maid does an excellent job with your hair,” Catherine said after some moments had passed. “There are hardly any tangles I can find.”
Eleanor hummed a little, but her attention seemed distant. Catherine laughed, and that seemed to startle her from her reverie.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you from whatever you were thinking of.”
“I wasn’t thinking of anything at all,” Eleanor said. “This felt too peaceful for me to bother thinking of anything.”
“You are much better at this than my sisters,” Catherine said. “They would always find something to say or something to look at. It is a thousand times easier to care for you.”
Eleanor’s cheeks were crimson now, and though she was almost smiling, she looked a little alarmed. “I wouldn’t want to take their places –”
“Not at all!” Catherine said quickly. “You are an addition to them, as I am an addition to your own family. I will love you all in a different way, and I hope you do not mind my saying so, but the ease with which I can care for you does not make you either better or worse. It is merely different.”
“I am glad of that,” Eleanor said. “When you finish with my hair, I should like a chance at yours. Though I haven’t been paying attention at all, I would like to show that I have learned something.”
Whether or not Eleanor had learned anything at all, Catherine was more than willing to give her the chance to try.