A hasty check of the other drawers determined that the papers didn't occupy the desk. She glanced about the room. Where? Where would she hide important papers she would want no one to discover?
Wrong, her mind argued. Where would Captain Lucifer hide papers he wanted no one to discover?
The room was a virtual cubbyhole of hiding spots. Everywhere Catherine looked tempted her eyes to peek. Shelves upon shelves of books, chests made from bamboo or bright red lacquer and cabinets with locks, where in heaven would she start?
"Looking for something?"
Catherine jumped, startled by Zeena's voice. She was relieved it wasn't Lucian who had found her prying in his office, though Zeena's discovery of her could border on a problem.
Quickly her mind grasped a reasonable answer. "I was searching for something to read. Something entertaining."
Zeena raised her brow. "You read?"
Catherine smiled. "Yes, all women in my country and of my social status read."
"This is a remarkable accomplishment," Zeena said skeptically. "The native women here possess no such skill."
Catherine sensed the woman didn't believe her and wasn't surprised by her question.
"Demonstrate for me?" Zeena walked to a bookshelf and ran her hand down the row of books, stopping at a slim volume and slipping it out. She held it out to Catherine.
Catherine took it, opened the book and shook her head. "This is in Latin. I can't read Latin."
A sly smile tempted Zeena's lips.
Catherine didn't care for the innuendo her smirk represented. She returned the book to its place on the shelf and searched for another one. Happy with her selection, she drew the book out opened it, and began to read, "‘In the year of our Lord —’"
Zeena stared in awe as Catherine continued to read the passage from the holy book. "I have never heard a woman read," Zeena admitted when Catherine finished the passage.
"My father taught me." She felt a stab of regret. She had failed her father. She had fallen in love with a man who despised him, and she had given that man a forceful weapon to help defeat her father.
"Your father must be a special man to offer you such riches." Zeena possessed an astute nature and it pleased Catherine immensely that she so easily recognized the marquis's attributes. "He is very special to me. He encouraged me to learn and helped me when I thought I would never succeed."
"Few men have tolerance for females. They think us unintelligent creatures whose sole purpose is to please them and give them children."
"Our choices are limited. Marriage and motherhood."
"Guidance and nurture," Zeena corrected with a smile. "Wise women like us are far too superior to simply accept marriage and motherhood. We take our life tasks seriously and use our wisdom to guide our men and nurture our children. No easy tasks, but worthy ones."
The idea that Zeena thought her wise astounded Catherine and she voiced her surprise. "I never thought of myself as wise."
Zeena shrugged. "Most women don't recognize their own worth. You have accomplished much for one so young. Your wisdom will mature as you do. You are destined to become a very wise woman."
Catherine sighed. "I could use a little of that wisdom now."
"Do not hide from the truth, face it," Zeena cautioned.
"How do I know the truth?"
"Your heart will provide the answer."
"It isn't my heart I question," Catherine said with a sad shake of her head.
Zeena nodded knowingly. "Some hearts must heal before they can trust and love again."
"What if a heart remains bitter and scarred?"
"Then the love was not true. Remember, seek the truth. Always seek the truth — for him as well as yourself."
o0o
Catherine considered Zeena's words later that afternoon. She had gone for a walk in the garden. A spectacular garden designed by a horticulturist named James Bartlow, who had fled England just before his debts would have condemned him to the workhouse.
His work was sheer artistry. He had lovingly combined the island flowers with flowers Lucian must have brought back from foreign shores. The blend of color, the variety of flowers and foliage, and the intricate pathways leading to small gardens within gardens gave the impression of paradise.
Catherine favored the rose garden. It sat tucked away from prying eyes, offering solitude and beauty. The roses stole one's breath away. Every single rose in the garden was blood red.
She wandered among the rosebushes, every so often reaching out to delicately touch a fragile bloom while she allowed herself to speculate.
The truth, wherever would she find it? Many questions perplexed her. An important one being why would her father's name spill from a dying man's lips? And if there was truth to the accusation then why would a man who abhorred forced labor condemn someone to suffer it?