Judith had been right. Camilla hadn’t had love—not ever again. Not after that.
Camilla had asked her uncle to post letters for months after she’d arrived. She had tried writing for years—even though she hadn’t known her sister’s direction, she’d sent the letters to her uncle to send on for her.
There had been nothing from Judith but resounding silence. That silence had swallowed all her hope.
When she was sixteen, after four years of silence, Camilla had vowed to look forward, not back.
Now, if the news was to be believed, Judith had found love. Her husband was wealthy and respected; she had gowns and lemon tarts. She had everything.
Camilla had nothing.
“That is how I lost my family,” Camilla said. “I threw them away. I chose to go to my uncle instead of staying with them. And he sent me to his cousin. And so on and so on, until I found myself here. I traded away my right to ever have anyone love me when I was twelve, and I…” Her voice faltered. “I know it deep down. I do. But I am not strong enough to face the truth. I have to keep hoping or I’ll fall to pieces.”
“Camilla.” Adrian’s voice was low. “That’s not how it works. You can’t give up your right to be loved. And you were twelve.”
“I’m twenty now. I have amassed close to nine years of proof. Do you know what it’s like to hope for years and years that someone will like you enough to marry you, and to know that the only reason you said ‘I do’ is because time in my company is marginally preferable to death?”
“Camilla.” He bit his lip. “That’s—look, this isn’t about you at all.”
“I know.” She swiped angrily at her cheeks. “Of course I know! Even my own wedding wasn’t about me, for God’s sake!”
“Camilla, I’m sure somebody will want you.”
“You don’t.”
Even now, even at her worst, she couldn’t keep from hoping that he would deny it. That he’d tell her he’d fallen stupidly, deeply in love over the course of five days.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, he let out a long breath. “That’s not fair. I want what my parents have—decades of happiness, a partnership that has withstood the test of time, a long, slow chance to really fall in love. I am not going to apologize to you because I want that for myself.”
Of course. Camilla’s sobs had progressed to the ugly stage of hiccupping. “And I will apologize for being as weak as I am. I just have to keep hoping.”
There was a long pause. He took another step toward her and set his hand on her shoulder. There was nothing importuning about it; just comfort given in small measure.
“Cam,” he said quietly. “There you are, little tiger.”
“Tigers are strong. I am not a tiger.”
“Tigers never stop hoping,” he said. “Hope is not weak. It takes courage to hope and hope and hope, when nothing comes out right. It takes strength to continue to believe that this time everything will come out right when it’s always gone wrong before. You are not weak.”
He was going to break her, giving her just this much kindness and not one iota more.
“See here,” he said, and the hand he had on her shoulder gave her an awkward pat. “I can’t know what it’s like, but I can tell you this. You deserve to be loved. You have always known it; that is why you keep hoping. But look at you, little tiger. You look on the bright side of things—most of the time, if not always. You rarely complain; you are willing to work hard to achieve a result. You have an excellent memory. You’re witty and charming and pretty. You deserve more than someone who has been tied to you by the caprices of fate.”
She shook her head. Her heart felt so stupidly empty and so ridiculously full, all at the same time.
“I promise you,” he whispered into her hair, “it’s not impossible. Someday, somebody is going to adore you for how wonderful you are.”
He put one arm around her. It wasn’t an embrace; it was a gesture of comfort. She knew it for precisely that, and still she couldn’t help but feel her heart beat just a little faster.
“You deserve that,” he whispered in her ear. “You deserve to truly fall in love and to be loved in return. You deserve to be worshipped for the person you are, and not just tolerated for existing.”
It had never happened yet. If she looked back at everything that had ever happened to her, she’d conclude from all available evidence that love would never find her at all—not in any way, not in any form.
Her heart was too fragile to take that crushing a blow.
So Camilla did what she had done a dozen or more times over the course of her life—she looked forward and pushed the darkness of her past back into hiding.
She let herself hope through the twinge of her bruises and the sting of her tears. She let herself believe despite all the evidence.
Someone would love her. Just because it had never happened yet, didn’t mean it wouldn’t. Hope stung like an old ache, but it was better than the alternative.
“There,” Adrian said, one arm still around her. “There, there. That’s better. You’re feeling better, aren’t you?”
Camilla sniffled and opened her eyes. Her forehead rested against the skin of his neck; he smelled clean and bright, full of promise. She pulled away an inch.
She had thought he was handsome when first she met him. Here he was, telling her that she deserved to have her long-held wish granted. Telling her that she was pretty and charming and…and…
And, oh God, he had ceased to be merely handsome. It felt like the darkness of her mood lifted when she looked at him, like every sunbeam in the sky reflected off his skin.
He must have mistaken the shy smile she gave him, because he nodded and smiled back at her.
“There we are,” he said softly. “That’s not a fake smile is it?”
Oh, no, no, no. She wasn’t feeling better. Her hands felt clammy; her whole body prickled with the awareness of his proximity.
“Maybe I can do it,” she said slowly. “Maybe. I can go back, if you want me too.”
He looked off over her shoulder, as if seeing something she could not, and then nodded once. “No.” He sighed. “My uncle asked me to pose as valet. I didn’t want to, but… Never mind my reasons. He shouldn’t have asked me, not after I said no the first time. And look what happened. I’m not going to be him. You said no; that should be enough. We just need a different plan, that’s all.”
He should be yelling at her, calling her a stupid girl. Anything but kindness. Camilla was horribly susceptible to kindness, and every inch of her soul was responding to him in silent entreaty.
“This affects the rest of our lives,” he pronounced. “We don’t need to fix it in five minutes.” He sighed, then shrugged. “Or even, I suppose, in five days.”
She exhaled.
He was almost talking to himself now. “No matter how swiftly we proceed, there are still elements of this business that will necessarily take time. We’ll need to obtain an affidavit from Mrs. Martin as evidence. Besides, I have some things I must attend to; I have already put them off for far too long. I need to go back to Harvil. We’re not resolving this tomorrow or even the next day, no matter what you do; it was foolish to think we could.”
Oh. No. A thread of panic reasserted itself. “You’re leaving.”
“Well, you do get a vote.” He smiled faintly. “I’d like to go to Harvil—I have business there. You may come along, if you wish; now that I think of it, this will be good for our case. We can introduce you to everyone there as someone who is not my wife. The more witnesses who say that we have not held ourselves out as married, the better it will be for us. And it will give us a chance to think of some possible avenues for proceeding that don’t leave you devastated.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment; she could hardly speak.
“We can always arrange for you to go somewhere else,” he said when the silence lingered. “This is difficult enough for both of us. I understand if you don’t want to spend mo
re time in my vicinity.”
It was an all-too familiar feeling. Camilla, fool that she was, recognized the emotion that flared in her chest far too well. She’d always wanted to get love, and so she gave it too easily. At the proverbial drop of a hat.
She could almost laugh at herself. For God’s sake, Camilla. He hadn’t even needed to drop his.
He didn’t love her. He didn’t intend to love her; he didn’t want to love her.
It didn’t matter.
She inhaled, long and shuddering. “Yes,” she said. “I mean, no. No, your family property is perfectly acceptable. We’re not married, but we are tied to each other in a way, and what if I recalled something that might help us? We should be close enough to consult.”
He smiled.
“I’d have to send telegrams if we were apart.” She was joking, and it almost hurt to joke when her heart felt so fragile. “And somewhere along the way there’d be a Mrs. Beasley, and she might remember the whole thing. How embarrassing for us both.”
“I know you don’t want to look back,” he said more quietly. “I arrived at the tail end of your stay with Rector Miles. What I saw was dreadful. I can’t blame you for not wanting to look back.”
She shook her head.
“Sometimes you look back and it’s a wedding at gunpoint. Sometimes it’s lemon tarts. You’re a generous person, Camilla. You give a great deal. Give yourself time, and look back a little when it’s possible and maybe you’ll see that you’ve gotten more than you thought.”
He was just saying it out of self-preservation. He wanted her to get the account books; he was telling her to wait a few weeks until she felt better. She knew this was true.
And still, that praise made her heart thump. Generous. He thought her generous.