Ha. Benedict never got in trouble, not the way she did. Not even when he was deeply at fault. It wasn’t fair that only men were put to studying law; men were never held accountable for practically anything they did. It was always Theresa, why did you and Theresa, what is going on?
“Think on it, Benedict,” Theresa said. “You would enjoy being an investigator. Very little sitting around in an office reading boring pages. A great deal of talking to people and walking about and looking at clues and such.”
Benedict’s nose wrinkled.
“Besides, who better to find Camilla than family? Nobody knows her the way we do.”
“I was five when she left,” Benedict offered. “I don’t remember her at all.”
Theresa had been six, and she scarcely remembered Camilla, either, but there was no point in admitting to a weakness.
“Dream large or don’t dream at all,” Theresa said with a toss of her head. “Besides, think of what it would mean to Judith. Nothing means more to her than family. Finding Anthony is…not an option.” She wasn’t going to think of Anthony. “Neither of us remember Camilla the way Judith does. We were both too young. But I can understand the pain of losing a well-loved sister. I lost a sister I loved once.”
“Your sister was not real,” Benedict put in. “You invented her when you were three. She did not exist.”
“Insubordination,” Theresa snapped. “What is experience and memory, if not a product of the mind? The fact that my sister may have been imaginary does not make her loss any less painful.”
Benedict just stared at her.
“In fact, it makes it a hundred times worse for me than Judith,” Theresa tossed off. “At least her sister might someday be recovered. Mine is lost forever.”
Benedict let out a sigh and sat on the divan. “I’m guessing you have a plan.”
“However did you know?”
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached his hand under the cushion where she’d stashed her misadventure in embroidery. He withdrew it and squinted at her scene.
“Let’s assume Camilla is alive,” Theresa said. “It may not be true, but it would be a horrid present if she’s dead. If she still lives, then the following must be true. First, she is not reading the newspapers. If she were, she would have seen one of the advertisements Judith and Christian have taken out.”
Benedict nodded. “Also, she cannot be using her maiden name—or someone else would have seen the advertisements and sent word in. Perhaps she is married?”
“Good!” Theresa grinned at her brother. “You are good at this.”
He flushed in pleasure. “That would make her difficult to find. How do you reach the unreachable, General Worth?”
Theresa couldn’t remember precisely when she’d made her younger brother into her personal, private army, or how she’d become general of it. But it helped to have someone relying on her, someone who didn’t judge her for her terrible embroidery.
If she’d been left to her own devices, she wouldn’t have felt any need to deliver. But the sheer pressure of being called General Worth made her think that she had something to offer. She was going to… She was going to…
Yes! She had it. Or at least, she knew where to start.
Theresa met her brother’s eyes. “As it turns out,” she said, “I have an idea about that.”
* * *
“Well,” Adrian said, as the barouche pulled up in front of a two-story building. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, lighting the windows in orange. “We’re here. The family country cottage.”
It had only been this morning when Camilla met with the groundskeeper. In the intervening hours, they’d changed trains twice before arriving at the station in Bristol. They’d been met there by a Mr. Singh, an Indian gentleman who had greeted Adrian with a handshake and brought him out to the waiting conveyance. The weather had been fine enough that the top had been left down.
Adrian had taken the seat closest to the driver, leaving Camilla to face forward. They’d wound their way out of Bristol proper into the countryside.
Her whole body ached; she’d been swaying back and forth all day. She was glad to have arrived.
Still…
“Cottage,” Camilla said weakly, looking at the edifice that stood before her. The word ‘cottage’ made her think of a cozy little space, maybe three rooms large. Not this monstrosity of gray stones and thatched roofs set on acres of land. Not so far off, a blue thread of a river wound down and about; a more modern building stood near the banks, all red brick with chimneys pointing to the sky. A faint clatter could be heard even from here.
“Right,” Adrian told her. “That’s the china-works; the whistle should be sounding soon for the end of the day, and then it will quiet down a bit. My family owns it. I do some work there sometimes.”
Beside him, Mr. Singh, his hands full of luggage, made a little noise of protest.
“A little work,” Adrian said. “Sometimes.”
“He is completely in charge of the design process, the sales, the advertisements, and the exhibitions,” Mr. Singh said. “He fools himself. Don’t let him fool you.”
Camilla cast Adrian an inquiring glance.
“The property’s been in the family for almost a century.”
Camilla wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. “Your…mother’s family?”
“My father’s. It comes…from uncle Henry? My brother is named for him.”
“I thought your brother’s name was Grayson.”
Adrian’s smile froze. “Ah. I mean…my brother was named for him. Henry passed away. Not uncle Henry—he’s really great-great uncle Henry—and technically not an uncle. But an uncle.”
“I…see.” She didn’t.
Adrian turned away from her. “Enough of my family. The china-works was built maybe thirty years ago by my uncles John and Henry. They really started the family enterprise.”
“The family being you and your brother and…?”
“Far more complicated than that. It starts with John and Henry. Henry was my great-great-uncle John’s business partner. He inherited this land from his aunt. They had thought first to sell it off, but…” He trailed off. “But you don’t need to hear my family history, do you?”
She wanted to hear it all. She could listen to him speak for hours. But she was trying not to betray her stupid, stupid heart. Camilla just smiled. “Don’t worry, tell me all you wish.”
“I will. First things first. This is Mrs. Singh. She and her husband keep the cottage.”
The woman who had come out to greet them took a step forward, waving her hand. She was heavy and blond, and she smiled brightly. “Mr. Hunter. We’re so glad you’ve returned. Was your business successful? Mr. Alabi has been ranting about your absence for weeks.”
“Mr. Alabi is an artist,” Adrian said in an aside to Camilla. “He is very much an artist. Outsized personality and all.”
“Don’t let him fool you; so is our Adrian,” Mrs. Singh said, and Camilla felt dizzy when Adrian ducked his head almost shyly. How had she not known that about him? How had she not known any of this?
“Mrs. Singh, this is Camilla Winters. I am sorry to have to condense so much history into so little space, but…” Adrian glanced at Camilla, and she gave him a nod to proceed. “To make a very long story short, I was doing Bishop Denmore a favor. Things went awry, and Camilla and I were forced to marry one another at gunpoint.”
Camilla winced at this bare recital of the last week.
But Adrian sounded positively cheery. “She’s had quite a time of it. We’re not married. Neither of us consented, and we are in the process of perfecting a petition to have that marriage annulled. I would count it a particular favor if you could take care of Miss Camilla for me, Mrs. Singh.”
“And what does Captain Hunter think of that?”
“Nothing,” Adrian said with a grimace. “Please, God, let him not be aware of any of this at all. Is Mr. Alabi in the study?”
r /> “Yes, and he’s been waiting for you.”
“Then I’d better see him.”
Confident, she thought, watching him stride away. That’s what he was—he was confident in a way she’d not yet seen him be. It was as if the moment he set foot on his own territory, with his own people, he grew an extra inch.
She watched him go almost wistfully.
If only she had that sort of confidence…
“Come, Miss,” Mrs. Singh was saying. “You’ve been traveling. You’ll want to wash and have something to eat, won’t you?” Camilla couldn’t quite place her accent. Nothing English.
Camilla swallowed, then nodded. “Yes, please. I would be so grateful.”
The woman just smiled. “Well, you have nice manners, don’t you? I could never be so polite, not if I’d been through such an ordeal. Why, when I first came from Russia…”
She chattered on, as if recognizing that Camilla was too shocked to speak, nicely filling the silence until she brought Camilla up to a room.
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes, then, to show you where we’ll be dining tonight. You must be starving.”
“Oh, food.” Camilla smiled wistfully at the thought. “I will love you forever,” she promised.
The door shut; she was left alone. She set her things down on a chair.
Adrian had put on confidence as if it were a coat from the moment he arrived. She wished she could do that, too. If she were confident like Adrian, then…
No. She squeezed her eyes shut. No looking back.