After the Wedding (The Worth Saga 2)

It felt appropriate.

The towel had a sachet of lilac folded inside; the soft, fluffy robe hanging on a hook smelled of cinnamon and cedar.

She’d forgotten how the wealthy could surround themselves with scent, so much scent. They hardly had to smell the real world at all.

When Camilla finally opened the door to her sister’s dressing room, she found Judith and Theresa awaiting her with two maids—Beth and Jenny, she was told upon inquiry.

Camilla had more in common with Beth and Jenny than Judith. If they’d worked in the same house, they would have thought themselves above her.

Camilla tried to protest that she didn’t need help dressing, but Beth looked hurt and Jenny looked worried. She gave in.

One of the maids combed her hair, then vanished to obtain hair pins. The other brought in gowns that were too long.

“You’re so short,” Judith said. “When did that happen? Goodness.”

But between the two maids, they pinned the hem in mere minutes.

A third maid arrived with a tray; she deposited a teapot, then a plate of sandwiches, and finally, biscuits.

“The biscuits are currant,” Judith said. “The sandwiches are beef, pickled onion, Wensleydale, and a bit of horseradish. One of my creations.”

Camilla stared at them for a moment. “I had forgotten about you and sandwiches.”

“Yes, well. If one is going to grow plump, it had best be on sandwiches.” Judith offered her the plate.

Camilla picked one up and took a bite. Her stomach growled as she did, and oh, God, how had she not known how hungry she was? She hadn’t eaten since the night before.

The sandwich was divine—the savory flavor of the beef mingling with the sharpness of the pickled onion, finishing with that little kick of horseradish.

“So,” Judith said, as one of the maids came back into the room armed with a curling iron and sparkling pins. “Tell me about this marriage that must be annulled.”

She didn’t know how she managed to get through the entire story without sobbing, but she did it without a tear.

The last weeks sounded utterly unreal. Working for Rector Miles. The wedding at gunpoint. Adrian telling her they mustn’t consummate their marriage. Their friendship; then working together. Telegrams, Mrs. Martin, then Kitty and finally, Adrian’s uncle. That last betrayal was where she ended her story.

As Camilla spoke, she began to feel something besides heartbreak—something she’d been feeling ever since she wrote her letter in the middle of the night. She was beginning to be…angry. Actually angry. How dare Adrian’s uncle treat his loyalty in so cavalier a fashion?

And for Adrian himself…

She loved him, but God, now that she’d had a moment to breathe, she wanted to scream at him.

Obviously, he’d been upset when he had come to her last night. She could hardly blame him. But he’d made a decision that he’d suffer through marriage with her, and he hadn’t consulted her about whether she wished to be suffered with. After everything they’d been through? After he’d promised that they were allies and friends?

It was too much. Far too much. She had deserved better than to discover that she was his second-place prize after she opened her body to his. She had deserved better than to kiss him with her entire heart, only to discover that she’d only had half of his. She had deserved better, damn it.

She finished her sandwich and her story—skipping the parts about kisses and consummations because really, it wasn’t any of Judith’s business—and looked at her sister.

Judith had taken her hand about two sentences in and had not let go.

Judith didn’t speak, not for a full minute. “All those years.” Her voice shuddered. “All those years, every time you moved. Why didn’t you find me?”

Camilla had managed to avoid tears all this time. But those years of loneliness choked around her now. Those years of hoping, dreaming, wanting, and never being fulfilled. She had to look away.

“You told me you never wanted to see me again.”

Judith sniffled. “I didn’t mean it. I was young. I was scared. I thought you’d go away forever unless I convinced you to stay.”

“You told me I had to choose. You told me that it was either luxury or love, and I chose luxury.”

“No, no.”

“I thought I had bargained away all right to your love. I threw it all away. Willingly. How could I demand what I’d discarded?”

“Easily,” Judith said. “Always.”

“And how was I to find you? I wrote and you never answered.”

Judith looked haunted. “It’s a long story. I should have tried harder, but… I did write. I did not realize you were not in your uncle’s care until a little over a year ago. That’s when we discovered he wasn’t passing on letters. He thought you were better off not hearing from us; I assume it must have gone both ways.”

Camilla shut her eyes. “Dear God.”

“As for the rest, we tried to find you. We traced you from place to place, until we finally heard that you’d left with some person—a rector whose name started with P? I suppose you must have gone from him to this Rector Miles.”

Camilla shut her eyes. “That was Miles. He knew who I was; he knew that Benedict was going to Eton. He convinced me to change my name so nobody would use me to embarrass you.”

“And you agreed to that?”

Camilla looked up. “Of course I did. I wanted you to have all the chances in the world to reclaim what we’d lost. Why wouldn’t I?”

Judith stared at her. “Cam.” She reached out and touched Camilla’s face. “Wait here.”

She stood. Camilla could hardly have moved. Beth was curling her hair, putting it up in little wisps. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made up her hair.

Judith came back a few minutes later, holding a packet of papers tied up in string.

“Here.” She held it out to Cam. “Here they are. It’s not all the letters I wrote you. But when you didn’t respond, after a while I started saving them instead of sending them.”

Camilla stared at the stack.

“There’s letters from Benedict and Theresa mixed in there, too,” Judith said. “Every Christmas. Every birthday. Every month, for years. I have a terrible temper. It’s one of my worst qualities, and I try to rein it in. But when it breaks, I indulge in it spectacularly. I hold the worst grudges, I do. You know that about me.”

Camilla nodded.

“But my sisters are my heart. How could I hold a grudge against my own self? What can I say, except that I’m sorry? You should never have felt that you didn’t deserve love. That you had to hide who you were to keep us safe. I’m so sorry.”

Camilla couldn’t help it. All the emotion that she’d kept tightly wadded inside herself started to leak. Her eyes stung, then her nose ran, until she was crying in earnest, sobbing against her sister’s shoulder.

“I kept imagining what would happen if I showed up and you didn’t want me. This is like a dream,” Camilla admitted, “one I will wa

ke from at any moment.”

“I can’t imagine what you’ve experienced,” Judith said. “I can’t even try. But I love you. I love you, I love you. There is no alternative. There has been no waking world in which I did anything but miss you. You deserve to be loved, and I’ll make up for every last year we’ve missed together.”

They didn’t speak for long minutes. They just held each other. Camilla felt her sister’s hands on hers, her shoulder against hers. She leaned her forehead against her and breathed in all of her scents—rose, orange, cinnamon.

She deserved love. She did. And she wasn’t going to miss out on it simply because the man she’d fallen in love with had made a mistake.

After a while, there was a rap on the door.

“Judith.” It was Christian. “The solicitor has arrived. Shall we speak with him?”

Camilla dried her tears. A maid wiped away all evidence of them with a rosewater wash and dabbed at her eyes with one of Judith’s fancy creams.

“Yes,” Camilla said. “Yes. I’ll be ready.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Camilla had known Adrian would come. The only question had been how long it would take him.

Adrian Hunter had arrived at four in the afternoon, after the solicitor had left, right in the middle of the appointment that Judith had made with a seamstress to take Camilla’s measurements.

“Mr. Adrian Hunter is here to see Lady Camilla,” a servant announced, as Camilla stood in her underthings, patiently allowing the woman to measure every inch of her body.

Judith—who had stayed in the room with her, as if she feared Camilla would disappear—frowned at this. “Do you know a Mr. Hunter?”

Biblically, Camilla did not say. Just last night.

“Technically speaking, we have been married for almost a month.” Camilla looked upward. “Although you heard what the solicitor said—we’re not supposed to hold ourselves out as married. But yes. I suppose you could say we are acquainted.”