Chapter 19
Early mornings were always busy for Raph; that was why Camelia’s unplanned visit frustrated him immensely.
“You will be my ruin one day.”
“Pardon?” she sputtered.
“Nothing. Did something happen to Pamela?” He got up swiftly.
“No, she’s completely fine.”
Raph stood rigidly and faced her. She was tempting in her pale green gown, but the nightdress from last evening never left his thoughts… or dreams. Her eyes glinted with rebellion as she stood before him.
She’s been obedient these past few days, yet that fire in her gaze makes me question her obedience today.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “What is it, Camelia? Aren’t you supposed to meet Pamela at nine for her etiquette lesson?” His tone brooked no argument. “You’ve done well keeping to the schedule. Don’t falter now.”
Camelia tilted her head, her lips curving slightly. “Of course, Your Grace. I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.” Her voice was soft, almost too soft, and it sent a ripple of heat through him.
He nodded, his eyes narrowing on her. “Good. Pamela’s birthday is approaching, and before you choose to disrupt our routine with your celebrations, her comportment must be flawless. You’ll ensure it, yes?”
“I will,” she said, her smile widening, a touch too innocent. “But I was wondering, why don’t you join us today? You’re so particular about Pamela’s progress. I’d love for you to come see her lessons for yourself. It might bring you closer to her.”
Raph’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing behind his back. The thought of watching her as she guided Pamela was tempting, but duty called, and he never strayed from his plans.
“You know my rules, Camelia,” he said roughly. “I oversee and do not interfere. I always stick to my routine, as should you.”
“You trust me then?”
The question caught him off guard.
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Then trust me when I say that a little time with Pamela might soften that stern brow of yours… and hers.”
God, how I long to teach her another lesson.
“Not today.” He turned his back to her, but not without catching her look of utter vexation.
“I’ll keep to your precious schedule, but don’t blame me if Pamela and I add a touch of… spontaneity.” She curtsied lightly, her gown rustling as she turned to leave.
“Little flower?” Raph stopped her mid-stride.
“Yes?”
“Do behave. This is your last warning.” It was not a request.
Camelia smiled brightly at him. “Always, Your Grace.”
Raph ignored her witty remark and returned to his tasks for the day. But Camelia’s smile lingered in his mind like a warning bell.
She’s plotting something.
He shook his head, forcing the thought out and returning his focus to his duties.
He crossed to his desk; the scent of her lavender perfume still haunted the room as he sat down.
Papers were strewn before him, and an image of Camelia’s erect nipples through the thin fabric of her nightgown flashed into his mind.
“Focus, damn it,” he muttered to himself, picking up a ledger.
But his thoughts betrayed him, drifting to Camelia, the way her lips had trembled under his and how her skin tasted on the tip of his tongue.
His grip tightened on the quill, blotting the page with ink.
She’s a distraction I can’t afford, not until Pamela’s secure.
Yet that smile niggled at him, like a whisper of rebellion.
I need to see what she’s doing with Pamela.
He sighed and stood back up, abandoning his work. His boots thudded as he strode towards the drawing room, where Camelia and Pamela were scheduled for their embroidery lesson.
Raph pushed open the door, expecting to find them at the table, Pamela practicing her needlework as they chatted politely. But the room was empty, the chairs untouched, and the air still.
His brow furrowed, and a mix of irritation and intrigue bloomed within him.
Where the devil are they?
“Camelia!” he roared as he stomped through the corridor, checking the library and the morning room. But there was no sign of them.
“Mrs. Weber!” He heard the hurried footsteps of Camelia’s maid.
Mrs. Weber rounded the corner breathlessly. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Where are they?”
“Your Grace?”
“The Duchess and Lady Pamela!”
“Oh, th-they were seen in the garden, Your Grace.”
“Why the bloody hell are they there?”
“I’m not sure. I will send for them immediate—”
“No! I will get them myself.”
She’s taken Pamela somewhere, ignoring my orders. Damn her, she’s testing me!
Raph seethed.
But where would she go? Why the gardens at this time?
He headed outside, the crisp morning air hitting him as he scanned the sprawling gardens, their roses and hedges bathed in sunlight, but there was no sign of them nearby.
“Camelia!” he called again, his tone laced with warning.
He stopped by the fountain, his hands on his hips.
“Where are you, little flower?” he muttered under his breath.
He turned towards the orchard, a likely spot for a quiet retreat, his mind still tangled with thoughts of Camelia and what she may have had planned for Pamela.
I will find her, and when I do…
“Where are we going, Your Grace?” Pamela whispered, clutching her shawl tighter as they slipped through the winding garden path.
Camelia smiled faintly. “Do not worry, Pamela. You seem rather nervous, but what I have planned is quite exciting!”
Pamela glanced around, her eyes darting towards the manor windows. “We’re supposed to be at my embroidery lesson, Your Grace. If Father finds out we’ve ditched it—”
“You think I fear my husband?” Camelia asked softly, a teasing edge to her tone.
Pamela stopped, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Everyone fears Father, Your Grace. Even the servants tread carefully when he’s nearby. He silences rooms with just a look.”
Camelia’s lips curved. “Yes, he does have that talent, doesn’t he?”
Pamela’s face paled. “Then why disobey him?”
“Because,” Camelia said, glancing back at the manor with a glint in her eyes, “sometimes the only way to survive a man like him is to stop trembling whenever he passes by. It will drive him mad and keep him on his toes.” She winked at Pamela, who gasped softly.
The young girl was torn between awe and terror. “Oh, Your Grace… you’ll get us in trouble.”
“Perhaps,” Camelia murmured, stepping deeper into the maze of roses where the kitchen was located, “but at least it won’t be a dull demise.”
She took out a key and opened the kitchen door with a slight grin.
“Pamela, have you ever baked?” she asked, her voice bright but laced with urgency, desperate to form a connection with the young girl.
“No,” Pamela whispered. “Baking is not on the schedule—”
“Good! And dash the schedule! Today, we will be making scones together. It’s messy, but it’s a joyous task. And, trust me, every bite of our hard work will feel worth it!”
Camelia ushered Pamela into the heart of Brentmere Manor’s kitchen, where the air thrummed with the heat of ovens and the rich aroma of fresh bread and simmering stew. She made certain that the space was cleared for them that very morning.
Preparing the ingredients reminded her of her childhood. Her muslin gown swished as she led Pamela to a flour-dusted wooden table, and her heart ached with hope to break through the girl’s icy reserve.
The only time she had seen Pamela genuinely smile was when Raph agreed to have an intimate brunch to celebrate her sixteenth birthday.
“Warmth and mess are what you truly need, not cold rules.” Camelia pulled out a mixing dish and tied an apron around her waist, offering Pamela another with a smile.
Pamela hesitated, eyeing the fabric as though it were a noose. “Your Grace… are you certain about this? What if someone sees us?”
Camelia forced a laugh as she adjusted the strings. “Then they’ll think the Duchess of Brentmere has lost her wits. Which, between us, may not be far from the truth.”
Pamela’s light eyes widened in quiet surprise, her hands clutching the apron like a lifeline. “Here, Your Grace? In the kitchen? What if the servants whisper? And… and Father will not like that I missed my lesson!”
Camelia’s carefree laughter echoed through the quiet room as she thrust a bowl of flour into Pamela’s hands.
“Let the man rage! I don’t care if he storms in with his brooding scowl.
Life’s too short for his rules, Pamela,” she said confidently, yet trembled with excitement as she remembered Raph’s promise of disciplining her if she ever broke his precious rules.
What would that entail?
Her mind wandered to their passionate kiss and the warmth of his strong hands against her fragile body.
“You’re trembling.” Pamela pointed at Camelia’s hands. “Are you scared that we will be caught?”
“I’m merely cold,” Camelia lied, though the warmth of the kitchen said otherwise.
Pamela eyed her curiously. “Does a duchess fear no one?”
Camelia swallowed hard, turning towards the counter to hide her flush. “A duchess,” she said carefully, “should be allowed to bake without her husband’s shadow looming over her, and so should his daughter!” She grinned at the young girl, who smiled back at her politely.
“Even so, it is not proper.”
Camelia glanced at her with a faint smile. “Nonsense, Pamela! Come now, mix this flour with the butter and let’s make a glorious mess.”
Pamela frowned at the ingredients laid out before them. “How much should I use, Your Grace?”
Camelia studied the table as though deciphering a secret code. “Two cups of flour… I think,” she said uncertainly. “And half a cup of butter, softened but not melted.”
Pamela raised an eyebrow. “You think?”
Camelia laughed under her breath. “Well, I’ve never claimed to be a cook. But if it turns out dreadful, we can always feed it to the ducks and call it charity.”
Pamela’s fingers shook as she added the flour and butter together. “If we make a mess and Father sees it, he’ll be really upset.”
Camelia’s eyes blazed, one hand on her hip. “And what exactly would he do if we upset him?”
“I… I’m not sure.” Pamela frowned in thought.