Chapter 22
Camelia jolted awake in her chamber, the stillness of the night shattered by a faint, piercing cry. Her heart raced, the remnants of sleep evaporating as she sat up, her nightgown clinging to her skin.
Who’s crying?
The sound tugged at her, raw and desperate, pulling her from the warmth of her bed.
Something was wrong. She couldn’t ignore it.
She slipped her feet into soft slippers, grabbed her nightgown, lit a lantern, and stepped into the corridor. The cry grew clearer as she moved. It was a soft, muffled sob that echoed from the direction of Pamela’s chamber.
Camelia’s chest tightened, her thoughts racing with worry and resolve. She ran down the corridor.
The manor’s silence amplified each creak of the floorboards, and her lantern shook dangerously, like a lone beacon in the dark as she reached Pamela’s door. She pushed it open, the hinges whispering in protest, and stepped inside.
“Pamela?” she called softly.
Pamela lay curled up in her bed, her dark curls fanned across her pillow, her face contorted in distress as soft sobs escaped her lips.
The sight pierced Camelia’s heart, a sharp ache blooming within.
Oh, Pamela, what’s haunting you?
She set the lantern on the bedside table, its glow illuminating the girl’s trembling form.
“Pamela,” she called softly, hoping to rouse her.
Pamela didn’t stir, but her whimpers grew sharper, and her hands clutched at the blankets.
Camelia sank onto the edge of the bed, her heart sore with empathy. The girl was so small and so fragile, she wanted to protect her.
She reached out and ran her fingers through Pamela’s hair, smoothing the curls with a tender touch.
“Shh, Pamela, it’s all right,” she cooed, her voice a soothing lullaby. “I’m here, sweet girl. You’re not alone.”
Camelia’s heart clenched as she recalled Margaret’s tormented nights after their mother’s death, how she had soothed her sister with gentle touches and whispered comforts night after night.
She could see the same pain in Pamela. She knew it all too well.
Her fingers continued to stroke Pamela’s curls, and gradually, the girl’s soft sobs quieted, her trembling form easing into a fragile calm under Camelia’s tender care.
“Mother?”
Camelia thought she had heard wrong.
The word was a fragile plea, barely audible through Pamela’s quivering lips, before her breathing deepened and her body relaxed into heavy slumber.
Camelia’s throat tightened, tears pricking her eyes.
Pamela was longing for her mother.
The weight of her pain and the truth Raph hid about her father pressed down on Camelia. He’s shielding her, but he’s breaking her heart unknowingly.
I have to talk to him. Now.
But Camelia lingered a little longer, her hand still stroking Pamela’s hair, making sure that the girl was truly asleep.
She’s calm now, but this can’t go on.
She rose slowly, her resolve hardening. Before she left, she tucked Pamela in and planted a soft kiss on her temple. The nightmare seemed to have ended. She picked up her lantern; its flame was steady and dim as she left Pamela’s room.
The corridor felt colder, and the manor’s grandeur was oppressive. She made her way to Raph’s chamber with quick steps. She suspected that he would be unhappy about her unannounced visit, but she did not care. This was about Pamela.
Her body still hummed with the memory of their heated encounters. His hands on her, his warnings and promises, made her feel alive. But tonight was about the truth, not passion.
She reached his door, her heart pounding, and knocked firmly. The sound was sharp in the quiet. She knocked again, louder this time, but there was no response.
Camelia was done with his secrets. She cracked open the door and found his chamber empty and seemingly untouched.
“Raph?” she called out, but there was no reply.
Where did he go?
Her thoughts churned, restless from their heated exchange in the library, where his words had left her grasping for more answers to more questions. Their tussle in the kitchen only deepened her confusion, stirring a whirlwind of questions about his desires and her own.
Now, standing in his dimly lit chambers, forbidden territory, her lantern’s flickering flame mirrored the nervous anticipation coursing through her as she awaited his return. She imagined him disciplining her for intruding, and her heart fluttered in response.
Suddenly thirsty, Camelia gulped and paced nervously, but thoughts of Raph made her excited and long for another lesson. On his desk, she spotted a leather-bound book, but she clasped her hands in front of her.
I will not snoop!
But when the minutes dragged by, she gave in to temptation. She unhooked the leather strap and opened it carefully. It was a poetry book. Camelia found a marked page where a poem was neatly underlined.
In a forest glade where shadows dance,
A doe, with eyes of trembling trance,
Before the hunter’s gaze does stand,
Her heart a captive to his hand—
Camelia’s heart pounded as she shut the book and heard Raph’s booted steps approaching. She placed it back on his desk and steadied her hands and thoughts. Her nightgown clung to her skin the way she wished he would, and the poem stuck with her thoughts.
I’m here to speak about Pamela.
The door finally opened, and Raph stepped in. His dark coat was slightly wrinkled, and his eyes were sharp but weary. The scent of brandy and cloying perfume hit her like a slap, and her stomach twisted.
“Raph, where have you been?” she demanded, her hands clenching at her sides. The floral scent grew stronger as he walked further into the room. “And what is that smell?”
Her anger flared, but Raph’s lips curled into a faint smirk.
“I was out, Duchess. With an old friend. Why? Does the thought of me elsewhere trouble you?” He walked casually past her and removed his coat. “And what are you doing here, when I clearly stated that you are not allowed in my chambers?”
Camelia felt her cheeks flush, but she turned around and spoke in a firm voice. “I’ve been waiting hours to talk about Pamela, only to have you stumble in, smelling of drink and… and some woman’s perfume! Have you been neglecting your duties to carouse instead?”
He eyed her narrowly.
Can he sense my jealousy?
“That’s a bold accusation, Camelia. What else am I neglecting? Pamela? The estate? Or perhaps… you?”
Her breath hitched, and she turned away from him so he wouldn’t read her like an open book.
“I went into Pamela’s chambers tonight, Raph.”
His steps halted behind her and she felt his presence like a brooding storm, both distant and dangerously close.
“Why?” His voice was low and sharp, a warning wrapped in velvet.
“She was crying,” Camelia said softly. “She was having a nightmare, Raph.”
“It’s just a nightmare; it will pass.”
Camelia’s fists curled at her sides, she whipped around to confront him but she stopped when she saw the deep furrows etched in Raph’s brow.
He’s worried about her.
“It’s not nothing, Raph. Do not brush this off.”
“Camelia, I don’t have time for this.”
“You mean that you don’t have time for her?”
Raph’s jaw ticked. “I don’t have time for dreams and nightmares. She will outgrow them. I cannot do anything to help her with that.” He rubbed a hand down his face in frustration.
“She was calling for her mother in her sleep.”
“What?”
“Yes… she was lost in a painful nightmare. I couldn’t just leave her, so I comforted her while she slept, and before I could leave, she called for her mother.”
Raph’s usual guarded eyes flickered with guilt and hurt.
“She had nightmares, and you thought barging into her room, and now mine, would fix it? You’re meddling in things you don’t understand, Camelia.” His clenched jaw showed his growing agitation.
Camelia stepped forward, undeterred, her voice rising with passion. “I am not meddling! A young girl is hurting, Raph! She needs more than your rules; she needs your care. Why won’t you talk to her about her mother or her real father?”
“I have my reasons, my limits, and my rules.”
“I don’t give a damn if I’m pushing your limits or breaking your precious rules—” She stopped and slowly backed away when his eyes flashed, even though she was drawn to him.
“You think it’s that simple to raise a child? Spilling life-changing secrets just to chase away a nightmare?”
“I raised my sisters, so yes, I know what it’s like!” Her frustration grew as they argued.
“You don’t know what that truth would do to her, Camelia. How many times must I tell you that I’m protecting her? That everything I do revolves around Pamela!”
She crossed her arms, her voice as sharp as a blade.
“You think that keeping her in the dark is protecting her, but it’s slowly destroying her, Raph.
I soothed her tonight, not you. Like I did for my sisters after we lost our mother.
Pamela’s pain is as real as your rules, and your silence is making it worse. You need to help her.”
Raph’s hands clenched, and he let out a bark of laughter. “You soothed her? And what, you think that makes you her savior now? This is my burden, Camelia, not yours. Stay out of it.”
“I’m your wife, Raph. That means I share your burdens, whether you like it or not. Tell me why you’re so afraid to reveal her real father’s identity. You won’t even tell me. Raph, you have to trust me, please.”
“I trust no one,” he hissed.
Camelia flinched. “I’m not your enemy, Raph. I’m trying to help.”
“You want to help?”
“Yes.”
“Truly?”
“Yes!”
“Then be there for her, but don’t push me to do things I simply cannot do. Or else there will be consequences.”
Camelia’s mouth went dry as she thought about the possible consequences.
“I am there for her, Raph. But she needs you, too. You are her father, no matter what. Stop hiding behind your walls and let her see you.”
Raph’s gaze held hers, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his mask.
“No,” he said simply and turned away from her. “Go back to bed, Duchess. I’m here, Pamela’s safe now.”