Chapter 28 #2
If you refuse, I will present proof that Lady Pamela is my child.
It would be a pleasure to take her under my care, especially as she reaches the age to be welcome into society.
But sadly this very scandal may ruin the girl, destroy your wife’s reputation, and permanently damage your name in the ton.
You know exactly how quickly they devour weakness.
Settle the debt, or watch your niece and household burn.
Your move.
Lord Montague.
The paper trembled in Raph’s grip; fury surged through him. The thought of losing Pamela and Camelia made his mind swirl dangerously.
Raph knew that if he paid the debt, Lord Montague would only return for more. There was only one solution.
The butler waited, concern creasing his brow. “Your Grace?”
“Burn the seal,” Raph said, his voice flat as a blade. “Tell no one this arrived. Not even Her Grace.”
He folded the letter once, twice, and slipped it into his trouser pocket.
If a war was what Montague wanted, then he would have it. But this time, Raph would not be the one bleeding at dawn.
Camelia called out for the butler.
“Yes, Your Grace?” he emerged from the corridor.
“Prepare a carriage to Lempster Estate.”
“At once, Your Grace.” He bowed low and set about his task.
Camelia moved through the marble hall with measured steps, her heels echoing loudly on the floor. At the foot of the staircase, she paused before Josephine’s portrait.
The woman before her was calm and pale. Her hazel eyes were rendered in oils, so very like Pamela’s. For a moment, Camelia stared, her breath held.
“Your Grace.” Andrew appeared at the front door. “Your carriage awaits.”
“Thank you, Andrew.”
Camelia made her way to the waiting carriage, hoisted herself up, and made herself comfortable. She decided to hold back her tears until she saw her sisters.
She poked her head out the window to instruct the driver, but instead she caught sight of a small figure standing at the entrance of the manor.
Pamela.
The girl stared at her for a long moment, her hazel eyes dark with dread.
Camelia held herself steady despite the tightness in her chest as Pamela made her way to the carriage, Mrs. Weber following closely behind. Her small hand pressed flat against the glass window, fingers splayed like a star.
“Where are you going?” she asked timidly.
“I’m going to my father’s house, Pamela. But I’ll be back.”
“Must you go?” Pamela’s voice came through the pane, thin but resolute, as though she were bracing for the answer.
Camelia leaned closer, fogging the glass with her breath. “I won’t be gone for long.”
Pamela’s bottom lip trembled. “You promise?”
“I promise,” Camelia said, pressing her own palm to the window, matching Pamela’s handprint. “I’ll be back tonight. I can’t wait to hear every detail of your riding lessons and scold you for eating too many lemon tarts.”
A tiny, watery laugh escaped Pamela. “I’ll save you the biggest one.”
“You’d better,” Camelia teased. “And you’ll practice that canter with Susy, won’t you?”
Pamela nodded solemnly. “I have been practicing every day. So, you’ll be proud when you see it.”
“I’m already proud,” Camelia whispered. “Prouder than you know.”
“I… I know about my mother. I thought I’d speak to you about her, but I had no idea you wouldn’t be around today.”
Her tears threatened to fall as she listened to Pamela and watched her face light up when she mentioned her mother.
“Pamela, that’s wonderful news! Why don’t you tell me all about her?”
Mrs. Weber cleared her throat gently. “Come along now, Lady Pamela. Let Her Grace depart before the horses grow restless.”
Pamela’s fingers curled against the glass, disappointment etched across her innocent features. “I’ll tell you at dinner?”
“Of course, yes! I cannot wait to hear everything about her.” Camelia struggled to hold back her own tears as Pamela backed away from the carriage.
“You won’t forget me?” Pamela whispered so softly that Camelia almost missed it.
Her heart cracked in two. “Never. Not for a single second.”
After they said their goodbyes, the carriage lurched forward, its wheels crunching on the gravel beneath them. They rattled through the iron gates, and the familiar scent of blooming lilacs and fresh earth greeted her as Brentmere receded behind.
Camelia’s heart and mind were muddled with confusion, pain, and sadness. She longed to see her family, especially after last night. She felt used and abandoned by her husband.
When her journey finally came to an end, she let go of what little self-control she had.
The carriage wheels had barely stopped when she stumbled into Lempster’s familiar parlor, bonnet dangling from one hand, her composure in tatters.
Margaret rose first, a smile already forming. “There’s our Duchess! We’ve been…” she trailed off.
Iris’s teacup froze halfway to her lips.
Camelia didn’t speak. She simply walked straight into their arms and shattered.
Iris caught her as her knees buckled. “Camelia? Good God, what’s happened?”
Margaret’s arms came around them both, fierce and protective. “Who do I need to kill?”
Camelia tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. “Start with my husband and work your way down.”
Iris eased her into the chintz armchair, then kneeled in front of her. “Talk to us.”
Camelia pressed both hands to her face, her voice muffled. “I feel… used and confused. Last night, I surrendered everything to Raph, and this morning, he looked me in the eye and told me that he brought me there just to instruct his daughter. That I’m overstepping and I am not her mother.”
Margaret’s eyes flashed. “He said that?”
Camelia’s laugh was ragged and humorless.
“Yes, Margaret. And I am not oblivious about what was required of me in this marriage. I just believed that after…everything, it would be different. He would be different. That was an absurd way of thinking because I see now that I am not a wife. Not family. Just a governess with better jewelry.”
“And Pamela? Did she hear any of this? What did she say?” Iris’s grip tightened on Camelia’s hands.
Camelia sniffled. “She wasn’t there. But she stood at the carriage window and pressed her hand to the glass, begging me not to forget her. She looked so confused and terrified that I’d vanish as everyone else did in her life. My heart is breaking for that her.”
Margaret stood, pacing like a furious cat. “Right. I’m going to Brentmere. I’ll take a horsewhip and very specific instructions.”
Iris shot her a warning look, then turned back to Camelia. “What aren’t you saying?”
She sees right through me.
Camelia’s tears fell faster. “He has secrets, Iris. Terrible ones. And he keeps them buried because he thinks that the truth is crueler than silence.”
Margaret stopped pacing. “He’s wrong.”
“I know,” Camelia whispered. “But every time I try to tell him that, he reminds me that I’m only there to prepare his daughter for her debut, that this marriage was based on duty only.
And God help me, I still…” She pressed a fist to her chest. “I still love to be around him and Pamela. And I hate myself for it.”
Iris pulled her into another tight embrace. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Margaret cracked her knuckles. “Exactly. Three Lempster sisters against one brooding duke? He hasn’t got a prayer that would help him.”
“This is a heavy burden for you to carry alone, Camelia. But you are not alone. Sometimes battles such as these are won with patience, not force,” Iris assured.
“I have been pushing him to speak more about the truth, but he gave it to me in dribs and drabs.”
“He’s a man; they don’t like to reveal themselves until the very end. And the Duke has revealed himself and the truth. Am I right?”
“Yes.” Camelia thought about how vulnerable Raph looked every time he confessed. “He did reveal the truth, and I… I ran away.”
Margaret gripped her hand. “Follow your heart, Sister. But I, for one, cannot abide anyone who diminishes your voice! You had a right to ask him questions. His life is your life, and his truth is your truth.”
“And his lies are your lies too,” Iris added.
Camelia nodded, grateful for their wisdom, comfort, and steadiness.
Here, among her sisters, her broken pieces began to heal. But as she sat with them in her childhood home, she felt as though something else was missing.
“I needed to be with you,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “My heart was heavy.” She paused, careful not to spill all the secrets she carried from Brentmere. “I couldn’t carry the weight of it all on my own.”
Iris nodded slowly. “You need not share the details, Camelia. But you must not carry your pain in silence.”
“Whatever it is, we stand by you. Always,” Margaret vowed.
“Thank you. It’s easier to breathe here, where love is loud even in quiet moments like these. But the battle is far from over, and there’s a young girl at Brentmere who depends on me.”
“Then we will help you however we can,” Iris said determinedly.
“And when the storm comes, we face it as one. Me, you, Iris, and Pamela.”
“And what about Papa?” Camelia asked.
Margaret snorted, already halfway to the bell-pull. “Papa? Please. The moment he hears his baby’s been made miserable by that walking thundercloud, he’ll be saddling his horse and loading the dueling pistols he swore he used ‘for grouse.’”
Iris rolled her eyes fondly. “No, Margaret. Papa will cry first, then he’ll load the pistols.”
Camelia managed a watery laugh. “Or he’ll insist on bringing the ancient family sword he claims killed a French general.”
“And it ends all with a fatherly hug instead of violence,” Margaret added, shaking her head as she rang for tea with unnecessary violence until a servant arrived with a tray of freshly made tea and laid it before them carefully.
“Can you imagine Father marching up to Brentmere’s drive, waving the sword like a deranged knight and shouting, ‘Unhand my daughter, you black-hearted scoundrel?’”
Camelia could not help but giggle.
“And when the dust settles, Papa will sit Raph down with a bottle of his best brandy and lecture him on the proper treatment of Lempster women until the man begs for mercy,” Iris said with a smile.
“Or runs away,” Margaret quipped. “Either way, problem solved.”
Camelia wiped her eyes, the ache in her chest easing just a fraction. “The full Lempster cavalry, then?”
“Full cavalry,” Iris confirmed, squeezing her hand. “Papa, the sword, the pistols, three furious sisters, and one terrified duke. We ride at dawn.”
Margaret set her teacup down with a sharp clink. “Camelia, if he’s still shutting you out—”
“He isn’t,” Camelia said quickly. “Not the way he used to.”
“Then what is the problem?” Iris asked gently.
Camelia traced the rim of her saucer. “He’s… revealing himself slowly. I’ve seen a bit of his soul.”
“Was it dark?”
“Hush, Margaret!” Iris shushed their younger sister, who shrugged in response, and Camelia tried not to chuckle.
“It was not dark, but it was not light either. He carries so much alone. I want to help him, but he gives me bits and pieces of his burdens and truths, as if he doesn’t trust me wholly.”
“Give him some time, Camelia,” Iris suggested.
“I have. And I don’t plan to abandon him. Not now or ever.”
Margaret’s brow softened. “Then why do you still look like you’re drowning in this union?”
“Because every time I reach for the last piece he keeps locked away, he flinches. He’ll give me almost everything, but not absolution.
Not yet.” Camelia’s voice cracked. “I see the man he could be if he’d only forgive himself, and I’m terrified that if I push too hard, he’ll retreat behind those walls forever.
So, I wait. And I ache. And I refuse to leave him in the dark alone. ”
Iris reached over and covered Camelia’s hand with her own. “Then keep holding the lantern, darling. Some doors only open from the inside. He’s already turning the key; he just hasn’t stepped through yet.”
Margaret flung an arm around Camelia’s shoulders. “And if he still refuses to behave, we’ll kidnap you and Pamela. She’s clearly the only sane person in that house anyway.”
Camelia laughed and leaned into them both, accepting their embrace as her heart and mind prepared for a battle she may or may not lose back at Brentmere.