Chapter 30
“Pam!” Camelia called out, but the corridor swallowed her words.
Portraits of Raph’s family stared down in disapproval as she ran past the staircase, the music room, and the library.
Nothing.
Not even a sign that she had been there.
Camelia flung open doors and cupboards, her heart hammering. The drawing room and Pamela’s bedchamber were empty too. Panic clawed at her throat.
She decided to check outside; the stables were her last hope. Pamela always ran to the horses for comfort.
Camelia burst through the side door into the night. The air was sharp with frost and the sweet bite of hay. Lanterns swung from hooks, throwing golden pools across the gravel. She could hear the soft stamp of hooves, the rustle of straw, and from the far end of the stables, a broken sob echoed.
“Pamela?” Her voice cracked through the air.
Another sob sounded, followed by a sniffle as Pamela stifled her cries.
Camelia followed the sound past the rows of boxes until she reached Susy’s stall.
The little mare nickered softly. Camelia looked around and finally found Pamela. She was curled up in the corner on a pile of fresh straw, her knees drawn to her chest, and her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold in her sobs.
Camelia’s heart fractured. She eased the half-door open and stepped inside, straw crunching beneath her slippers.
“Darling…”
Pamela flinched, pressing harder into the shadows. “Go away.”
“No, I won’t.” Camelia knelt beside her and reached out slowly. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Pamela’s head snapped up, her eyes red and swollen. “He lied to me. All this time, he lied. And you did, too.”
Camelia swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He was trying to protect you, Pamela.”
“Protect me from what?” Pamela’s voice rose, trembling with fury and hurt.
“From knowing who I really am? From my own mother? From… from the man whose blood I carry?” She dashed angry tears away with the heel of her hand.
“I may be young, but I’m not a fool. I know what ‘real father’ means. I know I’m… I’m a bastard!”
The word hit Camelia like a slap. She gathered Pamela into her arms before the girl could pull away. “Don’t you dare say that about yourself. You are Lady Pamela. You are loved, and you are wanted.”
Pamela struggled against her for a moment, then went limp, her sobs tearing free. “Why couldn’t he just tell me?”
Camelia rocked her gently, stroking the tangled dark curls on her head. “Because he’s terrified, sweetheart. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that the truth will hurt you more than his silence ever could.”
Pamela’s fingers clutched at Camelia’s sleeve.
“But it does hurt. Every birthday when he looks like he’s attending a funeral.
Every time someone whispers and he pretends not to hear.
I thought… I thought if I was good enough, quiet enough, he’d stop being sad.
But it was never about me being good, was it?
It was about who I am and how I came to be. ”
“No,” Camelia said fiercely. “It was never about you being less. It was about him carrying a weight he thought was too heavy for your shoulders.”
Pamela pulled back, searching Camelia’s face in the lantern light. “Who is he?”
“Who are you speaking of?”
“My… my real father?”
Camelia hesitated. The truth burned on her tongue, but she should not be the one to wield that blade tonight.
“All I can tell you is that he is not a good man,” she answered carefully. “He hurt your mother, and your father—His Grace—protected you from him. He fought for you when no one else would. He chose you, Pamela. Every single day, he chooses you.”
“But what about my mother?” Pamela’s voice was small, almost lost beneath the rustle of straw. “Was everything true about her, too?”
Camelia’s heart clenched. Josephine’s portrait flashed in her mind’s eye. So much was left unsaid.
“Everything your father told you tonight was true,” she said carefully. “She did draw horses. She did sing off-key and run when she should have walked. Those parts are all real.”
Pamela searched her face in the dim light. “But there are other parts he didn’t tell me.”
Camelia exhaled slowly. “Yes, there are.”
“Will he ever?”
“When he’s ready,” Camelia promised. “When he knows you’re strong enough to hear the whole story, not just the pretty pieces.”
Pamela’s fingers twisted together. “I’m stronger than he thinks.”
“I know you are.” Camelia brushed a curl from Pamela’s damp cheek. “But some truths are heavy, darling. They bruise the person carrying them as much as the person hearing them. And Raph is trying to spare you the bruises.”
Pamela was quiet for a long moment before she asked, “Did she love me?”
The question was so soft and hopeful.
“She loved you before you drew breath,” Camelia said fiercely.
Pamela’s eyes welled again. “Do you swear that’s true?”
“On my life.”
Silence followed, and Pamela’s tears began to cease.
“When he does tell me… will you be there? With me?”
Camelia pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I will be right beside you, holding your hand every step of the way.”
Pamela’s lip trembled. “Why does it feel like he’s ashamed of me?”
“He’s not ashamed of you. Why would you think such a thing?” Camelia whispered urgently, cupping the girl’s wet cheek.
“I couldn’t help but feel that he was ashamed of me. He only ever reached out to me when you came along.”
“If anything, the Duke is more ashamed of himself for not shielding you better and for every tear you’ve cried in secret. He’s carrying guilt and not shame. Pamela, he is so proud of you.”
Pamela’s gaze dropped. “Will he ever tell me that?”
“He will.”
“And the truth, too? The full truth.”
“When the storm passes, and he’s settled down, I am sure that he will tell you everything. I swear it. But tonight, he’s drowning, darling. And he doesn’t know how to ask for help.”
Pamela was quiet for a long moment, her breath hitching. “I don’t want him to drown.”
“Neither do I.” Camelia brushed a thumb across her wet cheek. “We’ll pull him to shore soon. But we have to be patient with him… just a little longer.”
Pamela nodded slowly, then leaned into Camelia again, exhausted.
“Come now, the stables are no place for a young girl to rest.”
“Will you stay with me in my chamber? Just… until I fall asleep.”
Camelia brushed a stray wisp of hay from Pamela’s hair. “Always,” she murmured. “Try and stop me.”
They rose together, dusting straw from their skirts and sleeves. Pamela’s legs wobbled slightly, and Camelia slipped an arm around her waist without thinking.
Just before they stepped out, Susy stretched her velvet muzzle over the half-door and nudged Pamela’s tangled curls with heartbreaking gentleness.
Pamela’s face softened. She turned, pressing her cheek to the mare’s warm forehead.
“Goodnight, sweet girl,” she whispered thickly. “Thank you for keeping my secrets tonight.”
Susy neighed in answer.
Pamela kissed the mare on the forehead. “I’ll bring you an apple tomorrow. Two, if you promise not to tell anyone that I cried in your stall.”
Camelia smiled despite the ache in her chest. “She’s sworn to secrecy,” she said. “Mares are better at it than dukes.”
Pamela gave a watery laugh. “Much better.”
She slipped her hand into Camelia’s as they walked back to the manor.
“Promise you won’t leave before I’m asleep?”
“I’ll still be there when you wake up,” Camelia promised. “And the morning after that. And every morning you need me.”
Pamela’s voice was barely a breath. “Even when Father is distant and secretive?”
“Especially then.”
The letters lay spread across the blotter like a hand of venomous cards. Lord Montague’s spidery script crawled over every page.
The snake demanded money, or the whole world would learn whose blood truly ran in Pamela’s veins. And Raph had one day to decide.
One cursed day.
The door to his study opened without a knock.
Camelia filled the frame, still in her dinner gown. Her hair had escaped its pins, and her cheeks were scarlet from racing through every corridor in Brentmere. Her gaze flicked to the letters, then to his face.
“Raph.” His name sounded dangerous on her lips. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He did not look up. “Close the door.”
She did, then crossed the room in three swift strides. “Tell me.”
He could not answer. His throat was raw.
She watched him with deliberate quiet.
“Is Pamela all right?” he managed at last, the question scraping out of him like gravel.
“She’s fine… for now.”
“Where was she?”
“In the stables. She’s asleep now. Curled up like a wounded animal, but asleep.” Camelia’s voice shook. “She asked me why you decided to keep her in the dark about the man whose blood she carries. She thinks you’re ashamed of her, Raph. Do you understand that?”
Raph’s fingers curled into fists on the desk. “She is not to know—”
“She already knows enough to feel hurt. She knows she is not yours by birth. She knows you flinch on her birthdays. She knows you will not speak the name of the man who sired her because he must have done something horrible.” Camelia’s eyes blazed.
“Pamela thinks the truth is so monstrous that you would rather die than let her hear it from your lips.”
“Montague is the monstrous one in her story,” he snarled. “And tomorrow, I will finish what I started sixteen years ago.”
“What are you implying, Raph?”
“I will settle this matter once and for all.”
“Raph, don’t tell me you plan to—”
“There’s only one way to get rid of leeches like Montague. It is something I should have succeeded at sixteen years ago.”
“No.” Camelia slammed her palm on the desk, and papers fluttered around them.
“Tomorrow, you will sit Pamela down and tell her the truth with love, not with a pistol in your hand and blood on the ground. Because if you ride out to kill Montague, you’ll leave her with the same silence that is already breaking her heart. ”
“She will never be safe while he breathes.”