Chapter 32
“She rides like she was born to it!” Margaret exclaimed, completely distracted by Pamela’s riding.
“Your letter said to come at once. Life or death. What the hell is going on, Camelia?” Iris was on edge as she searched Camelia’s face for answers.
Camelia swallowed. “Raph left before dawn. He’s gone to fight a duel.”
Margaret gasped, and Iris’s eyes widened. “A duel? With whom?”
“Lord Montague.”
Margaret’s head snapped around. “Lord Montague? The man who tried to marry me and ruin our family? I thought he was long dead.”
“He’s not,” Camelia said shakily. “Why would you assume that, Margaret?”
“Well, Camelia, your husband looked ready to murder him, and we haven’t heard from Montague for months, so I assumed the Duke had given in to temptation and finally got rid of London’s finest scum.”
“Do learn to calm that imagination of yours,” Iris muttered, and Margaret responded with a shrug.
“Lord Montague is not dead. He sent a letter to Raph yesterday, demanding our father’s debt be paid or—” Camelia bit her tongue.
“Or what?” Her sisters looked intrigued and worried.
“Or by sunset today, he will destroy Pamela by revealing the truth about her birth. So, Raph went to end it all before it could begin.”
Iris’s hand flew to her mouth. “He rode out to kill him?”
“Or be killed,” Camelia whispered. “He said this time, he will not miss.”
Margaret stared at her, stunned. “And you let him go?”
“I begged him not to,” Camelia said, tears pricking her eyes. “I screamed. I threatened to take Pamela and leave forever. And yet he walked out.”
Iris gripped her arm. “Did Montague write to Papa? Threaten us?”
“No,” Camelia said, realization hitting her like ice water. “That’s what terrifies me. Papa never received a single letter. Not once. Only Raph.”
“But what could be so bad about Pamela’s birth that he would threaten to reveal the truth of it?” Margaret frowned.
Camelia did not answer.
“Camelia?” Iris looked at her expectantly.
Camelia sighed. “Lord Montague is Pamela’s real father. Her mother is Lady Josephine.”
“The Duke’s sister?” Margaret gasped, and Iris shushed her.
“Yes, Margaret. Please do announce it to the whole of London.”
“I’m sorry,” Margaret muttered.
“But I heard that the Duke’s sister died young of polio?”
Iris and Lady Josephine would have been around the same age, so Camelia knew that her sister would have known her.
“No, Iris. She died giving birth…”
They fell silent.
“How did Montague achieve getting His Grace all riled up?” Margaret asked.
“It was a sudden ultimatum.” Camelia’s voice dropped. “Oh God! What if it’s a trap? What if Montague doesn’t want money? What if he just wants Raph dead?”
Margaret swore under her breath. “You mean he lured him.”
“I mean, Raph is walking onto ground Montague picked,” Camelia said, “with seconds Montague chose, on a morning suitable for him.”
“Camelia, I hate to admit it, but if Montague wanted him dead more than he wanted the money, this is how he would do it.”
There was a long, awful silence between them until Iris found her voice. “We should ride—”
“We can’t,” Camelia cut in. “Even if we killed the horses, we’d never reach them on time. We can only wait.”
Margaret kicked the fence. “Wait? While the Duke might be bleeding out because of a vile man we didn’t even know was alive?”
Camelia rolled her eyes. “Only you thought he was dead.”
“Thinking that way made me feel better,” Margaret countered.
Camelia wanted to laugh, but her eyes filled with tears. “Why now? And why was no word sent to Papa?”
“There were no whispers anywhere else either. It’s too perfect. Too perfectly cruel.” Margaret said as she picked at a flower.
Pamela rode behind her, seemingly oblivious to the reality they were facing.
Or maybe riding helps her forget.
Iris pulled Camelia close. “The Duke thinks he’s saving her.”
“But he’s not,” Camelia whispered. “If he dies today, Pamela will lose the only father she has ever known. And if he lives, he’ll carry another death on his conscience. Either way, we lose.”
Margaret looked towards the empty drive. “How long do we wait?”
“Until a rider comes,” Camelia said, her voice hollow. “With news. Or…”
She could not finish.
The clip-clop of hooves on gravel made them all turn. Pamela came trotting up the path on Susy, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes shining with triumph or unshed tears. She pulled the mare to a halt in front of the fence and beamed down at them.
“Did you see me, Camelia?”
“Yes, Pamela. Your training is really paying off!”
“Did you see the water jump?”
“You did it perfectly.”
Camelia’s heart lurched at the sight of her. Last night, Pamela had not looked as alive as she did now. Camelia hoped that the girl was not forcing a smile for her sake.
“You were magnificent, Pamela. Like a centaur.” Camelia hadn’t noticed that Margaret approached Susy. She petted the mare gently.
“I have never seen a cleaner line over water. You made it look easy.” Iris smiled at Pamela warmly.
Pamela’s cheeks flushed scarlet. She ducked her head, suddenly shy. “Thank you, Lady Iris.” She turned to Margaret. “Lady Margaret, do you have any tips? Camelia did tell me that you always beat everyone at the hunt.”
Margaret’s grin was wolfish. “Tips? Sweetheart, I was about to ask you for lessons. That turn you made after the brush fence? I couldn’t have done it half so smooth.”
Pamela glowed, practically squirming in the saddle. “Really?”
“Really,” Margaret swore, hand on her heart. “We should ride together next time. And you can lead us.”
The sun dipped lower, bleeding orange across the frost, and Camelia felt the cold seep deeper than the air. Their long shadows stretched across the empty drive, causing her smile to falter.
The day was almost over, and Raph still had not returned.
She braced her heart for the worst news. Her mind drifted to her last moments with him and how they fought. She should have kissed him more and spoken her mind from the start. But God knew that if he returned, she would confess all of her heart’s secrets to him. But if he didn’t…
“Come along, Pamela. The light’s going out, so let’s get you and Susy rubbed down, then we’ll start planning the grandest sixteenth birthday this county has ever seen.”
Pamela’s eyes went round. “Truly, Lady Margaret?”
“Why not?” Margaret helped her off Susy and linked their arms.
They skipped away from Iris and Camelia, Margaret only turning back to wink at them. Camelia mouthed a ‘thank you’ to her before surrendering to her sorrow.
“Margaret will make her forget,” Iris assured, already reaching for her. When the girls were out of sight, she whispered, “He’ll be back, Camelia. Be patient.”
Camelia managed a nod. “I’ll… I’ll join you in a moment,” she said, her voice thin.
Iris squeezed her hand once, and then harder the second time. “Breathe, Camelia. We’re still here.”
“Write the instant you hear anything. Anything. Even if it’s one line. We’ll ride back through the night if we have to,” Iris whispered urgently so only Camelia could hear.
Her sisters folded her into a crushing embrace.
“You are not alone. You are never alone. Promise you’ll send for us the moment he walks through that door, dead or alive.”
Camelia could only nod against her sister’s shoulder.
When they left, the front door shut behind them with a hollow thud that echoed through the house like the closing of a tomb. But Camelia remained in the entrance hall, with a single candle flickering in her cold fingers, staring at nothing.
The silence pressed in from every side. Somewhere upstairs, Pamela slept, mercifully unaware that her real father or uncle might be dead.
Camelia headed to Raph’s chambers, unsure about her next step.
“Your Grace.” Andrew’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Yes, Andrew? Have you come with news?” she asked eagerly.
“His Grace is in the study.”
A high, thin ringing filled Camelia’s ears the instant the candleholder slipped from her numb fingers. Silver struck marble with a sharp clang. Hot wax splashed across the floor, and the flame guttered out in a curl of smoke.
She never noticed; her heart thundered louder than any sound in the house.
Camelia ran.
Skirts bunched in frantic fists, slippers skidding on the polished floor, she tore down the corridor. Andrew hurried after her, calling something she did not hear. All that existed was the study door at the end of the corridor and the man in it.
She seized the handle and flung the door open with all her weight. It slammed against the wall with a crack that echoed like a gunshot, and plaster dust drifted down in the sudden draught. Firelight spilled across the threshold, and there he was.
“Raph,” she called out, afraid that she was just dreaming of his return.
Raph stood by the fire, his coat still dusted with frost from the road, his hair wild, and his eyes bloodshot but unmistakably alive.
Camelia stopped dead in her tracks. “Does this mean that Montague is dead?” The words came out in a cracked whisper.
He shook his head once. “There was no duel, Camelia.”
The room tilted, and her knees buckled. In three strides, she crossed the carpet and crashed into him. Raph’s arms caught her instantly, crushing her to his chest. She felt as though he might dissolve into nothing if she didn’t feel him.
For three long heartbeats, they simply held each other, breathing the same air and feeling the same impossible relief.
Camelia pulled back just enough to pound her fists against his chest repeatedly.
“How could you do this to me?” she sobbed. “How could you leave me waiting all day, not knowing if you were alive or dead? Do you have any idea what today is?”
“I know,” he rasped, but allowed her to continue hitting him. He held onto her as she raged at him. “I know, Camelia. Hit me again if you need to. I deserve it.”
“You—you,” she choked, her fists weakening into desperate clutching. “You foolish man.”
Raph walked her backward until her legs hit the sofa. He sat her down, then dropped beside her and pulled her into his lap as though she weighed nothing. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and cried until her throat ached and her eyes burned.
He held her through every sob, one hand stroking her hair, and the other locked around her waist as though anchoring her to the earth.
When her tears finally ebbed into shudders, he slid down from the sofa and knelt in front of her, taking her trembling hands in his.
“Camelia.” His voice was raw. “You and Pamela opened my eyes.”
“But… how?”
“I rode to Josephine’s grave this morning, fully intending to finish it.
Then, I found Pamela’s drawing in my pocket.
It was a portrait of us beneath a willow tree.
I struggled to keep both of you out of my mind; it was unbearable.
” His eyes glistened. “Until I decided that I just could not do it. I could not leave her, and I could not leave you.”
Camelia stared at him through swollen eyes. “Raph, I thought I lost you.”
“I know, I thought I lost myself, too. But the truth is, I found the real me when I met you. The me that wants to live and love.”
“Love?” Camelia’s eyes widened.
“Yes, Camelia. I love you.” He spoke the words roughly and reverently as though they had been locked inside him for years. “I love you so fiercely it terrifies me more than any bullet ever could. When I thought of you, I couldn’t go ahead with the duel.”
Camelia made a broken sound and reached for him. “Raph, I love you too.”
He caught her hands and pressed desperate kisses to her knuckles.
“Forgive me,” he whispered against her skin. “Forgive me for every minute of terror I caused you today. I will spend the rest of my life making it right.”
“I forgave you as soon as I walked through those doors and saw you alive with no more bullet wounds adorning you.”
“I’m here, Camelia. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“What about Montague?” she asked. “Will he threaten us forever?”
Raph’s jaw clenched. “We do not have to worry about him.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, I have evidence. Letters, witnesses, and debts. It’s enough to see him hanged or exiled.”
“Why haven’t you used it before?”
“I never used it because a trial would drag Pamela’s name through every courtroom and scandal sheet in England. I was afraid.” He met her eyes. “But I am not afraid anymore. Because I have you and Pamela. That is all that matters to me.”
She cupped his face in her hand. He was rough under her soft touch. “Oh, how I prayed for your safe return, Raph. We figured out that he tried to trap you!”
“Let him try, and let him speak. I will destroy him with truth instead of blood.”
Camelia slipped from the sofa and rose, her hands sliding up Raph’s arms to close around his shoulders. She pulled him up slowly, as though the weight of the day still clung to him. When he stood before her, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him.
It was not soft or gentle. It was a kiss forged in terror and relief, in hours of dread and the sudden, blinding miracle of his breath against her lips. It tasted of salt and smoke and the sharp edge of near loss.
Her fingernails dug into the nape of his neck, anchoring him to her as if he might still vanish. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, trembling with the same fierce gratitude.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads still pressed together, both of them were shaking, breathing ragged in the quiet room, Camelia’s body aching for him.
They held each other desperately.
“We have to tell Pamela,” she whispered.
“When should we?”
“Tonight. We will tell her everything. And we’ll do it together.”
Raph closed his eyes and exhaled like a man finally surfacing from deep water. “Together,” he echoed.
Camelia took his hand, lacing their fingers tight. “Yes. And she has waited long enough for her father to come home.”