Chapter 24 #2
Lord Camden seemed to be battling between amusement and frustration. “Augusta, if you were hoping to greet Mr. Abramson before he left, you may walk him to his carriage.”
Augusta looked from me to her brother and nodded. She released me and stepped around the open door, letting herself out.
I reluctantly moved to follow. I was a step past Lord Camden when he grabbed my hand. “Oh, no you don’t.” He tugged me back, and although the pressure was gentle, I stumbled over my dress, and somehow ended up with my shoulder flush with his arm. “What are you up to, Miss Lewis?”
“I am never up to anything.” My words could not have been more condemning. If only I had managed a slightly convincing tone.
He lowered his chin to study me better, but the motion gave me the perfect view of his lips. “Let me guess. Augusta is scheming to secure Abramson’s affections, and you are helping her.”
I snorted. “That is not what we were doing. We did not even know he was going to be with you when we started spying.”
His brow rose. “So, you were spying on me?”
My eyes widened and I floundered. My lack of words was made worse by the fact that we were still holding hands. How was a woman supposed to think so near a man as Lord Camden?
The frustration seemed to leave him and only the amusement remained. “You might as well tell me. I’m not letting go until you do.”
His threat signaled the alarm bells inside me, and my gaze darted every which way, searching for his mother.
“She’s not here. She went to town right after breakfast. Something about securing the perfect bonnet for one of Augusta’s new dresses.”
“I see.” My shoulders relaxed and I breathed easier. I think I might have even smiled.
He chuckled but let his gaze travel out the door to where Augusta and Mr. Abramson stood speaking outside his carriage. “Would you be disappointed if I told you that I don’t think Abramson is right for Augusta?”
“Would it be a fair assessment or are you prejudiced?” I asked.
“Both,” he said, tightening his grip on my hand. “He spent the last half hour trying to convince me that he was smitten with her and that I was standing in the way of true love.” He shook his head. “What he feels for her is not love. Not real love, anyway.”
He looked at me, searching my eyes for what I did not know.
“I want more for Augusta,” he said. “I want someone whose heart beats solely for her, whose every passion is for her and her alone.” His gaze seared mine.
For a moment, I felt like I was glimpsing into his soul.
I read the truth he was not saying: that when he fell in love, he would love someone with his entire being.
There would be no competition for his heart because he would give it utterly and completely. Nothing else would be good enough.
“I hope she finds someone who loves her that way too,” I whispered.
I felt the tiniest stroke of his thumb against the back of my hand. The motion was enough to set my heart quaking. “So why were you spying on me?”
“Back to that again?” I scrunched my face before giving in. “Augusta has this absurd idea about the two of us.”
“Absurd?” He frowned. “Why is it so absurd?”
“Because . . .” I hesitated and shook my head. “You’re not being fair. Are you really going to make me tell you?”
His thumb stroked my hand again before he released me. “No, I suppose that would be ungentlemanly of me.” He stepped away from me before quietly adding, “But that does not mean I agree with you.”
The timely shutting of the carriage door saved me from responding. I couldn’t have if I tried, for his words had stunned me. I turned my head to see Mr. Abramson wave from his window and Augusta retrace the steps toward us. Neither of us said anything more until Augusta reached us.
“Mr. Abramson is nice, isn’t he?” Augusta asked us.
I did not know him enough to answer, so I looked at Lord Camden for him to share his opinion.
He glanced at me and then back to Augusta. “He is nice, but manners and conversation are not the only qualities you should consider.”
“I suppose he is not as dashing as some, but he is handsome in his own right.”
Lord Camden laughed. “I did not mean his appearance either. Just take your time to get to know him better before you commit your heart.”
I thought his advice sage, and I told my own heart to do the same with Lord Camden. I feared my resolve was slipping with the rush of an avalanche. My hand was still warm at my side from his touch.
“Does that mean you will let Mr. Abramson call on me?” Augusta asked. “He alluded that he had come to do so today but that you had not been keen on the idea.”
Lord Camden sighed. “Yes. He may call on you.”
“Thank you, Atlas.” Augusta reached over and squeezed his arm. “It’s exhausting having others make decisions for me. I would prefer to make my own where Mr. Abramson is concerned.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “I know you are capable.”
“You’re being protective. I understand.”
It was a sweet exchange, and oddly I did not feel like I was intruding. I felt comfortable, like I belonged beside them.
Augusta smiled at me, as if she had read my thoughts. “If you’ll both excuse me now, I am going to tell our housekeeper to send tea up early. I’m feeling a little peckish.”
I took a step to follow, but she held up her hand. “Contrary to certain opinions in this house, I can manage a few tasks without the help of my dutiful companion.” She gave me a sly smile and sauntered off.
That scheming little minx.
Atlas chuckled softly beside me.
Atlas . . . When had I begun thinking of him as anything other than Lord Camden? I had no one to blame but myself. As for finding myself alone with him again, I knew exactly who to blame. I stole a sideways glance at him. “Your sister is quite troublesome.”
He shrugged. “We did try to warn you when you arrived.”
I laughed. “I suppose you did.” I wanted to revisit our conversation about why he did not think the idea of us absurd and what he meant specifically by it, but I was a coward of the worst sort.
I thought of something safer. “Are you planning to join us in the drawing room for tea?” I could hear the hopefulness in my own voice and inwardly cringed.
“You know, I am feeling a little peckish myself.” His mischievous sideways grin sent a quiet flutter through my middle. He extended his arm to me. I wanted to tell him that I preferred his warm hand but bit my tongue. What was this sudden hunger for his touch?
I took his arm and immediate pleasure filled me. An arm was a nice appendage too.
Inside the drawing room, we sat beside each other on the sofa.
Our shoulders touched as we talked openly together about a variety of subjects—including another argument about bread being better with jam or cheese.
But we discussed new things too. Neither of us cared for being measured for new clothes, but we both enjoyed the end product.
Lawn bowls and archery were favorites, but he added pugilism, fencing, and of course, horses to his list of hobbies, where I could only add music and embroidery.
We were both fans of Homer and Milton but disagreed about Byron—our discussion on that topic growing a bit heated.
“He had no values,” Atlas argued. “Take Don Juan. The poem is irreverent toward marriage and religion. Byron was a radical. No, I cannot enjoy his writing. His lifestyle tainted his work.” His voice drifted as he said the latter, as if the very idea was contagious and unforgivable.
“I concede your point. However, you must note that he gave his life in an attempt to join the Christian cause of the Greek’s fight for independence from the Ottomans. Did that not redeem him?”
He shook his head. “We are at an impasse. Who else can we argue over? Robert Burns?”
“Don’t you dare take jabs at a witty man of the people.” I laughed at his wide-eyed response to the passion in my voice.
“Ah, a fan of Scotland, are you?” he asked. “My mother would not approve. She prefers pure-blooded, refined English to anything else. But the Irish are much worse than the Scottish. The very country of Ireland is like a curse word on her tongue.”
My humor melted in an instant. Of course Lady Camden hated the Irish. It was not an uncommon prejudice. Did he feel at all the same? What would I do if he did?
“What is it?” he asked. “Did the mention of my mother put you in ill humor?” He meant it as teasing, but he had no idea how close he was to the truth. “She is not as harsh as she sometimes appears to be.”
I gave him a look that told him I did not believe it.
“She has had to manage quite a lot without my father. I was not the easiest child—or adult, for that matter—and Augusta has been a trial to her. My sister . . . my sister Athena. She was the perfect one. Her death changed everything.”
“How so?” My stomach clenched, dreading what he would say.
“She died in Ireland. We were visiting close family friends. Athena was out walking along the cliffs with two of them near our age. The ground was saturated after several days of hard rain and it gave way. It was an accident, but Mother will never see it that way. She turned her back on her friend and the entire country that day.”
I shook my head. “I cannot imagine how devastating that must have been.”
He produced a hint of a smile and surprised me by covering my hand with his own. “No? I believe you can.”
His touch was as lovely as always, and it gave me courage to share. “My parents died of the fever. We had a few days to worry, but it was a shock. Loss affects us all, does it not?”
“Indeed it does.” Lord Camden shifted forward, lacing his fingers through my own.
“I have not shared the details of Athena’s death to anyone before, but since you live here, I want you to understand that my mother is the way she is for a reason.
After father died, she reached desperately to grasp whatever control she could take over her life.
She holds herself together the only way she knows how. ”