Chapter 27
Atlas
Isat beside my mother in the back of the dark theater box, with Estelle and Augusta seated in front of us.
My gaze was trapped on the back of Estelle’s head, rendering me incapable of concentrating on the play.
In the time since our talk in the library, I had come up with many reasons that a courtship between us was a terrible idea.
We lived in the same house. She worked for us.
I struggled to trust others. She had secrets.
I had secrets. Not to mention she carried hidden pain and struggles—struggles that included her wariness of a relationship with me.
All this, and yet, I still wanted a relationship with her.
Had I read her interest in me wrong? Or was I reading too much into my own feelings and questioning everything again?
I had never been an indecisive man, but my past had twisted even the most integral parts of me.
When I was with her, a quiet calm settled over me, but in her absence, my weaknesses closed in like a relentless tide.
Estelle and Augusta laughed, and I easily picked out Estelle’s voice from my sister’s.
The musical cadence of it rang in my mind, growing more familiar with each passing day.
When she had said we should get to know each other better, I had sensed her building a protective wall around herself—one she feared I would cross.
She had been right, though. I needed to understand her better.
Sensing her partiality was not enough for either of us.
I would not pursue another woman who could not reciprocate my feelings.
A round of applause signaled the intermission, and I stood to stretch my legs.
“Atlas,” Augusta said, coming around her seat to link arms with me. “Take us to get drinks, if you please.”
“Mother?” I asked. “Would you care for some refreshment?”
She shook her head. “I don’t require anything.
” Her mouth formed a terse line, and she crossed her arms against her chest. She had been obsessing about Estelle too—but for completely different reasons than mine.
She would not forgive herself for the lost references and was determined to learn who the Lewis family was and their connections.
I rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder before I left the box. Augusta and Estelle trailed behind me, and I slowed to walk with them.
“How are you enjoying the show?” I asked.
“It’s such a witty script,” Augusta said.
Estelle grinned. “I agree. And the costumes are delightful.”
Their enthusiasm pleased me, especially Estelle’s. “I am happy you are enjoying yourselves.”
“Lord Camden!”
My eyes had been on Estelle instead of where we were walking, and my gaze jerked forward at the easily identifiable voice.
Mary Anne.
I bit the inside of my cheek, annoyance flooding over me. A moment later, Barry slid up beside her, and my annoyance doubled.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Barry smirked under his mustache. “We go months without your presence and then, to our great delight, we are graced with it twice in a fortnight.”
If sarcasm were made of cloth, he would be wearing a full suit. I knew he was angry with me for cutting off our friendship—though I had my doubts he was angry enough to attempt to kill me—but his childishness now wasn’t making me miss my time with him at all.
Mary Anne patted Barry’s arm. “Barry has such a sense of humor, doesn’t he? Really and truly, you were just the man we hoped to see.”
“Oh? Why is that?” I asked, even though I did not care to know.
Mary Anne preened. “As one of our oldest friends, we wanted you to be one of the first to know about our engagement.”
Barry grinned like a braggart, while Mary Anne only watched me.
It was then I realized her tone was not celebratory.
She was waiting for a reaction from me, but she would be disappointed in this.
I felt nothing for her. I was neither angry nor sad, but I could not say I was overjoyed either.
Forcing a smile, I slapped Barry on the arm.
“Congratulations.” It was the friendliest response I could muster. “You two are perfect for each other.”
I meant every word.
Mary Anne’s smile dipped into a frown, while Barry seemed to be appraising my level of sincerity. I waited to see the loathing in his eyes—the depth of emotion strong enough to kill a man—but it did not appear.
A moment later, Abramson joined our circle. “I did not know your family was here.” His eyes warmed at the sight of Augusta.
“Isn’t the play lovely?” Augusta asked him. I noticed she held no special amount of enthusiasm in her voice.
“Indeed, it is,” Abramson answered. He seemed to stall at what to say next, so he turned his attention to me. “Lord Camden, it’s good to see you out more. You should join us tomorrow at our usual haunt. A few rounds of entertainment at the tables would do you good.”
I tensed, but took every effort to relax my posture again before anyone noticed. “I don’t do that any longer, Abramson. I’ve already told you that.”
Barry huffed like he did not believe me.
Abramson shrugged. “You were wicked good. Think about it.”
Barry nudged Abramson. “Let the man alone. He will do as he pleases—he always does.”
Not ready to get into an argument in a public setting, I thought it the opportune time to leave. “Forgive me, my sister is thirsty,” I said. “Please, excuse us.” I dipped my head and escaped past them, bringing Estelle and Augusta with me.
After we were out of range, Augusta leaned close. “You handled that very well. Are you all right?”
I nodded. I thought she might chastise me for my rudeness and was grateful she did not.
My gaze flicked over to Estelle’s to catch her reaction.
She quickly looked away, leaving me wondering.
I hoped they both believed me because I did not care to expend any more energy on my old friends.
“Were you disappointed that I rushed you away from Abramson?”
Augusta hesitated. “He’s amiable enough, but he told me when we last talked that cats make him sneeze. I have had several days to think about it, and I realized I care more for Gingersnaps than I do him. I suppose the idea of having someone interested in me was more exciting than the reality.”
My lungs filled with relief. He was a decent sort of acquaintance but not a man I wanted her to marry. The long corridor opened into an anteroom for refreshments near the front of the building, and I directed us toward a footman serving drinks.
Once we all had lemonade in our hands, Augusta announced that she was taking a glass to Mother, despite her previous objections, and turned to fetch another cup. Estelle stepped up beside me in her wake. She appeared to want to say something but was vacillating over it.
“Go on. What is on your mind?”
She lifted a brow, thrown by my perception. “It’s nothing. But . . . were you in earnest? Are you well?”
I lifted a brow. “Do I look ill?”
“I meant after that run-in with your friends.”
Augusta must have told her about my previous attachment to Mary Anne, but there was no way she could know about my distrust of my friends for other reasons—reasons I had begun to doubt the further removed I became from my attack.
I shrugged. “We are not as close as we once were, so no, our meetings no longer bother me.”
“Then . . .”
When she did not finish, I guessed at what else she had been wanting to know. “Am I truly happy that they are marrying?”
She gave a slow nod.
“Yes, I am.” I smiled, glad I could answer her question honestly, and even more glad that I could read her better.
Her eyes searched mine, and I hoped she could see I meant what I’d said. I could not help but feel flattered that she cared.
“Good. I am relieved.”
Her sincerity and concern meant more to me than she could ever know. I longed to trust someone again completely, and I hoped it would be her. Despite my mother’s worries and all the complications of our stations, I believed we could overcome them if given the chance.
Augusta came back with her two lemonades, and I put my hand briefly on Estelle’s back. “Shall we return?” It was an instinctual gesture, but I quickly dropped my hand. Without her consent, I had no right to touch her in such a familiar way. I had to bide my time until we were both ready.
A moment later, just before we left the anteroom, Estelle paused in her step.
Her gaze caught on something to the side of us.
Curious, I followed her gaze with my eyes to a tall man not far from us—tall with sandy-colored hair and spectacles on the bridge of his long nose.
He had his own drink of lemonade in his hand and took a sip from it.
Estelle’s forehead wrinkled as she studied with a fierce intensity.
“What is it?”
“He looks . . . he looks like someone I might have known once.”
I glanced at the man again. “Would you like me to come with you to speak to him?”
She turned her head and shook it. “Thank you, but no. He’s just a memory now.”
Her answer seemed cryptic. What sort of memory was he?
And who was he? Could this be the man she had once daydreamed about?
I was overcome with an insane sense of jealousy.
Perhaps I was getting ahead of myself with my hope to trust each other.
Would we ever tell each other all our stories?
I cleared my throat. “Shall we keep walking then?”
She nodded and we moved to leave the anteroom. Another couple passed by us and Estelle stepped closer to me. Our hands brushed, sending heat up my arm. Her cheeks glowed pink, and I knew she had felt more than the simple touch.
I lifted my hand again to the small of her back. “Estelle, I—”
“Lord Camden, Miss Wilde, Miss Lewis!”
My hand jerked to my side. I would know that voice anywhere. I looked up to see Lord and Lady Timbrell arm in arm, strolling toward us.
I gave a surprised laugh that was laced with barely veiled annoyance. “It seems the entire countryside has come to the theater tonight.”
“I know,” Lady Timbrell laughed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
I chuckled at her enthusiasm, my frustrations easing. I was overreacting and need not take it out on my favorite relatives. “It’s always wonderful to see the two of you.”
“A happy coincidence, indeed,” Augusta said. “But it does make for a crowded setting. If you do not mind, I am going to hurry this glass to Mother before I bump into someone and ruin my dress.”
Estelle moved to follow, but my aunt had other ideas and latched on to her arm. “What do you think of our small theater? It is not London, but then again, what is?”
“I like it very much,” Estelle answered.
Lord Timbrell waved his hand to interrupt. “Yes, yes, but the real question, Lord Camden, is what does your family think of this new cottage hospital?”
“Cott—” I sputtered, shaking my head in disbelief. “Who told you?”
“Mr. Gilford who sold the property is an old friend of ours. When he learned of our relation to you, he wrote us a letter with the details.”
“Cottage hospital?” Estelle’s brow furrowed and she looked at me for clarification. I hadn’t meant for anyone to find out for several more months, but word always traveled fast in the country.
“It’s a small project I have undertaken.”
“Small project?” Aunt looked at her husband. “Would you call a hospital a small endeavor, darling?”
My uncle shook his head. “Buying and renovating a cottage is an investment. But hiring a doctor and staff to run it, well, that is unheard of.”
“I am not the first to do it,” I tried to explain. “Mother does not know yet, so please let me be the one to tell her.”
“Of course,” Aunt said.
“Drat.” Uncle snapped his fingers. “Do you hear the music? The play has started again.”
“We can visit later. Come see us, dear,” Aunt said, as they rushed off.
I put out my arm to Estelle. “We should hurry back as well.”
She nodded and curled her arm through mine. I thought it fit rather perfectly, but did she? With all the questions I had going through my mind lately, I dearly wanted the answer to this one.