Chapter 2 #2
“Not at all,” Camilla answered honestly.
“His paternal responsibility began and ended with siring the six of us. He left us to our own devices to sort out the rest.” When the words were out, she wanted to knock herself on the head.
Perhaps she should spend time thinking of witticisms. Otherwise, she would keep uttering such wholly inappropriate statements as the begetting of children.
If Pembroke was shocked, he did not show it.
“I did not know my father long enough to say this with any kind of certainty, but I suspect he was not dissimilar to the late Lord Poole. Fortunately, my grandfather seemed to dote on me. He claimed to do so to make me aware of my consequence, but there was true affection behind it.”
She dropped her gaze to her hands holding the reins, a smile lurking. “He must have seen the need. Even now, your confusion over what is your due seems to have entirely stolen your confidence.”
His only sign of laughter was in the quirk of his lips. “You find that hard to believe, but I assure you it is true. I tremble at social engagements.”
“You tremble for fear that a single woman will set her sights on you,” she retorted, her eyes directed forward. It felt good to say what she thought in the guise of a jest. She could speak honestly but pull back and dissemble if it went too far.
“I tremble about a great many things, but not about that,” he replied smugly. “I am not so easily hooked.”
“Hm.” She closed her lips, the good feeling evaporating. He viewed engagement and marriage as getting hooked, with the result akin to a trout flopping about on land. What did he think? That single ladies were waiting in line with fishing rods?
“I don’t like that sound you made—or that look on your face. What is behind that “hm” and those puckered lips?”
Ahead of them, the opening in the woods appeared, and it was not too soon to find shelter.
The sun had already begun to beat down, and they still had the ride back to endure.
Riding with Pembroke was not as pleasurable as she had found it at first—not when her heart raced, ached, soared, or froze by turns.
But he would not be put off from hearing her answer.
“Anyone might understand your desire to hold off on marriage, or even escape the married state altogether—although you must own that for a man in your position whose sole duty is to produce an heir, hardly a Herculean task—the ambition lacks sense. After all, once you have got your heir, you may then disappear into your clubs or escape to your hunting box.” She tried to give him an arch look but feared her true emotions were too visible.
His answering laughter sounded uncomfortable. “It is not a Herculean task, but a Sisyphean one.”
Camilla darted a glance at him, suddenly understanding.
He viewed marriage like a chore that was to be repeated day after exhausting day in futility.
With an opinion like that, how could he ever wish to marry?
The knowledge depressed her. Determined not to show her dismay and desirous of excusing his obstinacy, she resumed her light tone.
“My dear Pembroke, how distressing you make it all sound.”
“Indeed,” he replied, falsely contrite. “’Tis very distressing. Fortunately I have good friends such as you, Lady Camilla, with whom I can be entirely open and not dissemble.”
“You are fortunate indeed.” Pleased that he called her a good friend, she obeyed her first instinct and smiled at him.
It was only when she turned forward that the import of his words sobered her.
He could open up with her and consider her a good friend because he did not possess any deeper feelings in her regard.
If he felt half of what she did, he wouldn’t be so complacent.
They entered the cool of the woods, the large branches overhead turning the path into a green sanctuary. Rather than finding relief in the cool shelter, she felt chilled.
They shortly turned off the main path to follow a smaller trail.
Pembroke rode ahead, and Briar followed the earl’s horse as he picked his way down the narrow path along the side of the hill.
When they reached the bottom, Camilla joined the others, and allowed her mare to drink at the water’s edge before securing her loosely with the other horses under a tree.
The glade was enchanting with long grass growing in the sunlit opening and light green leaves framing the sky on the outer edges of the clearing.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Miles said at her side. “In the springtime, this area is filled with bluebells.”
She murmured her assent. Joanna called him to ask if he didn’t think his stallion’s fetlock to be swollen, and he strode over to examine it.
Camilla would be useless to help, and besides she heard Miles say he did not think it to be affected.
She forced herself to turn back and enjoy the scenery and not worry over whether Pembroke might ever view her as more than a good friend.
All thought fled when she was jolted by an icy sensation on her back, followed by a stream of cold water trickling down her spine.
She gasped and whirled about to find Evo there grinning and holding an empty flask.
He flicked the remaining drops at her face, and she stared at him in indignation, irritated that she could not retaliate in like fashion and wishing for once she was a man.
“Evo, you maggot!”
Beyond her brother’s shoulder, she saw Pembroke striding in their direction with his hat in the crook of one arm and wondered how much of her humiliation at the hands of her brother he had seen.
Before she could venture a guess, he knocked Evo’s hat off from behind, causing her brother to spin around.
Then in one fluid movement, Pembroke flipped his own hat outwards with two hands, sending the cold water from it cascading all over Evo’s head and chest. His eyes were twinkling as Evo sputtered.
“Shall I teach you a lesson?” her brother challenged, wiping his face with one sleeve. She could tell he had not decided whether to be offended or amused.
“You can certainly try,” Pembroke said, the corner of his lips turned upwards but a hint of steel evident in his voice.
“But I suspect it is my place to teach you a lesson. You are a gentleman—or nearly one—and as such have the freedom of choice. Choose not, if you will, to torment a young lady, not even one who is your sister.”
Camilla’s hope rose, and she stared at Pembroke. He had defended her against her brother again, and this time with actions in addition to his words. “Thank you, Lord Pembroke.”
“Thank you, Lord Pembroke,” Evo imitated in a falsetto, offense having won over amusement.
“Not at all.” Pembroke put the soggy hat on his head, then went over to pick up Evo’s hat and placed it on the young earl’s head. He threw his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Let us attempt an apology, shall we?”
“By all means, if you feel called upon to do so,” Evo retorted.
Pembroke’s arm tightened around his shoulder until it became a vise-like grip, and he bowed before Camilla, pulling her brother with him. They stood again, but he did not loosen his hold as he waited.
Evo seemed to feel it was useless to argue and said, “Oh, very well. I offer you my most abject and heartfelt apologies, dear sister.”
“You are forgiven, dear brother,” she said.
“That’s the spirit.” Pembroke loosened his hold and slapped Evo kindly on the shoulder. Camilla smiled at them both. The day now seemed more promising than it had a minute ago. Surely he couldn’t be completely indifferent?