Chapter 23
The next day, Rowe sent a message to Miles at Grosvenor Square asking him to come to his house.
He would have gone to Miles, except that his cousin was staying where Camilla was and it would be awkward to see her.
He had not been able to sleep or think of anything else apart from her refusal.
Even food tasted like sawdust, and he couldn’t choke any down.
His cousin came without delay and sauntered into the study, unannounced and as one without a care. Rowe was waiting for him.
“Close the door, will you? My mother is out at present, but I should like to have a conversation without her hearing it. She will surely attempt to give me advice otherwise. I do not know when she will be back.”
Miles obliged, removed his hat, and came and sat next to Rowe.
“Here.” Rowe poured a glass of brandy for his cousin, then took another sip from the glass he was nursing. He was not in the least disguised, but it did seem to have taken the dull edge off from his disappointment.
“Careful,” Miles admonished. “I’ve never seen you take to brandy before your guest arrives.”
“Two sips only,” Pembroke said. “And I knew you were coming to join me at any minute.”
“Sounds desperate.” Miles accepted the drink, then folded his hands, his eyes resting on him, waiting for what he knew Rowe would say when he was ready.
“I am in love with Camilla.”
“Dorothea guessed as much,” Miles said. Rowe looked at him in vague surprise, and he added, “She has not spoken to her sister about it, though, so I cannot tell you how Camilla feels. If it’s any comfort, my wife thinks Camilla’s heart belongs to you.”
If only that were true. “Camilla turned me down.”
Miles raised an eyebrow, then frowned as he digested the news. It was a while before he spoke again. “I must say I am surprised. I had my own suspicions that she felt something for you and would not have expected her to refuse. What reasons did she give?”
“She said we did not suit.”
Miles looked like he would say something, but Rowe went on.
“I must say that it is the most incomprehensible sentiment coming from a girl with whom I have spoken on any and every topic, have shared all manners of jokes with, and with whom I have been more open than with anyone else. Whenever we are together, it is abundantly clear that we do suit. She cannot truly believe her claim, can she?”
“I don’t know.” Miles took another sip of his brandy. “Sometimes women will say a thing but they really mean something else. Might you have done something to make her confused about what you truly feel?”
Rowe threw up his hands in exasperation. “All I did was kiss the woman and tell her that I wanted to marry her.”
Miles turned to peer at him. “You kissed her first. And then you said, ‘I want to marry you?’” he clarified.
“Yes, I did kiss her first, and don’t read me a lecture about kissing a girl that I’m not betrothed to, for I was already certain I wanted to marry her. It’s just in that instance I could not help myself. The occasion presented itself and I took it. That is all.”
Miles ignored his belligerence. “And then you said, ‘I want to marry you.’ Exactly like that?”
Rowe thought back. “I think I said, ‘I suppose I shall have to marry you.’” He faced Miles expectantly, and his cousin returned a look heavy with irony.
“You kiss a woman and tell her, ‘I suppose I shall have to marry you.’” He enunciated the words, placing an accent on the word have. Suddenly Rowe’s eyes opened and he stared at Miles, his jaw dropping. How? How had he missed that subtlety?
“I bungled the proposal,” he said, torn between dismay and hope that he might yet set things to rights.
“Spectacularly,” Miles confirmed without pity.
“She had no choice but to think that you only said it because you kissed her first. You will need to go and tell her how you truly feel. And don’t do it halfway,” he admonished.
“At least not if you don’t want to suffer the rest of your life for your idiocy.
That, and miss out on a woman who is perfect for you. ”
Rowe ignored the insults, which he fully deserved. “Is she at home now?”
“She was when I left. I suppose I can get you an interview with her if you’d like to return with me,” Miles said, then added with a nostalgic smile. “This reminds me of another conversation we had in this room, about two years ago.”
Rowe stood, in no mood to reminisce about Miles’s proposal to Dorothea when he had one to make himself. “Let me get my hat.”
“Yes, do so. And even if you have only had two swallows of brandy, I advise you to chew on some mint leaves or something. Anything so that she does not think you are coming to her again, bosky, to ask for her hand in marriage over some misplaced sense of honor.”
The thought gave Rowe chills.
“Excellent notion,” he said, and strode off at once to take the advice.
Camilla crouched in the garden at the back of the house, pulling up some of the weeds.
She knew little about gardening but had decided to start on one little patch.
She did not know if what she was pulling up were weeds or plants, but they didn’t look like plants.
She was not even sure that anything had ever bloomed in the plot of land since they had been in residence.
It eased her heart to do something outdoors.
It had not been difficult to turn down Pembroke.
Not so very difficult. He had only proposed out of duty.
She would not sentence him or herself to a lifetime being bound in marriage when the proposal came out of duty.
She would rather never marry anyone than to suffer that fate.
The door to the house opened behind her, and she didn’t turn to see who had stepped out.
She hoped that whichever sister had come would see she wished to be alone and leave her.
Footsteps sounded until a shadow fell on the ground in front of her and stopped.
She recognized the shape of the top hat, then stood and turned.
“Lord Pembroke.” To her dismay, her voice cracked. She wished she could show herself strong in front of him.
“Camilla.” He took the basket from her one hand and the trowel from the other and placed both on the ground.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, wanting to add, Didn’t you hear me say we did not suit? but didn’t dare utter the words. Part of her wanted to be overborne by his objections, but the stronger part reminded herself to remain firm.
“When I asked you to marry me in Hampstead, what did you think I meant by my proposal?” he asked her. “Did you think I was not serious?” He licked his lips, as though he were nervous. She had never before seen him less than sure of himself.
“I thought you proposed because you had ruined me by kissing me when we had no understanding. You wanted to do the right thing.”
“That is what I was afraid of.” Briefly, he covered his face with his hands. “And why do you think I kissed you?”
“Because…” Her cheeks burned with the humiliation of what she was about to confess, but she had decided she would speak her mind, no matter how embarrassing the truth was. “I invited you to it. Like a woman who was desperate.”
Pembroke furrowed his brow. Frowning, he took her hand as he led her to the only stone bench in the garden and guided her onto the seat.
Then, he knelt in front of her, took both her hands in his, and looked fully into her eyes.
The frown was gone, and in its place was something different.
An expression in his eyes that almost looked earnest.
“I asked you to marry me because I am madly, deeply”—he spoke the words with serious deliberation—“and irrevocably in love with you. I have not known it for long. Or rather, I have felt it for some time but have only been aware of it in recent weeks.”
Her heart froze with what seemed like happiness, but it was so foreign a feeling she could not be sure. Had he truly said he was in love with her? Madly in love?
He must have seen her doubt because he squeezed her hands and pulled them toward him.
“I love the turn of your thoughts and the way you speak your mind. I love your sense of humor that is so dry a person has to look for it in order not to miss it. I love how perceptive you are, how kind, how ruthless in communicating your opinions to gentlemen who have less than sense on matters of love. And I love your face, your hair, your lips, your person.” He scarcely took a breath before finishing.
“Camilla, I humbly beg your forgiveness for not having told you this before I kissed you. Before I proposed to you. For not having known all of this early enough to spare you the pain of doubt.”
“You must not have known it,” she found the courage to say. “For you sent me the most confusing signs. One minute you were cradling my hand in yours and not letting me go, and that same night, you were telling Miles that you are going to propose to Miss Eubank.”
His mouth opened, and he stared at her without speaking. She feared that she had said too much. He must have a disgust of her for having eavesdropped.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she hastened to say. “I was coming to tell you that we were ready to sit down to tea, and I…overheard you. And hearing you speak those words was like a knife through my heart because I loved you. I was in love with you. And you did not return my feelings.”
“Then…that is why you did not return for tea.” He read the answer in her face and shook his head, thinking back.
“I supposed it to be the fatigue of the day as your message said when the servant came to deliver it. I understood, but I was sorely disappointed not to see you again—and not to see you the next morning before I left. I waited for you.”
“I was hiding,” she said softly.