Someone to Hold
Page 84
“I wish it too,” Anna said, “or that he had admitted the truth and acknowledged me and left me with my grandparents. I wish he had made another will. I wish he had married your mother properly so that Harry could have kept the earl’s title. I do not feel disloyal to Alex in saying so, for even he—perhaps especially he—wishes it were so. But it is not so, none of it, and we have to take life as it is. Camille—” She leaned forward across the table. “Do you love him? Does he love you?”
Camille stared at her. She knew Anna was not referring to Alexander. “Joel?” she said. And she heard a gurgle in her throat and felt her eyes grow hot and said what she doubted she would have said to another soul in the world, even Abby. “Yes. And no. Yes, I think I do, but no, he does not. We spent some time together on Sunday after Avery walked me home, and . . . I do not believe I have ever been happier. But I have not set eyes on him since. All sorts of momentous things are going on in his life, and lately he has been turning to me when he needs a friend in whom to confide, but I have not seen him since Sunday.”
It felt more horrible, more ominous put into words—not to mention abject.
“Then he must be in love,” Anna said. “I always knew he was an idiot. This proves it.”
There was no logic, no comfort in her words. Camille frowned, drew a deep breath, and turned her cup on its saucer without lifting it. She must get to the point of this contrived meeting. “I wanted to talk to you about something in particular,” she said.
Anna sat back in her chair.
“I am glad I have lived at the orphanage,” Camille said. “I am glad I have taught there. I have already learned a great deal—about you, about myself, about where I belong and do not belong. About being poor. I may well continue, for I have always been stubborn and do not give up a challenge easily. But there is an alternative, and I am at least considering it. My mother wants me to go home to Hinsford with her and Abigail. She will not press me, and I will not make a hasty decision. But . . .”
She looked up at last and met her sister’s eyes. It was going to be incredibly difficult to go on. But Alexander had advised her to allow herself to be loved. Avery had suggested something similar.
“Whether I go or stay,” she said, “will you—? Are you still willing to share the fortune you inherited from Papa?”
“Oh.” Anna expelled her breath on a long sigh. “You must know I am, Camille. If your mother has told you I will be leaving Hinsford to Harry, you must surely have guessed that I will also be leaving three-quarters of my fortune to my brother and sisters. It is not charity, Camille. It is not my attempt to buy your love. It is fair. We are all equally our father’s children.”
“Then I will take my share,” Camille said after drawing a ragged breath. “Not because I need it or necessarily intend to use it, but because—” She swallowed awkwardly. “Because you are offering it.”
Anna’s eyes filled with tears, and Camille could see that she was biting down on her upper lip. “Thank you.” Her lips mouthed the words, though very little sound came out. “It will be done immediately. Never mind the will. Wills can be changed. I shall write to Mr. Brumford. I wonder if Abigail . . . But it does not matter. Oh, I am so very happy.” She glanced downward. “And I would be even happier if we had not both allowed our coffee to grow cold.”
“Ugh,” Camille said, and they both laughed rather shakily.
It was not easy to allow oneself to be loved, Camille thought, to make oneself vulnerable. She really, really had not wanted to take the money—because her father had not left it, or anything else either, to her and she might never forgive him, though she remembered what her mother had said on that subject last night. But now the money was Anna’s, and sharing it with her sisters and brother was important to her. And accepting Anna with more than just her head had become necessary. She must somehow find a way of opening her heart too, but this was at least a start. If one could give love only by receiving it, then so be it.
And however was she to continue with her new life if she had riches in a bank account somewhere to tempt her? But perhaps she would go back home with Mama and Abby. There she would be far away from Joel. Oh, and the life would be familiar to her. She could give up the struggle . . .
Was she a coward after all, then?
“I suppose,” Anna said, frowning, “we could have these cups taken away and two fresh ones brought. They will think us strange, but what of that? I am a duchess, after all. And I have something to celebrate with one of my sisters.”
She raised an arm to summon the waitress, and they both laughed again.
* * *
Joel had never been inside the Upper Assembly Rooms, since they were largely the preserve of the upper classes. Afternoon teas there were open to anybody who had paid the subscription and, as in his case on that Thursday, to anyone who had been specifically invited. He donned the new coat he had bought yesterday, one that was readymade and therefore not quite as formfitting as an obsequious tailor assured him he would make the other two Joel had ordered. The tailor’s manner indicated to Joel that he had read the paper on Tuesday morning and had recognized the name of his new client. Joel was pleased with the coat anyway and decided that he would at least not disgrace himself when he walked into those hallowed and dreaded rooms. Now if only there had been a readymade pair of boots to fit him . . .
He was feeling ridiculously nervous. He was also wishing he had sought out Camille before today. It was going to be awkward meeting her for the first time since Sunday in a public setting and surrounded by all of her family. Sunday! It seemed like a bit of a dream. Why the devil had he not gone to see her since then? He was behaving like a gauche schoolboy with his first infatuation.
Camille stared at her. She knew Anna was not referring to Alexander. “Joel?” she said. And she heard a gurgle in her throat and felt her eyes grow hot and said what she doubted she would have said to another soul in the world, even Abby. “Yes. And no. Yes, I think I do, but no, he does not. We spent some time together on Sunday after Avery walked me home, and . . . I do not believe I have ever been happier. But I have not set eyes on him since. All sorts of momentous things are going on in his life, and lately he has been turning to me when he needs a friend in whom to confide, but I have not seen him since Sunday.”
It felt more horrible, more ominous put into words—not to mention abject.
“Then he must be in love,” Anna said. “I always knew he was an idiot. This proves it.”
There was no logic, no comfort in her words. Camille frowned, drew a deep breath, and turned her cup on its saucer without lifting it. She must get to the point of this contrived meeting. “I wanted to talk to you about something in particular,” she said.
Anna sat back in her chair.
“I am glad I have lived at the orphanage,” Camille said. “I am glad I have taught there. I have already learned a great deal—about you, about myself, about where I belong and do not belong. About being poor. I may well continue, for I have always been stubborn and do not give up a challenge easily. But there is an alternative, and I am at least considering it. My mother wants me to go home to Hinsford with her and Abigail. She will not press me, and I will not make a hasty decision. But . . .”
She looked up at last and met her sister’s eyes. It was going to be incredibly difficult to go on. But Alexander had advised her to allow herself to be loved. Avery had suggested something similar.
“Whether I go or stay,” she said, “will you—? Are you still willing to share the fortune you inherited from Papa?”
“Oh.” Anna expelled her breath on a long sigh. “You must know I am, Camille. If your mother has told you I will be leaving Hinsford to Harry, you must surely have guessed that I will also be leaving three-quarters of my fortune to my brother and sisters. It is not charity, Camille. It is not my attempt to buy your love. It is fair. We are all equally our father’s children.”
“Then I will take my share,” Camille said after drawing a ragged breath. “Not because I need it or necessarily intend to use it, but because—” She swallowed awkwardly. “Because you are offering it.”
Anna’s eyes filled with tears, and Camille could see that she was biting down on her upper lip. “Thank you.” Her lips mouthed the words, though very little sound came out. “It will be done immediately. Never mind the will. Wills can be changed. I shall write to Mr. Brumford. I wonder if Abigail . . . But it does not matter. Oh, I am so very happy.” She glanced downward. “And I would be even happier if we had not both allowed our coffee to grow cold.”
“Ugh,” Camille said, and they both laughed rather shakily.
It was not easy to allow oneself to be loved, Camille thought, to make oneself vulnerable. She really, really had not wanted to take the money—because her father had not left it, or anything else either, to her and she might never forgive him, though she remembered what her mother had said on that subject last night. But now the money was Anna’s, and sharing it with her sisters and brother was important to her. And accepting Anna with more than just her head had become necessary. She must somehow find a way of opening her heart too, but this was at least a start. If one could give love only by receiving it, then so be it.
And however was she to continue with her new life if she had riches in a bank account somewhere to tempt her? But perhaps she would go back home with Mama and Abby. There she would be far away from Joel. Oh, and the life would be familiar to her. She could give up the struggle . . .
Was she a coward after all, then?
“I suppose,” Anna said, frowning, “we could have these cups taken away and two fresh ones brought. They will think us strange, but what of that? I am a duchess, after all. And I have something to celebrate with one of my sisters.”
She raised an arm to summon the waitress, and they both laughed again.
* * *
Joel had never been inside the Upper Assembly Rooms, since they were largely the preserve of the upper classes. Afternoon teas there were open to anybody who had paid the subscription and, as in his case on that Thursday, to anyone who had been specifically invited. He donned the new coat he had bought yesterday, one that was readymade and therefore not quite as formfitting as an obsequious tailor assured him he would make the other two Joel had ordered. The tailor’s manner indicated to Joel that he had read the paper on Tuesday morning and had recognized the name of his new client. Joel was pleased with the coat anyway and decided that he would at least not disgrace himself when he walked into those hallowed and dreaded rooms. Now if only there had been a readymade pair of boots to fit him . . .
He was feeling ridiculously nervous. He was also wishing he had sought out Camille before today. It was going to be awkward meeting her for the first time since Sunday in a public setting and surrounded by all of her family. Sunday! It seemed like a bit of a dream. Why the devil had he not gone to see her since then? He was behaving like a gauche schoolboy with his first infatuation.
