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“Well.” Her uncle smiled. “Is that all you wished to discuss? I’ll get the direction for Lady Camilla, if you wish.”
“How long?” Judith heard herself ask.
He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“How long was it?” She looked at him. “How long did it take you to toss my sister out after promising her a home, a place to stay, clothing, a come-out… How long did it take you?”
His lips froze in a pained smile. “I did what was best for her,” he finally said. “Camilla has been with the Rollins family for seven and a half years.”
She had known the answer would be hurtful. She had thought he might have withstood at least a year. But it had taken him six months.
He couldn’t even tolerate her sister for six months.
“And my letters?” Judith asked. “What happened with the letters I sent? Did you send them on? Did you consider writing to me and giving me her new direction?”
“Ah.” Her uncle rubbed his forehead. “I felt she was better off…not remembering her old family. I instructed the servants to toss them out. Never tell me you’re still writing.”
Camilla’s old family? That was how he saw her now—as something more dangerous to her sisters wellbeing than a complete stranger. Judith imagined herself calmly turning away from him and finding that golden urn in the entry. It would make the most satisfying crash when it dented his bald head.
But it wouldn’t get her sister back.
“I have no other questions.” If she looked at him any longer, she would lose her temper in truth. “Get me my sister’s direction.”
Chapter Eleven
The sun, which had seemed so pleasant afterward, beat down oppressively. Christian sat next to Judith. Her hands were folded on her lap, her gaze trained on the fields ahead of them.
Someone who didn’t know her might have thought her serene.
Christian knew better. She was upset. So upset that she’d folded all her emotions deep, hiding them under the quiet of her tilted mouth.
“Do you think he was the one to take the money?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I should have realized the idea was foolish the moment I saw his home. What point would there be in his stealing a few hundred pounds?”
“Not everyone is rational about their dishonesty,” Christian pointed out.
“But he could not have snowed the solicitor. How could he claim to be Theresa’s guardian when he isn’t even housing Camilla any longer? And why wouldn’t Mr. Ennis tell me about him? None of this makes sense.” She folded her arms. “I hate to think that Mr. Ennis was lying to me.”
Christian glanced down at her. From her perspective…
Well, from her perspective, this was downright chilling. Her father had betrayed the family; her brother had been transported for the same reason. Her uncle had refused to take Theresa in, forcing Judith to take on that burden herself, and then at the first possible instant, he’d put her other sister out, too.
No wonder she didn’t want to think of Mr. Ennis as a liar. He was the only person in her life who hadn’t betrayed her, Christian included in that number.
Her hands trembled. Christian did not reach out to take them; that would violate their agreement. But he wanted to.
Her eyes shivered shut. “Oh, Camilla.”
“You don’t think she’d be happier with other young ladies her age?”
Judith made a noise in her throat. “She and I talked about this. We argued, really. He told her she would never want for anything. She’d have clothing, a come-out—even if it was only a come-out in country society, where the scandal would be less fatal to her chances. He’d never had children; he promised to treat her as if she were his own daughter.” Her voice shook. “Instead, he abandoned her to his second cousin, someone that Camilla didn’t even know.”
“Maybe,” Christian said dubiously, “she is happy with them.”
“Maybe.” But Judith sounded as convinced as he felt. “But at least I have her direction now.” Her tone firmed. Her jaw lifted. “And whatever might have gone awry, I am sure that I can fix it.”
Those words had a well-worn sound to them, as if she’d trotted them out so many times that they provided only threadbare comfort. “Find where the money for the younger girls has gone,” she said, holding up a finger. “Fix Benedict’s difficulties at Eton. Teach Theresa enough deportment that she might be able to marry with reasonable success. Find Camilla and assure myself that she is happy, that someone is looking after her future.” She was nodding as she spoke, ticking off fingers. “It’s not so much, these things. I can do them.”
“And what of Judith?” Christian asked.
The hand she’d used to tick off tasks fell to flatten against her gown. “What of her?”
“What are you doing to secure her future happiness?”
She didn’t speak, not for a long time. “I’m not unhappy now,” she finally said. “There’s no reason to worry about me.”
Odd. She’d said there was money in trust for the two younger girls. Why was there nothing for her? She ought to have had money as well. She ought to have brought her own damned chicken curry sandwich. She ought to have had more than one good, sensible gown. She wasn’t worried about herself, but she should have been. Someone needed to care about what happened to her, even if it was the man who had promised to make her hate him.
He pulled the horse to the side of the road. They were just outside town, with a field of turnips bordering one side of the dusty road and a bit of grass and a footpath on the other.
Her eyes opened. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
“But—”
She didn’t trust him, not one bit, and he could hardly blame her. She’d been struggling under a tremendous burden for the past eight years. It was a miracle she could still keep her head held high, an even greater miracle that she’d accomplished what she had.
“I have one task,” he said, “and that is to make sure you hate me. Somewhere in all those years of managing and arguing and planning, it seems to me that Judith fell off your lists.”
She looked down.
“The Judith I remembered,” he said, “would never hesitate to explore. She’d enjoy the summer sunshine. She’d wander the footpath just to see what was at the other end. She wouldn’t worry about anyone’s guardianship or her brother’s schooling. She wouldn’t have to.”
Judith glanced down the footpath.
“She would take a little time to herself every day, so she wouldn’t forget.”
“Forget what?” Judith said, her voice subdued. “That the world lied and told her that she was important?”
“No,” Christian replied. “She wouldn’t forget that somewhere, beneath the duties and the obligations, she still deserved joy.”
Her hands clutched her skirt. “You’re supposed to make me hate you.”
He looked at her, waiting, until she lifted her face and looked him in the eye. Until she let him see all the anguish written in her expression. He couldn’t hold her hand in comfort; holding her gaze would have to do.
“I trust you’ll recall that if there is a dearth of happiness in your life, it’s because I’ve taken it from you.” He shrugged. “Now, I plan to sit here and read. So go and take care of Judith.”
He took a book from his satchel and didn’t look up. Not when she unlaced her bonnet strings. Not when she took off her gloves, one by one, and laid them on the seat.
If he watched her take off her gloves, he might start thinking of the buttons on her gown. The laces of her corset. The nape of her neck, where he might lean down and… No, the last thing Judith needed at the moment was a man who couldn’t keep his eyes where they belonged.
He let her disembark from the carriage on her own, giving her this moment of solitude.
He didn’t look up, but he imagined her as he’d known her years ago. She would go out into the summer sun. She’d lift her f
ace until the sun’s rays outlined the dimple on her cheek, the curve of her lips. She would inhale and turn and finally—finally—she would smile.
The footpath led to a stream, one that chirped merrily over graveled banks overhung by ferns and grasses. The sun was high overhead, and Christian had been right—she needed this. She needed to breathe clear air, to feel the cobwebs in her chest loosen and break up.
Eight years of London fog and London smoke had taken their toll. She’d not had many idyllic moments.
Christian had it right—it was hard to hate him because despite everything that had transpired, despite everything he had done, they knew one another. She could keep telling him to make her hate him, but being hateful simply wasn’t in his character.
No matter how she wished for it, no matter what she told herself, she knew him too well. He would not stop bringing her her favorite sandwiches or making her laugh. He would always be the one to stop the carriage so she could have a moment for herself.
He would know when she needed it.
Standing next to the stream, with the sun tickling the back of her neck, it was hard to remember that she didn’t like him. Judith reached for the righteousness of her anger, but it slipped away, burbling like the water in the stream.
She tried. It was his fault Camilla had been abandoned, after all. Wasn’t it?
The words no longer rang true. It was Judith’s fault, too; she’d told her sister not to come crying to her when their uncle was cold and unfeeling. It was her uncle’s fault for not living up to his grandiose promises.
Next to those two huge wrongs, Christian’s fault hardly even registered.
