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Fat lot of good that had all done her.
Old Mrs. Marsdell had used to quote Shakespeare—to thine own self be true, she had used to say, usually as a justification for why she was such a harridan.
Camilla had been true to everyone but herself.
She’d made herself over and over into someone who might be wanted, turning herself again and again like an overused sheet. Now she felt threadbare.
And look—she was doing it again.
Mr. Hunter wanted her to be his ally, to help him break free of their marriage.
Why should she do as he wanted? A vision flitted through her head—of how she might resist. He’d told her himself how to not annul the marriage, trusting she wouldn’t use it against him. After all these years, why shouldn’t she try?
She might force him to stay. She didn’t need love; she was just so, so tired of being left behind. She fell asleep, grimly imagining how she might force him to recognize their marriage.
When she awoke again, it was morning.
Sun peeked through the gap in the curtains. Birds were singing outside; she pulled the curtains back to see a cloudless sky on a perfect day. The air was crisp and sweet, scented with the smell of cut grass.
The ache in her shoulders from carrying her valise had matured into soreness; she stretched her arms overhead and felt her muscles protest. Her whole face hurt from last night’s tears.
She was going to have to go downstairs and see Mr. Hunter.
She inhaled.
She remembered her strategy, formulated well past midnight. Wait. What had she thought? She’d imagined seducing him. Telling the world that he’d debauched her. Last night, exhausted and angry, it had seemed almost rational.
In the morning, these plans felt like odd, dark dreams.
He was going to rid himself of her, just as everyone else had done.
It was true: rationally, she should be angry at him.
To thine own self be true, Camilla thought ruefully.
There was no reason to avoid anger except this: She wasn’t an angry person.
Camilla had been sent away over and over. Rector Miles had told her that the hope she carried was a legion of devils whispering from her shoulder, and despite his admonitions, she’d kept on hoping. She’d picked herself up and moved on time and time again.
It was time to face the truth about herself. If her hopes had not shattered for good by now, they weren’t going to do so. She was the kind of person who, when dragged into hell, would hatch a plan to win the devil over with a well-cultivated garden of flame and sulfur. It wouldn’t matter if it was impossible. She would still try. She just would.
Camilla took a deep breath and stretched her arms wide.
I like you, Mr. Hunter had said last night. You’re one of those people who can find the good in anything, aren’t you?
She looked out over the fields. They’d been picked over, some early summer crop plucked from the ground, and the remnants plowed over. They were now just long muddy furrows waiting to be planted with the eventual autumn harvest. She was the kind of person who could see all that ugly dirt and imagine the little seedlings that would poke bright green heads through the soil in a matter of weeks.
Everything she had thought about herself last night was true. She was worldly, idealistic, lascivious, flighty, and desperate. These were the foundations of her character, and no doubt they’d be her undoing, as they’d been at every step along the way.
Well. She’d tried doing what Miles wanted. She’d told herself her hope was a legion of demons leading her astray. She had tried to be good.
It hadn’t worked. This was why she tried not to look back: Nothing she did ever worked, and it was best to forget that it had happened.
With sunlight kissing her face, she could feel her desperation fading.
You’re one of those people who can find the good in anything, aren’t you?
“Yes,” she said. Her chin rose. “Yes, I am.”
Maybe nobody would ever love her, but she’d hoped beyond reason for such an eternity that it appeared she no longer needed a reason for it. Hope made absolutely no sense under the circumstances, but it was the only thing that hadn’t abandoned her.
She wasn’t going to let it go.
* * *
“You don’t look like you slept,” Adrian said, looking across the table at Miss Winters.
Her eyes were red and puffy, her skin wan. Their rooms weren’t on the same floor of the inn, but hers had been immediately below his.
He had suspected last night that he’d heard her sobbing. He could hardly blame her.
She gave him a dazzling smile that made him doubt what he had heard. “Of course I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking.”
He took a gulp of coffee. “I was, too. Our first course of action must be to contact my uncle.”
She blinked. “Actually, I was thinking about what you said. That your uncle thought there was something not right with the rector. I have quite a good memory, you see, and I had an idea.”
“I’m sure it’s a good idea.” The coffee scalded his throat. “And I absolutely want to hear it. I’ve inquired; it will take me an hour or so to go into Lackwich. That’s the nearest town where there’s a telegraph office. I can get everything taken care of in practically no time flat. Information and consultation really ought to be our first priority.”
Her lips flattened, but only for a moment. “I see. Of course.”
“You don’t mind staying here until this afternoon?”
She stilled, looking at him. “You’ll come back?”
For a moment, he felt a flicker of annoyance. Then he remembered that she didn’t know him, and what she did know of him was that they’d met when he was pretending to be a valet. She didn’t have to believe him.
“I’ll come back,” he said. “Before noon. Hopefully, my uncle will tell us to come down to Gainshire on the evening train, and we can get this all sorted out by tomorrow. You’ll never have to see me again.”
Her lips flattened once more. “Right,” she said. “Lovely.”
He wasn’t sure why her teeth were gritting or why she’d stopped meeting his gaze, but in the long run, it really didn’t matter.
“You’d best be on your way,” she informed him, and after a long moment, he decided that he agreed.
* * *
The telegraph was one of the most amazing inventions of modern society, Adrian reflected as he waited outside the office in Lackwich. Grayson had plans to lay telegraph wires everywhere in the world that was not yet connected—across the expanse of the Pacific Ocean, along th
e African coast. It was already a substantial domestic convenience.
Twenty years ago, there would have been no choice but to make his way back to Gainshire in order to discuss the matter with his uncle. He’d have arrived with a faux-wife in tow, raising questions that he didn’t want answered. He would have been closeted with the bishop for an unconscionable amount of time.
Today, he merely sent a telegram. It traveled near instantaneously, racing over electric wires, repeated by operator after operator until the message arrived in his uncle’s hometown a scant handful of minutes or so after having been sent. His uncle’s office was a fifteen-minute jaunt from the telegraph office there, and so after the courier was dispatched, he could have an answer, yay or nay, within an hour.
His own message had been sent at nine in the morning, the moment the office opened.
ENCOUNTERED OBSTACLE
SUSPICIONS RAISED
EMERGENCY ANNULMENT REQUIRED
PLEASE ADVISE
He hoped that this terse explanation of the last dizzying day of his life would let his uncle know that circumstances had changed drastically for the worse. But no immediate response had been forthcoming. He took to pacing in front of the office as he waited.
“Come back,” he imagined his uncle saying. “I’ll take care of everything.” Or maybe: “Is all well? Tell me how I can be of service.”
Over the last decade, he’d spent more time with his uncle than anyone else in his immediate family. True, he’d never been openly acknowledged, but there was real affection there. Even now, decades later, his uncle would speak of Adrian’s mother, his favorite sister, with a forlorn look in his eyes.
Grayson might think the worst of Denmore, but his uncle was just not a particularly demonstrative man. At least he wasn’t demonstrative in the way that the rest of Adrian’s family had been when he was growing up, with hugs and laughter aplenty. Still, Adrian had seen him prove his compassion to hundreds of people who needed help.
