Page 2 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

“Very well,” Camilla said, resigned. “But now I want to rest before dinner.”

“How can you rest in the middle of the day?” Joanna bemoaned, but having achieved her purpose, she was already on her way out. She stopped at the door and turned to lift a finger. “Don’t think you can wriggle out of tomorrow, for I shall not hesitate to jump on you in bed to wake you.”

Camilla smiled at the image despite herself, but cocked her head and replied with feigned asperity. “If you leave me to rest now, perhaps I shall not need so much of it tomorrow morning.” Joanna chuckled and closed the door behind her.

Alone in her room at last, Camilla sank into the armchair and exhaled. She dipped her head to see whether her stomach was rounded from the extra cakes she had eaten the day before but could not tell. She jumped up again and examined her waist in the mirror.

Do I look a fright? What did he see?

The image staring back at her was not particularly reassuring. Her normally thick hair was limp, and strands fell loose around her face, unimproved by a curl. She smoothed her hands over her blue cotton gown, the plainest she owned. The day before had been washing day, and her nicer gowns had not been returned to her. Besides, she had given up expecting Pembroke to show and could not be said to be trying very hard.

In the mirror, Camilla caught sight of the wardrobe behind her and went over to open it. Her gowns had been restored and lay neatly folded or hanging, and she stood before them deciding which one to wear for dinner. It must not appear that she was dressing for him, and if she were to wear one of her nicest gowns, her family might wonder at it. Knowing Evo, he would likely even comment on the fact out loud. It would have to be the light green silk. The gown fit well and would not spark comment, for it was one she often wore. Now, if only she could have some assistance for her hair, then her appearance might be half respectable that evening.

They dined at six-thirty at Elmscote. Their lady’s maid was spared to fix her hair but had only the time for a cursory style because Dorothea needed her. Time spent in solitude had helped to restore Camilla’s mind, although it meant missing tea in the drawing room, and her stomach was grumbling by the time she made her way downstairs. As she turned to enter the hall, Pembroke exited the library, and she couldn’t help but smile at him. He returned it and bowed, holding out his arm so she might take it.

“We meet again. How long have you been at Elmscote?” His informal, charming manner made her forget she wanted to treat him with distance. Last season, his behavior made it clear he had viewed her in a friendly light and nothing more. But now, when his gaze held so much interest, she wondered if his regard for her might have deepened in the months since.

“I arrived with my mother and Joanna in August, a week before the baby was born.” She hid all signs of nervousness at being so near to him as they entered the drawing room. They were the only ones there.

“Huh.” He frowned and pulled out his pocket watch. “Miles bid me most strictly not to be late for dinner.”

“Perhaps he did not expect you to obey him to the letter,” she replied, a teasing smile tiptoeing to the surface.

He turned to meet her eyes, and although he smiled, a tiny furrow had appeared in his brow. “Because I am the unreliable sort, is that it?”

She was tempted to remind him that none of them knew with any certainty when or if he would come to Elmscote, but she hesitated. There was a hint of sincerity in his question, even vulnerability, which was a side he rarely showed. It prompted her to answer him warmly and without guard. “From what I can see, you are most reliable on the things that matter.” As soon as these frank words marched out of her mouth, she blushed, certain he would see right through her.

She had known—their family could not help but know—that he had given Elmscote to Miles based on an old, worthless testament that had decreed Miles’s mother should have it. Camilla had admired him before he had done the deed, but that gesture tipped her esteem into something deeper and more lasting. Even so, she could not leave his self-satisfied look unchecked, or herself so exposed. “It is, however, a sad fact that you are fickle when it comes to all else. What a trial you must be to your mother and sister.”

He met her statement with a quick grin, but anything he might have replied was lost to her as her mother entered with Tilly and Joanna.

“Lady Poole,” he said, striding over to her and bowing. “You look very well. I believe the country air agrees with you.”

“How good to see you, Pembroke.” She allowed him to slip his arm under hers and lead her over to the sofa. “I have been visiting your aunt. She intended to dine here tonight but began to develop a headache and sent her excuses.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” he replied, depositing Lady Poole comfortably into her seat. “I will be sure to visit her tomorrow to see how she goes on.”

Camilla admired his way of charming anyone he pleased and was grateful for the attention he bestowed upon her mother. Lady Poole had never possessed a forceful character, and any possibility of developing one was quashed by an overbearing husband during their twenty years of marriage. As such, she was easily overlooked, despite her title of countess. Dorothea, whose personality was strong and decisive, had found their mother a particular trial in the years before her own marriage. Camilla herself was little better, and Joanna paid her the most perfunctory filial respect. That left Sophia and Tilly, the only daughters who until recently had truly appreciated their mother’s qualities. The relationship had begun to shift as Lady Poole grew in confidence and the five daughters in understanding.

Sophia and Felix entered the room, followed by Evo, and still, Lord Pembroke sat beside Lady Poole, listening and asking her questions, giving her his undivided attention. It is his way, Camilla thought. That is why it is easy for young ladies to believe his feelings run deeper than they do.

“I apologize for our tardiness,” Miles said, entering the room with Dorothea on his arm. “Augusta was not amenable to adhering to our dinner hour. Let us go directly into the dining room.”

“And here I was most strictly warned not to be late,” Pembroke said, coming to his feet and helping Lady Poole to stand. “I have been trembling in fear that I might offend my hosts.”

“Remember it for the next time,” Miles said over his shoulder. “You will not suffer for reminders.”

They assembled around the dining room and Camilla found herself across the table from Pembroke at enough of an angle that the centerpiece did not hinder her view. The development was not entirely fortunate; she would not be able to eat a thing and, if she did, would likely spill food on herself. The servants brought out the dishes and removes for the first course as a low murmur of conversation rang out in the dining room.

During a slight lull, Pembroke helped himself to the fish. “So, who is the most devoted of the four aunts?” he asked, looking at each of them.

“I am,” Tilly replied without hesitation. “I am actually useful, for I knit things for the baby.”

“You are indeed, and I am most grateful.” Dorothea, seated beside Tilly, sent her a warm smile of approval.

“My vote is for Joanna,” Evo announced, surprising Camilla and—by the looks of it—everyone else.

“Really!” Joanna turned to him, her eyes wide but a look of pleasure spreading over her face.