Page 7 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

A smile tugged at Sophia’s lips, and she nodded. “It is what I thought. You see, I think when you grow up with someone, you tend to know how they feel. Even the parts they keep hidden.” Camilla was now certain of where her sister was directing the conversation as she waited for Sophia to continue.

“You had guessed the direction of my heart, though I tried hard to hide my feelings. It was therefore not so very hard to guess yours, for you are not as reserved as I am.” Sophia’s eyes met hers. “I wanted to give you an opportunity to talk about your feelings for Pembroke should you wish to.”

Camilla froze as a dreadful thought entered her mind. “Did you guess it because I am too obvious? Does everyone know—does Felix?” She could not bear to ask whether Lord Pembroke might know.

“I don’t think so.” Sophia knit her brows, reflecting on the question. “As your sister, I know you intimately, and that is how I guessed where your heart lay. Perhaps it is how you turn his way if he’s somewhere in the room. And whenever he speaks, you are sure to pay attention and respond. But”—she sent Camilla an encouraging smile—“I do not think such behavior would cause anyone else to notice. After all, you would not be the only one to behave in such a way. Pembroke is highly sought after in Society. He must be used to such attention.”

“Worse and worse,” Camilla groaned, sinking her face into her hands. “You realize I must give up any infatuation I feel for him now, don’t you?” She laughed and strove for a light tone but felt the pain in her bones. She sounded pathetic to her own ears.

“Nonsense,” Sophia said in a bracing tone that was new. “Why should you give him up just because you are a bit infatuated? After all, look at how well my infatuation worked out with Felix, and no one was a more hopeless case than I.”

“You mistake me,” Camilla said through a tight throat, though she covered it with more strangled laughter. “Even if I own the tendre I feel for him—and I will own it to you, and you alone, if you please. Do not share it with anyone else.” Sophia gave her word, and Camilla went on. “I must give him up as the masculine ideal, because I have too much pride to be another empty-headed woman in his court who hangs upon his every word.”

“I see.” Sophia was silent for a moment, and Camilla wondered if she would urge her not to give up. Perhaps she had seen promising signs that showed Pembroke returned some of her feelings. If she had, as Camilla’s sister and champion, she would not hesitate to share them.

“I suppose you are right,” Sophia said slowly, quashing the brief hopes that had sprung up. “In Felix’s case, it tended to be other gentlemen who sought his counsel or companionship. My hopes would have been thoroughly dashed had he been constantly surrounded by ladies, providing him temptation at every turn.”

Her heart sank further. Not only was Sophia beautiful and capable of winning a gentleman’s heart—unlike Camilla—she was also perfectly right. There could be no denying that when Pembroke entered a room, women drew to him like a magnet. Why would he ever choose her when presented with such dazzling options? It was her sister’s way of telling her to give it up.

Sophia studied her with sympathetic eyes. “I do not say you have no chance, and I am the last person to tell you not to feel something you feel—or that you would do well to give him up. I will only tell you to be cautious in revealing your heart so that you do not end up hurt.”

As much as her sister’s advice stung, it was sound. She would have to control those wayward tendencies she had been having since he arrived of hoping his feelings for her had shifted into something of a romantic nature. To strengthen her resolve, she confirmed that she had correctly understood Sophia. “You are telling me you see no signs of interest on his side.”

“I am not seeing enough to encourage you to hope,” Sophia clarified. “Granted, I do not know him well enough to be sure. Unless he masks his feelings even better than I do, it does not seem as though he has settled upon you as his choice.”

Camilla dropped her gaze to her hands and noticed her rounded belly from the extra food she had eaten at Elmscote, and this despite the stays. She would have to have the maid pull them more tightly. Then again, to what purpose? No matter how much she tried, she could not hope to compete with other ladies whose waists were willowy and whose arms were slender.

“Do not take my words too much to heart,” Sophia said, a crinkle of concern lining her eyes as she studied Camilla. “I may be completely wrong.”

“He sometimes distinguishes me with his attention, and it leads me to hope,” Camilla confessed, “but I think you are likely right. It doesn’t seem as though he has set me apart in any way. It is those moments of pointed attention that can be misleading, but I must disregard them.”

“I think Pembroke is generally kind and attentive. It is unsurprising that he treats you with distinction, and I can easily see how that would raise your hopes.”

Sophia did not have a mean bone in her body, and Camilla knew she did not intend to wound. But everything she said made it clear her case was hopeless. It was better to end the conversation and nurse her wounds in private.

“I will take what you say to heart and will not allow his displays of attention to affect me.” She exhaled and stood. “Why do we not see if there are some biscuits in the kitchen?”

“Are you hungry already?” Sophia asked doubtfully. “We just ate breakfast two hours ago.”

Camilla moved toward the door. “I am, actually. I went riding before breakfast and did not eat much when I returned.” This was a partial truth. She wasn’t really all that hungry; she simply wished to put a clear end to the conversation and hopefully retire quietly to her room afterwards, so she could be alone with her thoughts.

Over the course of the following week, Camilla found plenty of evidence to prove Sophia’s belief that Pembroke felt nothing more for her than what he would a little sister. But there were conflicting signs that he cared more deeply than that, and she could not ignore those. For one thing, he spoke to her far more than he did her sisters. For another, he had defended her from Evo’s teasing on more than one occasion, though never as obviously as he had in the glade when he had dumped a hatful of water over her brother’s head and forced him to apologize. And there were times it seemed he regarded her for a second longer than a man would do had he no romantic interest at all. She could not help but to lean into that regard, to hope, and to allow the flutterings to continue.

On other occasions, he would behave in a cavalier way, leaving her side if one of the other gentlemen proposed some sport, or teasing her until she grew flustered and had no ready retort. Only then would he move on to another conversation, as if he had accomplished his purpose of putting her to the blush and had no reason to remain. These sent her mind spinning back into doubt.

The sultry air had lasted the week, with only a brief spell of rain to lighten it in the middle. Now, at last, the heat had reached its peak, and a storm erupted. As soon as it began, Camilla sought the library where a window seat was wide enough to sit and pull up her legs. Through the small diamond panes, she watched the wind tossing tree branches in the distance, and the flash of lightning coming seconds before the thunder. Whiffs of the rain-scented breeze filtered through the draughty window frame, adding to the charm. She did not even need a book to be entertained.

The soft click of the door opening alerted her to someone’s entrance, but she didn’t pull her gaze from the majestic view.

“I had a feeling I would see you here.”

She turned in the window nook and let her legs dangle, slipping her hands under her thighs. Pembroke stood in front of her smiling and holding a sealed letter. Camilla did not permit herself to look too closely for fear she would see a woman’s handwriting.

“How so?”

“I noticed you are fond of sitting in this window, and I figured you would not give up the chance to see the storm from this vantage point.” He peered out as a gust of wind surged and catapulted one of the smaller branches across the lawn. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

She nodded, smiling. “I like storms. Well, I do not like to be out in them, but I like to watch them. And I love the wind.”