Page 57 of Yielding to Love

“I’ll send James over tonight.” He retrieved his greatcoat and donned it. “With blood pudding and boiled beef. Eat something, will you?”

“I am eating.”

“Then get better. Don’t make me send for Jasper.”

*

Camellia invited Marianne and Lord Stirling to Tonbridge for Christmas. She wanted better company than her brother and Manfred, who never talked of poetry and novels, or teased her about her fear of high places, or whistled or played the pianoforte while she sang.

Seducing Major Taverston had been the worst mistake of her life.

And now, she needed to talk to Marianne. She had a question that she couldn’t put in a letter.

She felt well. Physically well. Her mood was steady. She was not overly tired. She ate what she pleased and never felt sick in the mornings. The only strange thing was her courses were late. She tried not to dwell on it. She’d missed courses before, and it meant nothing.

More concerning was the fact that Neville had never quite recovered from the trip to Tunbridge Wells. He had developed a cough that kept him up nights. He told her she should go to London and visit her friend if Marianne could not come to see her, but she wasn’t about to leave him, ill, over Christmas. Besides, if she were to go to London, Marianne would insist upon taking her around to all the sights and parties. What if she were to cross paths with the major?

Did he ever think of her? Did he ever think of her without contempt?

The week before Christmas, Manfred came for supper and cards at his usual time. As per his habit, he brought with him their mail from Tonbridge.

“A letter for you, Camellia,” Neville said, passing it over the table.

“A reply from Marianne!” She took it and walked a few steps away, breaking the seal. It was a no. Marianne and Philip could not come. Camellia skimmed through the regrets. Then stopped.

You see, I’m increasing again, and Philip does not think I should travel. Not even the short distance to Tonbridge. It was a surprise to us both, as you might imagine. But la! Maybe this one will be a girl!

The words swam before Camellia’s eyes, and she sat down swiftly.

“Bad news?” Manfred asked.

“Only,”—she cleared her throat—“only that Lord and Lady Stirling can’t visit at Christmastime.”

“I’m sorry,” Manfred said. Neville made a pitying noise.

“It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. Because her question had been answered. Sometimes, “whores’ tricks” did not work.

You asked about your friend, Major Taverston. He did come to London after leaving Tonbridge. He was quite a man-about-town for a while. Philip pointed him out to me one evening at the theater. You can’t say you never noticed how good-looking he is! But now Philip says he’s turned recluse. I believe he’s still in London. Rumor has it he’s at the Albany. But I don’t know if anyone knows for sure.

“Neville, I think I will go visit Marianne, after all. After Christmas.”

“Good. We will be fine here. You should go.”

Camellia folded the letter and set it aside. Major Taverston had better be in London. It appeared they were going to be shackled to one another after all.