Page 7 of Yielding to Love

Chapter Three

Camellia returned to Marianne’s house at dusk. The porter greeted her with, “Lady Stirling would like you to join her in the sitting room.” She dragged herself to the doorway of a cozy chamber decorated in muted yellows and Egyptian Brown, with a birdcage housing a sweetly noisy pair of lovebirds. Her friend appeared so serene, dressed in pale-blue muslin, with lamplight spilling across the needlework in her lap, that Camellia hated to bring her troubles across the threshold.

Marianne glanced up, then laid her work on the side table. “Philip is dining at his club tonight, so I thought we might have an early supper in here.” She frowned. “You look exhausted.”

Camellia entered, removing her bonnet, and stripping off her gloves. “I am.” Everything that could have gone wrong, had gone wrong.

“Sit. I’ll send for tea. Clara will bring the children down afterward.” She sighed theatrically as she rose to pull the bell cord. “Once we’ve fortified ourselves.” Marianne’s three little boys were darlings, but rambunctious, and Camellia had noticed she liked to pretend they were a trial. A maid appeared at once. “Tilly, we will have our supper now with tea.”

“Yes, Milady.”

As the girl hurried off, Camellia sank into a velvet armchair and let her bones melt. She tried to gather her scattered thoughts while regarding the lovebirds chirping merrily. With a groan, she faced her friend. “Tell me how your day went. Cheer me, please.”

Marianne gave a little laugh. “I went to a breakfast at the Marypoles’. We were supposed to hear a missionary speak about India, but the man was ill, so everyone gossiped about the Taverston wedding instead.”

“Whose wedding?” Her forehead knotted. She couldn’t keep these London people straight.

Marianne put a hand to her heart and exclaimed with exaggerated disbelief, “You don’t know Lady Olivia Taverston is marrying her brother’s steward? The day after tomorrow? Camellia, it is the talk of the town!”

“Who is Lady Olivia?”

“The Earl of Iversley’s sister.”

She had heard of the earl. Or perhaps she’d read a snippet of gossip in the Morning Post. “Didn’t he also wed someone unsuitable?”

“He married a commoner.” Marianne leaned forward in her chair and lowered her voice. “The woman had been his mistress for years.”

“Oh.” Camellia waved a hand dismissively. “Then he did the right thing, marrying her.”

Marianne laughed. “That is a delightful way to look at it. Anyway, his sister supposedly had any number of more suitable admirers, including a duke, but if she is in love with the steward, all the better. Love matches are the very best kind.” Then her beaming smile faltered, as though she realized whom she addressed: Camellia the spinster.

She hated to be an object of pity. She wanted to remind her friend that she had had suitors. Two of them. She didn’t regret turning them down, even if marriage would have brought with it certain advantages. Children, of course. And financial stability. But also the things that Marianne hinted at with enthusiasm. Camellia could not deny a certain…curiosity about such things.

Just not with either of those two men.

Her face was becoming a bit heated, and she didn’t want Marianne to think she was put off by the subject, so she asked, “Are you going to the wedding?”

“Heavens no. Philip and I are far below the Taverstons’ touch. But I’m tempted to stand outside the church and gawk. Just to catch sight of the earl.” She grinned like an imp. “But don’t tell Philip I said that.”

“The earl is handsome?”

“Handsome does not begin to describe him. Oh!” She bounced in her chair. “I just thought of something. We should go gawk. The last unmarried Taverston brother is home from the war. He’s said to be almost as good looking as the earl. We could maneuver you into his path.”

Camellia frowned. Just what everyone wanted to see at a wedding. A crow.

Before she could come up with a response, Tilly reentered the room, bringing a tray with tea, cucumber sandwiches, fresh strawberries, and a separate pitcher of cream. Marianne doused her berries; Camellia left hers plain. Cream upset her digestion.

After devouring three tiny sandwiches and emptying her cup, Camellia was ready to turn the subject from weddings and confide in her friend. “I received bad news today.”

Marianne set down her drink, immediately attentive.

“I was unable to speak with Mr. Cooper, but Neville says even if the man accepts the position, he won’t be able to go to Tonbridge for a month. Family obligations, you see.”

What Neville had said was, “His sister is in trouble. The blackguard agreed to marry her, but Cooper is not leaving London until the deed is done.” When she’d asked how long that might be, Neville shrugged, looking past her, dead eyed. “At least a month. They have to have the banns read.” She didn’t know if Neville would survive another month in that hospital. He was scarcely eating and slept so much. Sometimes she feared he was giving up hope.

“Oh, how unfortunate,” Marianne said. She lowered her gaze to the floor, then raised it. “And there is truly no one else? You mentioned that Mr.…hmmm, Mr. Diakos? You liked him well enough, didn’t you?”

Another attendant. A gentle, knowledgeable man. “Yes, he is wonderful. But he’s a foreigner, and Neville doesn’t trust him. He mutters at him under his breath.”