Page 80 of Yielding to Love

“That was certainly unusual.”

Camellia sighed. “Yes, it was. But there is no cause for concern.”

“There isn’t? Whatever he said has made you pale.”

“I’m all right. I just…I’d met him before. He was apologizing for a trifle.”

“A trifle? Footmen do not address ladies over trifles. And trifles would not make you pale.”

“I cannot betray his confidence.”

“A footman’s confidence? For Heaven’s sake, Camellia.”

“I know. It is odd. But please. I just need to think about this for a while.”

*

Marianne kept her busy throughout the day. At supper, Philip was full of questions about the concert. There was no room for Major Taverston to intrude on her thoughts, though he stood firm at the edge of them. That night, Camellia tossed and turned, mulling over what this might mean.

The major deserved to know the truth. Or did he? Would he want to know? It would be difficult enough to decide whether to tell him that he had a living son. But one who had passed? What purpose would it serve to tell him?

She had sworn to Manfred she would tell no one. But the inheritance was no longer at issue so that promise was moot. Moreover, Manfred believed that the major had been told.

Feeling overly warm and uncomfortable, she threw off her blanket and rose. The window drew her. She pulled back the curtain and regarded the stars a moment, trying to picture her loved ones among them in the Heavens. Then she pressed her forehead against the cool glass.

Clearly, she should tell him. Baby Neville had only lived for a few weeks, but he had lived! Neville deserved to have his existence made known to his father.

Or maybe, Camellia thought, she was merely trying to preserve Neville’s memory by telling the truth of his birth to the only other person to whom the truth might matter. But what if it did not matter to him? What if he scorned her for telling him and said he did not care? His contempt, contempt for their son, would destroy her.

But shouldn’t he be given the choice to care or not care? Did he deserve that choice?

He could well disbelieve her and accuse her of hidden motives. Which was absurd. What could she possibly hope to gain by lying about this?

Maybe her motives were questionable. Did she wish to hurt the major the way she’d been hurt? Or did she imagine sharing her suffering might lessen it?

Or, worse, did she simply wish to see him once more?

And that raised the definitive question. How on earth was she to see him to tell him? She could hardly pay him a social call. And if she did do something so outrageous, who was to say he would not, once again, simply have a porter turn her away from his door?