Page 86 of Yielding to Love

He pursed his mouth. “Thank you. But I came to speak with Miss Harr—with Lady Bodwell. If it is not too great an inconvenience.” The words would have been polite, but it sounded more like a command than a request.

Philip frowned. “Lady Bodwell is in mourning and not receiving callers.”

“Philip, really,” Marianne said, then tittered. “How stuffy you sound when Camellia is here having tea with our guests. And if Major Taverston is a respectable gentleman, he may certainly join us.”

“I’ll vouch for Crispin,” said Hazard. “I’ve known him for years.”

“That might not be to his credit,” Alice said, smirking.

Philip thrust out his chin. “Very well, but it is up to Camellia.”

She didn’t want to be browbeaten again. She’d said she was sorry. What more had they to say to one another? What else would he accuse her of? Nevertheless, refusing would be suspect, so she said, “I’ll speak with him.” Her voice was so weary Marianne looked startled.

“In private,” the major said, brooking no argument.

For a moment, the whole room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Then Marianne said, “Why don’t you go for a turn in the garden?” She pointed to the window. “Right out there.” The implication was clear. Camellia’s friends would be watching.

He turned to her. “Will you?”

“Yes, of course.”

She mumbled her excuse me’s and beckoned for the major to follow. They went down the staircase, then out a side door. He walked stiffly and his face was strangely tight. She led him into the garden, which was flush with towers of blue delphiniums, white puffs of hydrangeas, and fragrant roses that were pale pink to bright red. They went down one path, then another. When she knew they were no longer visible from the parlor window, she stopped and faced him.

“Major Taverston, I suppose it is my turn to ask. Why have you come?”

He stared at her, then blurted, “The baby was mine.”

“Oh!” Her throat closed so tight she could not breathe. She became lightheaded; her vision swam. As she began to sink, he put an arm around her waist, catching her.

“Sit. Sit down.” He lowered her gently until she was sitting on the ground, then knelt in the dirt beside her. “Breathe slowly.”

She did. In a minute or two, the garden stopped spinning.

“Are you all right?” he asked. She nodded. He took a few shaky breaths of his own. “What…what was his name?”

“Neville,” she murmured. “For my brother.”

“Ah. Good.” He sat back on his haunches, staring at the ground. “Did Manfred know?”

She nodded again. “I told him. Before we were married. I had to be honest—”

“Of course. Of course, you were.” His face twisted, agonized. He spoke so quietly she had to strain to hear. “You came to me first.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I—” His voice cracked. “I never knew my own son.” His shoulders convulsed and he buried his face in his hands. She stared, helpless. She hadn’t known what to expect from him, but it was not this.

“Crispin.” She put a hand on his shoulder. James had spoken to her in confidence. She didn’t want to betray that. But she owed more to Crispin than to James. And she couldn’t bear to witness such hurt. “You were ill. It isn’t your fault.”

“You wrote me a letter, I think.” He caught his breath and swiped tears from his face. “I never read it. I don’t know what became of it.” He ground his fist into the dirt. “God, I hate myself.”

“You were ill.” She choked back her own tears. Deathly ill. Irrational with laudanum.

“He was my son. And I turned my back on him. And on you! That isn’t who I am. You must despise me. If I had known, believe me, if I had known—”

“I had to go to Manfred. I couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time.”

“I’m not blaming you. You did the right thing. The only thing. And God bless Manfred. He must have loved you very much.”