Mr. Plume gave her a gracious smile, a lovely bow, and quickly stepped back, waved her in. Best to get her off the front stoop as quickly as possible. “Ah, do come in, Lady Camilla. I see it’s beginning to sprinkle, a lovely Scottish mist, you know, but of course you do not have an umbrella, which I might add is very optimistic of you.” He looked around, thankfully saw no one. Still there was Lady Marchand across the square who loved nothing better than to spy on her noble neighbors.
“Thank you, Mr. Plume. Ah, Mr. Ivanov, could you tell him I’m here?”
“I fear not. He’s currently with Mr. Sherbrooke at King’s Head in Kent.” Should he tell her about the precious young gentleman’s new honors? No, it was not his place.
Mr. Plume watched her face fall, saw her stiffen her spine.
“Ah, King’s Head is on the coast, near Dover.”
Mr. Plume nodded.
What is this? What the devil is King’s Head? And why not Queen’s Head? Dover isn’t all that far from London. Is there a train there? Some tracks needing fixing and they’d called Alex?Cam cocked her head to the side. “But why, Mr. Plume? Did Alex—Mr. Ivanov—wish to go to this King’s Head near Dover, on the coast? He perhaps wanted to see the white cliffs? Did he wish to visit Dover Castle? Isn’t this very odd?”
Mr. Plume’s face was closed.
He was like Osbourne, never said a word about the family. “Ah, I had written him a note, telling him of my rather hurried departure to Bath to my aunt Deveraux. I never received an answer from him and, well, I was concerned he could be ill, you know.”
Mr. Plume knew very well. “No, Lady Camilla, neither he nor Mr. Sherbrooke is ill. I fear Mr. Ivanov never received your missive. Please come into the drawing room. I have a lovely fire set against the chill, which there usually is in London, even in our supposed summers. That’s right, just follow me. You can have a nice cup of tea, perhaps a nutty bun, though I doubt Cook has made any since neither gentleman is in residence, but perhaps some tasty seed cakes. Come, Lady Camilla. I shall fetch your letter to Mr. Ivanov, if you like.”
Cam realized she did want her letter back. It was too pathetic she’d even written to him. And he’d left without telling her.What will you do next? Weep? Stiffen your spine. “Mr. Plume, could you please send someone to tell the hackney carriage to wait for me? And ask the lady to come in?”
Mr. Plume gave her a fatherly smile. “I think it best that I dismiss the carriage and you and your companion”—thank heavens she wasn’t alone—“will be taken to Ormond Square in the Sherbrooke carriage.”
Five minutes later, Cilly sat beside Cam in the drawing room, each with a cup of tea in her hand. Cam smiled at Mr. Plume, said in her most imperious voice, “Please tell me the reason for Mr. Ivanov’s and Mr. Sherbrooke’s abrupt departure for this King’s Head near Dover, on the coast.”
Mr. Plume tried to stiffen his spine, be polite and tell her nothing at all, but he fell prey to the misery he saw in her very pretty eyes. He sighed and gave it up. “Mr. Ivanov is no longer a man without a memory, saved, as you know, as a young boy, by Mr. Sherbrooke, who, I’m sure you alreadyknow, made him his ward. We discovered quite by remarkable happenstance he is actually Graham Hepburn, Viscount Whitestone. He and Mr. Sherbrooke immediately left for Dover, to King’s Head, the estate of Lord Graham’s father, Vereker Hepburn, Earl St. Lucy.”
Whatever it was Cam had expected wasn’t this. This was in a different universe, or beyond. Lord Graham? Then it struck Cam with the force of a bolt of lightning. He was now a lord and she was a lady. She burst into the biggest smile Mr. Plume had ever seen. She raised her teacup, toasted him. “Mr. Plume, what is your first name?”
“Ah, it’s Ellison, Lady Camilla.”
“You have given me such wonderful news that if ever I have a child, his name will be Ellison. Thank you, thank you.” She set down the teacup, grabbed Cilly’s hand, and dragged her, nearly danced from the room. She called out over her shoulder, “King’s Head, you say, Mr. Plume?”
“Wait, Lady Camilla! Let Jeffrey fetch a carriage!”
Now five minutes later, Cam and Cilly were on their way to Ormond Square. Cam wanted to dance, maybe shout out a ditty or two. Now she could tell her father she could be a viscountess, Viscountess Whitestone, and she would assist her husband with improving train boilers. She would observe train problems, she would learn mechanical theorems to make improvements. She would kiss his face off.
Cilly marveled, watching her excitement turn the air around her vibrant with happiness. Life was the strangest series of happenings. Who could predict a rainbow when a blizzard had threatened?
But what if Mr. Ivanov—no, Lord Graham, Viscount Whitestone—didn’t love Cam? Cilly closed her eyes and prayed. Finch popped into her mind—Edward, lovely name. When would she see him again?
CHAPTER 38
Whitsonby House
Ormond Square
Osbourne met Cam and Cilly at the front door. He looked like the ark had sailed without him and the water was rising fast. There was a tic in his left eye.
The house was absolutely silent. Cam grabbed his arm. “Osbourne, what is wrong? What has happened? Is my father—”
“It’s her ladyship, Lady Camilla. Her ladyship—she’s—” He shut his mouth, the tic quickened. “You must see your father, he’s in his study.”
Something happened to Averil? Cam pulled herself together, nodded to Osbourne and said to Cilly, “Take care of our valises, Cilly. I’ll be up as soon as I can to tell you what is happening.” And she was running past Osbourne to her father’s study. The door was locked. She knocked. “Papa, it’s Cam, open the door. Please, Papa.”
An endless time passed, though Cam knew it was only seconds until the door opened. Her father stood in front of herin his shirtsleeves, his hair standing on end, his handsome face pale. He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before.
She grabbed his arms, shook him. “Papa? What’s wrong?”
