Lady Tremaine studied Cam a moment. “My dear, I first saw you when you were perhaps ten years old. You were clutching your maid’s hand, your hair in thick braids down your back, glasses on your small nose. I remember you were laughing, nearly dancing with excitement when you saw a swan on the Serpentine. I knew looking at you that you would become quite beautiful. And do you know what Irealize now? Your glasses with the stark black frames give you a wonderful distinction.” She looked over at Graham. “As for your husband, well, I don’t wish to be indelicate but let me say I cannot wait to see your children.” And she trilled out a charming laugh.
She heard Graham thank Lady Tremaine, saying he only hoped their children would have his wife’s face and his excellent eyesight, which made her laugh more, and caress his arm.
“My dears, allow me to introduce you to my friends. Ah, Lord Graham, my son Elias very much wants to meet you. And here he is, nearly crowding me away.” Graham laughed, squeezed Cam’s hand and joined a group of young men.
Cam greeted guests she’d met before, of course, but now they treated her differently. She was no longer a girl with a nice dowry whose father would ensure she wasn’t nabbed by a fortune hunter. No, she was a future countess, not only a countess, but an important countess, a very rich countess. She was nowSomebody.
As for Graham, his story had been the topic throughout Society for several weeks. He was soon surrounded by both men and women, the women to flirt, many of the men to discuss investing in his train projects. He was a man of the future. He was a man who would change the future.
When the first waltz filled the ballroom from the orchestra on a dais at the far end, Cam watched Graham weave his way in and out of the guests, not pausing, until he was with her. “Come,” he said, took her in his arms. “Have no concerns about my stepping on your toes, my aunt Sophie taught me to waltz two years ago when I confessed I didn’t know how. She worked me like a horse until finally she patted my cheek and said I was now proficient enough to dance with our new little queen.” To prove it, Graham twirled her in a lovely circle.
Cam felt like she was floating, round and round they went, guests stepping aside to watch them. She laughed and glidedand swayed and once he even lifted her off her feet to swing her around. When he slowed, laughing with her, Cam panting, she gave him a blazing smile. “That was splendid. Goodness, Graham, let me catch my breath and let’s do it again. Mr. Petty taught me to waltz. He said I was as graceful as a swan’s neck. He should have waltzed with you, he would have swooned. It was a pity he had such wet hands.”
“Wet hands? I shall keep on my gloves, just in case.”
Cam danced with a half dozen other gentlemen, Graham with an equal number of ladies, but when a waltz was played, they were again the focus, so smooth and elegant they were. Cam couldn’t remember ever being happier than she was at this moment—sparkling candlelight, a room full of beautiful people, laughing, dancing, her wedding night, and that was a night she would remember when she was departing this earth. She saw Eliza waltzing with Winstead, saw her laugh at something he said, really a delightful laugh. She wished she could say something to make her sister laugh. Then again, at this perfect moment in time, she didn’t care.
They didn’t arrive back at Ormond Square until two o’clock in the morning. Six minutes later Graham was kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, and she was clutching him to her, moaning, biting his ear, her hands rubbing up and down his back, and lower. His touch, his mouth, were amazing and all the while he whispered wicked things to her, many of them she still didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. She knew she would understand everything by Christmas, and what a glorious thought that was. Wait, she was being shortsighted. She just might understand everything by next week.
CHAPTER 49
London
Lady Tremaine became Cam’s mentor. She planned Cam’s wardrobe for King’s Head and gowns for her social life in London when she visited her father’s house. Summer clothes, fall clothes, riding habits, gloves, hats, the most wicked underclothes since, Lady Tremaine said, she had to spoil her husband, and on and on it went. “When you return to London, we will shop for your gown for your sister’s wedding. This is so pleasurable, Cam. I always wanted a daughter, but God sent me nothing but dirty little boys, who, thankfully, have grown up to be fine young gentlemen. So, I suppose I have adopted you.”
And Cam didn’t mind at all.
Because Lady Tremaine was sought after by every modiste in London, her custom was spread out amongst the most renowned three. Cam’s wardrobe was completed in two weeks. Since all the bills were sent to Graham, Cam never saw them or she would have fallen over in a dead faint. Since Graham never said a word, just complimented her endlessly, kissed her whenever he found her alone or could pull her behind acurtain or a door, she never gave it a thought until Cilly said one evening as she fastened the exquisite silk-covered buttons down the back of Cam’s delicate gold silk dinner gown, “Mrs. Willig told me Lord Graham was a very generous husband, given all your clothes were designed and made by the finest dressmakers in London, no expense spared.”
Cam hadn’t realized, hadn’t thought, only nodded whenever Lady Tremaine had told her a particular item of clothing was going to be perfect on her—did he have sufficient funds? “Oh dear,” Cam said. She planned to apologize to Graham, swear she would economize, but when Graham entered their bedchamber and she was ready to tell him she would never again buy a gown, he looked at her, leaned down and kissed her, told her she looked so beautiful every time he saw her he nearly swallowed his tongue. Finally, she managed to draw back and clasp his face between her hands. “I know I am close to losing my brain so I must get this out before I do. Thank you, Graham. You are the most generous husband. All my new clothes are lovely. But the cost, will my dowry cover it?”
He grinned down at her, like a bandit. “Please do not kiss your father as you just did me. He insisted on paying half and it wasn’t out of your dowry.”
When she thanked her father, she gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek, hugged him close. He’d moved from numb shock at his wife’s betrayal to anger and now, thankfully, more to blessing his luck she was gone. He was, she realized, once again looking to the future and that meant excitement. He and Graham spent many hours not only with investors, but traveling by train to and from Manchester to meet with their local managers, both men with excellent experience that they’d managed to lure away with very fine wages indeed. To Cam’s surprise and joy, Graham asked her to write out exact steps workers were to follow when building his designs or adapting existing machinery. So many questions, answers,simplifying each instruction until finally both of them were pleased with the results. As an experiment Graham gave the steps to building a steel cube of a specific size to hold a fire-boiler part to Whit’s valet. He understood and managed, for the most part. When thanked for his excellent understanding, Terrance said, “I have to admit, my lord, even though this was of vague interest, all in all, I still much prefer the steps in producing my special pomade for his lordship.”
And most days a letter arrived from Graham’s father, always filled with news—the spring planting of beans, corn and squash, the bean seeds grown indoors until there was no more chance of frost. He gave Graham news of their neighbors with the hope he could perhaps remember them, remember something. But there was no memory. His father always signed his letters,Your loving father who misses you.
“A very smart man is my father. As you know from his letters, he and Ryder communicate often. They discussed how to improve this and that piece of equipment or a task that’s been performed for the past five hundred years to make his farmers’ methods more efficient and less backbreaking. Ryder and my aunt Sophie have visited King’s Head, and my father, in turn, has visited Ryder’s home in Upper Slaughter in the Cotswolds.” He paused, kissed her, couldn’t help himself. “I can just see him surrounded by a dozen children. They’d all bow and curtsey to him, all proper, but stay back because, after all, even though he appears to be Ryder’s friend, they don’t know him. Then my father would pull candies out of his pockets and spread them around with compliments to each child. Believe me, to a child, that means a friend for all time. As you know from his letters, they performed for him, singing, acted out plays written by the older children, and brought him into games of charades. You and I will travel there in the summer. I know Aunt Sophie wants to introduce you to the children. Now—” Graham pulled out from the envelope a folded sheet of paper, spread it out. “I wanted to showyou this. Father wants to build a private train line from Dover with a terminus at King’s Head because Dover is still too distant. This is a drawing of the topography of the land he considers most appropriate for rail lines and the best location for a terminus. He would like my opinion.” Graham raised glowing eyes to her face. “Imagine, Cam, we would ride in our own train from Dover to King’s Head and it would leave when we wanted it to.” He paused a moment, frowning. “That would mean of course a separate set of tracks for the fifteen-mile trek to King’s Head—ah, the cost, I can’t begin to imagine what it would cost. And who would invest if it is only for us? And why would they since the train would only go to King’s Head? Hmm, I need to speak to your father, see what he thinks.” He grinned. “It is a marvelous idea.”
There’d been so much change in her life. Cam realized with something of a shock that she now accepted such a grandiose plan with equanimity. Cam wanted to hug him, but she said matter-of-factly, “Of course he wants your opinion. Imagine, Graham, people could travel from London to King’s Head in a single day. It is amazing.”
Graham’s voice was thoughtful. “Father wrote he’d first considered a private line from London to King’s Head but realized soon enough the cost would be the size of a small nation’s yearly budget. Imagine, Cam, a train car would remain at Dover and be only for our use. Ah, the cost of the connecting track, the labor, the materials—well, no matter, when you and I are home—” His voice fell off a cliff. He swallowed, stared at her out of wild blue eyes, and he paled.
She said matter-of-factly, “Yes, when we arrive home—?”
He shook his head at himself. “It is still all so foreign to me. For half my life Ryder’s Chadwyck House was my home. Now, well, I suppose King’s Head is indeed my home and yours as well—even though I have no memories. Not a single bloody one.”
Cam hugged him close. “Our home, Graham. Listen to meand believe me for I’m not lying to you. All your memories will come when they’re meant to, you’ll see.” She pulled back, cupped his face in her hands, kissed him, smoothed her fingertips over his brows, smiled. “Imagine, our very own rail car all the way from Dover Station to our own private terminus at King’s Head. You know our family and friends will drink champagne and eat the oysters prepared the French way.”
He said slowly, “I’m picturing a train car with many wide windows to see the passing scenery, and leather seats, more comfortable than the usual ones even in first class.” He paused a moment, shook his head. “Perhaps a private train car can’t happen now, but in the future? Cam, I read about so many new ideas every day.” He frowned. “I really don’t like oysters.” He kissed her again, walked away, whistling, his father’s letter in his hand.
Cam looked after him, smiling, her heart full to bursting.
CHAPTER 50
Whitsonby House
Ormond Square
