Raph knew that if he paid the debt, Lord Montague would only return for more. There was only one solution.
The butler waited, concern creasing his brow. “Your Grace?”
“Burn the seal,” Raph said, his voice flat as a blade. “Tell no one this arrived. Not even Her Grace.”
He folded the letter once, twice, and slipped it into his trouser pocket.
If a war was what Montague wanted, then he would have it. But this time, Raph would not be the one bleeding at dawn.
Camelia called out for the butler.
“Yes, Your Grace?” he emerged from the corridor.
“Prepare a carriage to Lempster Estate.”
“At once, Your Grace.” He bowed low and set about his task.
Camelia moved through the marble hall with measured steps, her heels echoing loudly on the floor. At the foot of the staircase, she paused before Josephine’s portrait.
The woman before her was calm and pale. Her hazel eyes were rendered in oils, so very like Pamela’s. For a moment, Camelia stared, her breath held.
“Your Grace.” Andrew appeared at the front door. “Your carriage awaits.”
“Thank you, Andrew.”
Camelia made her way to the waiting carriage, hoisted herself up, and made herself comfortable. She decided to hold back her tears until she saw her sisters.
She poked her head out the window to instruct the driver, but instead she caught sight of a small figure standing at the entrance of the manor.
Pamela.
The girl stared at her for a long moment, her hazel eyes dark with dread.
Camelia held herself steady despite the tightness in her chest as Pamela made her way to the carriage, Mrs. Weber following closely behind. Her small hand pressed flat against the glass window, fingers splayed like a star.
“Where are you going?” she asked timidly.
“I’m going to my father’s house, Pamela. But I’ll be back.”
“Must you go?” Pamela’s voice came through the pane, thin but resolute, as though she were bracing for the answer.
Camelia leaned closer, fogging the glass with her breath. “I won’t be gone for long.”
Pamela’s bottom lip trembled. “You promise?”
“I promise,” Camelia said, pressing her own palm to the window, matching Pamela’s handprint. “I’ll be back tonight. I can’t wait to hear every detail of your riding lessons and scold you for eating too many lemon tarts.”
A tiny, watery laugh escaped Pamela. “I’ll save you the biggest one.”
“You’d better,” Camelia teased. “And you’ll practice that canter with Susy, won’t you?”
Pamela nodded solemnly. “I have been practicing every day. So, you’ll be proud when you see it.”
“I’m already proud,” Camelia whispered. “Prouder than you know.”
“I… I know about my mother. I thought I’d speak to you about her, but I had no idea you wouldn’t be around today.”
Her tears threatened to fall as she listened to Pamela and watched her face light up when she mentioned her mother.
