“This is a heavy burden for you to carry alone, Camelia. But you are not alone. Sometimes battles such as these are won with patience, not force,” Iris assured.
“I have been pushing him to speak more about the truth, but he gave it to me in dribs and drabs.”
“He’s a man; they don’t like to reveal themselves until the very end. And the Duke has revealed himself and the truth. Am I right?”
“Yes.” Camelia thought about how vulnerable Raph looked every time he confessed. “He did reveal the truth, and I… I ran away.”
Margaret gripped her hand. “Follow your heart, Sister. But I, for one, cannot abide anyone who diminishes your voice! You had a right to ask him questions. His life is your life, and his truth is your truth.”
“And his lies are your lies too,” Iris added.
Camelia nodded, grateful for their wisdom, comfort, and steadiness.
Here, among her sisters, her broken pieces began to heal. But as she sat with them in her childhood home, she felt as though something else was missing.
“I needed to be with you,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “My heart was heavy.” She paused, careful not to spill all the secrets she carried from Brentmere. “I couldn’t carry the weight of it all on my own.”
Iris nodded slowly. “You need not share the details, Camelia. But you must not carry your pain in silence.”
“Whatever it is, we stand by you. Always,” Margaret vowed.
“Thank you. It’s easier to breathe here, where love is loud even in quiet moments like these. But the battle is far from over, and there’s a young girl at Brentmere who depends on me.”
“Then we will help you however we can,” Iris said determinedly.
“And when the storm comes, we face it as one. Me, you, Iris, and Pamela.”
“And what about Papa?” Camelia asked.
Margaret snorted, already halfway to the bell-pull. “Papa? Please. The moment he hears his baby’s been made miserable by that walking thundercloud, he’ll be saddling his horse and loading the dueling pistols he swore he used ‘for grouse.’”
Iris rolled her eyes fondly. “No, Margaret. Papa will cry first,thenhe’ll load the pistols.”
Camelia managed a watery laugh. “Or he’ll insist on bringing the ancient family sword he claims killed a French general.”
“And it ends all with a fatherly hug instead of violence,” Margaret added, shaking her head as she rang for tea withunnecessary violence until a servant arrived with a tray of freshly made tea and laid it before them carefully. “Can you imagine Father marching up to Brentmere’s drive, waving the sword like a deranged knight and shouting, ‘Unhand my daughter, you black-hearted scoundrel?’”
Camelia could not help but giggle.
“And when the dust settles, Papa will sit Raph down with a bottle of his best brandy and lecture him on the proper treatment of Lempster women until the man begs for mercy,” Iris said with a smile.
“Or runs away,” Margaret quipped. “Either way, problem solved.”
Camelia wiped her eyes, the ache in her chest easing just a fraction. “The full Lempster cavalry, then?”
“Full cavalry,” Iris confirmed, squeezing her hand. “Papa, the sword, the pistols, three furious sisters, and one terrified duke. We ride at dawn.”
Margaret set her teacup down with a sharp clink. “Camelia, if he’s still shutting you out?—”
“He isn’t,” Camelia said quickly. “Not the way he used to.”
“Then what is the problem?” Iris asked gently.
Camelia traced the rim of her saucer. “He’s… revealing himself slowly. I’ve seen a bit of his soul.”
“Was it dark?”
“Hush, Margaret!” Iris shushed their younger sister, who shrugged in response, and Camelia tried not to chuckle.
