“Protect me from what?” Pamela’s voice rose, trembling with fury and hurt. “From knowing who I really am? From my own mother? From… from the man whose blood I carry?” She dashed angry tears away with the heel of her hand. “I may be young, but I’m not a fool. I know what ‘real father’ means. I know I’m… I’m a bastard!”
The word hit Camelia like a slap. She gathered Pamela into her arms before the girl could pull away. “Don’t you dare say that about yourself. You are Lady Pamela. You are loved, and you are wanted.”
Pamela struggled against her for a moment, then went limp, her sobs tearing free. “Why couldn’t he just tell me?”
Camelia rocked her gently, stroking the tangled dark curls on her head. “Because he’s terrified, sweetheart. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that the truth will hurt you more than his silence ever could.”
Pamela’s fingers clutched at Camelia’s sleeve. “But it does hurt. Every birthday when he looks like he’s attending a funeral. Every time someone whispers and he pretends not to hear. I thought… I thought if I was good enough, quiet enough, he’d stop beingsad. But it was never about me being good, was it? It was about who I am and how I came to be.”
“No,” Camelia said fiercely. “It was never about you being less. It was about him carrying a weight he thought was too heavy for your shoulders.”
Pamela pulled back, searching Camelia’s face in the lantern light. “Who is he?”
“Who are you speaking of?”
“My… my real father?”
Camelia hesitated. The truth burned on her tongue, but she should not be the one to wield that blade tonight.
“All I can tell you is that he is not a good man,” she answered carefully. “He hurt your mother, and your father—His Grace—protected you from him. He fought for you when no one else would. He chose you, Pamela. Every single day, he chooses you.”
“But what about my mother?” Pamela’s voice was small, almost lost beneath the rustle of straw. “Was everything true about her, too?”
Camelia’s heart clenched. Josephine’s portrait flashed in her mind’s eye. So much was left unsaid.
“Everything your father told you tonight was true,” she said carefully. “She did draw horses. She did sing off-key and run when she should have walked. Those parts are all real.”
Pamela searched her face in the dim light. “But there are other parts he didn’t tell me.”
Camelia exhaled slowly. “Yes, there are.”
“Will he ever?”
“When he’s ready,” Camelia promised. “When he knows you’re strong enough to hear the whole story, not just the pretty pieces.”
Pamela’s fingers twisted together. “I’m stronger than he thinks.”
“I know you are.” Camelia brushed a curl from Pamela’s damp cheek. “But some truths are heavy, darling. They bruise the person carrying them as much as the person hearing them. And Raph is trying to spare you the bruises.”
Pamela was quiet for a long moment before she asked, “Did she love me?”
The question was so soft and hopeful.
“She loved you before you drew breath,” Camelia said fiercely.
Pamela’s eyes welled again. “Do you swear that’s true?”
“On my life.”
Silence followed, and Pamela’s tears began to cease.
“When he does tell me… will you be there? With me?”
Camelia pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I will be right beside you, holding your hand every step of the way.”
Pamela’s lip trembled. “Why does it feel like he’s ashamed of me?”
“He’s not ashamed of you. Why would you think such a thing?” Camelia whispered urgently, cupping the girl’s wet cheek.
