“I couldn’t help but feel that he was ashamed of me. He only ever reached out to me when you came along.”
“If anything, the Duke is more ashamed of himself for not shielding you better and for every tear you’ve cried in secret. He’s carrying guilt and not shame. Pamela, he is so proud of you.”
Pamela’s gaze dropped. “Will he ever tell me that?”
“He will.”
“And the truth, too? Thefulltruth.”
“When the storm passes, and he’s settled down, I am sure that he will tell you everything. I swear it. But tonight, he’s drowning, darling. And he doesn’t know how to ask for help.”
Pamela was quiet for a long moment, her breath hitching. “I don’t want him to drown.”
“Neither do I.” Camelia brushed a thumb across her wet cheek. “We’ll pull him to shore soon. But we have to be patient with him… just a little longer.”
Pamela nodded slowly, then leaned into Camelia again, exhausted.
“Come now, the stables are no place for a young girl to rest.”
“Will you stay with me in my chamber? Just… until I fall asleep.”
Camelia brushed a stray wisp of hay from Pamela’s hair. “Always,” she murmured. “Try and stop me.”
They rose together, dusting straw from their skirts and sleeves. Pamela’s legs wobbled slightly, and Camelia slipped an arm around her waist without thinking.
Just before they stepped out, Susy stretched her velvet muzzle over the half-door and nudged Pamela’s tangled curls with heartbreaking gentleness.
Pamela’s face softened. She turned, pressing her cheek to the mare’s warm forehead.
“Goodnight, sweet girl,” she whispered thickly. “Thank you for keeping my secrets tonight.”
Susy neighed in answer.
Pamela kissed the mare on the forehead. “I’ll bring you an apple tomorrow. Two, if you promise not to tell anyone that I cried in your stall.”
Camelia smiled despite the ache in her chest. “She’s sworn to secrecy,” she said. “Mares are better at it than dukes.”
Pamela gave a watery laugh. “Much better.”
She slipped her hand into Camelia’s as they walked back to the manor.
“Promise you won’t leave before I’m asleep?”
“I’ll still be there when you wake up,” Camelia promised. “And the morning after that. And every morning you need me.”
Pamela’s voice was barely a breath. “Even when Father is distant and secretive?”
“Especially then.”
The letters lay spread across the blotter like a hand of venomous cards. Lord Montague’s spidery script crawled over every page.
The snake demanded money, or the whole world would learn whose blood truly ran in Pamela’s veins. And Raph had one day to decide.
One cursed day.
The door to his study opened without a knock.
Camelia filled the frame, still in her dinner gown. Her hair had escaped its pins, and her cheeks were scarlet from racing through every corridor in Brentmere. Her gaze flicked to the letters, then to his face.
