“Do learn to calm that imagination of yours,” Iris muttered, and Margaret responded with a shrug.
“Lord Montague is not dead. He sent a letter to Raph yesterday, demanding our father’s debt be paid or—” Camelia bit her tongue.
“Or what?” Her sisters looked intrigued and worried.
“Or by sunset today, he will destroy Pamela by revealing the truth about her birth. So, Raph went to end it all before it could begin.”
Iris’s hand flew to her mouth. “He rode out to kill him?”
“Or be killed,” Camelia whispered. “He said this time, he will not miss.”
Margaret stared at her, stunned. “And you let him go?”
“I begged him not to,” Camelia said, tears pricking her eyes. “I screamed. I threatened to take Pamela and leave forever. And yet he walked out.”
Iris gripped her arm. “Did Montague write to Papa? Threaten us?”
“No,” Camelia said, realization hitting her like ice water. “That’s what terrifies me. Papa never received a single letter. Not once. Only Raph.”
“But what could be so bad about Pamela’s birth that he would threaten to reveal the truth of it?” Margaret frowned.
Camelia did not answer.
“Camelia?” Iris looked at her expectantly.
Camelia sighed. “Lord Montague is Pamela’s real father. Her mother is Lady Josephine.”
“The Duke’s sister?” Margaret gasped, and Iris shushed her.
“Yes, Margaret. Please do announce it to the whole of London.”
“I’m sorry,” Margaret muttered.
“But I heard that the Duke’s sister died young of polio?”
Iris and Lady Josephine would have been around the same age, so Camelia knew that her sister would have known her.
“No, Iris. She died giving birth…”
They fell silent.
“How did Montague achieve getting His Grace all riled up?” Margaret asked.
“It was a sudden ultimatum.” Camelia’s voice dropped. “Oh God! What if it’s a trap? What if Montague doesn’t want money? What if he just wants Raph dead?”
Margaret swore under her breath. “You mean he lured him.”
“I mean, Raph is walking onto ground Montague picked,” Camelia said, “with seconds Montague chose, on a morning suitable for him.”
“Camelia, I hate to admit it, but if Montague wanted him dead more than he wanted the money, this is how he would do it.”
There was a long, awful silence between them until Iris found her voice. “We should ride?—”
“We can’t,” Camelia cut in. “Even if we killed the horses, we’d never reach them on time. We can only wait.”
Margaret kicked the fence. “Wait? While the Duke might be bleeding out because of a vile man we didn’t even know was alive?”
Camelia rolled her eyes. “Onlyyouthought he was dead.”
