“I miss her so much,” Camelia whispered, clinging to him. “Do you think she’d approve of His Grace? Of all this?”
Lord Lempster pulled back. His calloused hands were rough on her delicate shoulders, but she enjoyed the warmth of his touch.
“She’d love him for loving you. And she’d tell you to hold your head high, to embrace this new chapter with all the courage she taught you. You’re her mirror, my dear. Beautiful, strong, and full of love.”
Camelia doubted that the Duke would ever grow to love her, but her father’s words comforted her.
Iris and Margaret watched them quietly, their own eyes tearing up.
“Papa’s right,” Margaret said softly. “Mother’s watching over you today.”
Camelia nodded, wiping her tears with a lace handkerchief. “I will miss you all… so dearly.” Her voice cracked.
Margaret was the first to break. She flung herself forward, her arms wrapping tightly around Camelia’s neck. “You promise to write every week, Camelia?”
“I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it. And if the Duke doesn’t treat you like a queen, I’ll ride to Brentmere myself and help you escape.”
Camelia laughed through her tears. “With what army, little sister? You can’t even reach the top shelf.”
Margaret shoved her playfully. “I’ll bring Iris. She’s a fighter, I know it, but I cannot prove it.”
Iris frowned at their little sister with teary eyes. “Hush, Margaret!” She turned to Camelia. “But truly, Camelia… if you’re ever lonely, send word, and we’ll come get you.”
Their father cleared his throat. “Now, now, dry those eyes, all of you. This is not a goodbye; this is a new beginning for our dear Camelia. The carriage awaits, and His Grace is probably pacing the church like a caged lion.”
Camelia’s laughter mingled with her soft sniffles like a bittersweet melody. “He does have a rather splendid way of brooding, doesn’t he?”
“That’s precisely what I’ve been saying!” Margaret exclaimed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation.
Iris rolled her eyes, a fond smile betraying her amusement. “Nothing escapes your notice when it comes to dashing gentlemen, Margaret.”
The sisters giggled, their shared mirth filling the room like a burst of sunlight.
Lord Lempster looked upon them with paternal pride, before extending his arm towards Camelia.
“Shall we, my dear?” he asked tenderly.
“We shall.” Camelia curtsied, her lips curling into a delicate smile. She slipped her arm through her father’s and ignored the rapid fluttering of her heart.
“It’s time for your wedding, my darling Camelia,” he said softly.
“Pamela.” Raph’s voice seemed too loud in the silence of the carriage. “Are you ready for the wedding?”
Pamela’s eyes flicked up, then dropped back to her hands. She nodded once, polite and restrained. “Yes, Father.”
He cleared his throat. “Are you… ready to meet your new mother?”
She nodded silently.
Raph ignored the sudden ache in his chest when he saw a hint of her mother in her. He leaned forward slightly. “Lady Camelia will guide you during your debut. She knows the ways of Society and how a lady of Brentmere should carry herself.”
One would hope.
“You’ll heed her,” he added, ignoring the doubts in his mind.
“I will do my best, Father,” Pamela said obediently, her fingers tightening in her lap.
