“What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” The hurt and pain were plain on the girl’s young features.
Camelia’s heart broke for Pamela, but she kept her distance after her last outburst.
I am not her mother, after all.
But she couldn’t help herself; she had a soft spot for the girl, and it was all thanks to her sisters. All she longed to do was protect Pamela and make her happy, but the task proved to be the most difficult of all. Especially when Pamela and her father had built walls so high around them.
“Come on, let’s go to your etiquette lesson before Mrs. Finch breaks into a two-hour-long lecture on time management.”
That earned her a small smile from Pamela.
They rose in silence. The weight of the Duke’s mood still lingered as they left the breakfast table and walked to the drawing room.
Their mornings usually started with an uncomfortable silence, and Camelia was resolved to change that as soon as possible.
In the drawing room, Mrs. Finch, a stern woman with a tight bun, greeted them. “Good morning, Your Grace, Lady Pamela. Shall we begin with posture today?”
Camelia forced a smile, settling beside Pamela. “That sounds perfect, Mrs. Finch. Pamela, show me the walk you were practicing yesterday.”
Pamela nodded, her fingers fumbling with a pile of books they had left on the table for this lesson. She placed one book on her head. It wobbled dangerously before it stilled, then she walked in a straight line to the opposite wall, head lifted and back perfectly straight. Mrs. Finch watched her intently.
“Like this?” Pamela asked when she returned to the pile of books.
Mrs. Finch tapped her chin. “Add another book, Lady Pamela. Precision is everything.”
Camelia’s voice was warm. “You’re doing fine, Pamela. Mrs. Finch, isn’t she improving?”
The governess grunted. “Improving, yes. But she can do better. Lady Pamela. Focus. You will only succeed once you balanceallthose books on your head.”
Pamela’s foot slipped slightly, and the second book slid off her head and fell loudly to the floor.
“Don’t worry,” Camelia spoke before Mrs. Finch could correct her. “Don’t be afraid to try again even when you fail.”
She ignored the governess’s glare.
The older woman picked up her teacup and watched Pamela with hawk-like eyes over the rim. Pamela walked towards her carefully.
“Chin high, shoulders back, and walk straight to me, Lady Pamela,” Mrs. Finch ordered, her voice as crisp as starched linen.
Pamela’s spine was rigid as she glided forward with careful grace. She halted mere inches from the governess’s formidable bosom.
“Turn,” came the next command.
Pamela pivoted slowly and deliberately, but the second heavy volume atop her head betrayed her. It teetered, slid, and plummeted with a decisivethunkonto Mrs. Finch’s porcelain teacup. The saucer cracked, and the scalding tea spilled across the woman’s drab dress, leaving a dark stain.
“Confound it!” Mrs. Finch’s breath hissed between her teeth.
The curse echoed in the silence as she dabbed frantically at the spreading stain.
Camelia strode to Pamela’s side and placed a reassuring hand on her trembling little shoulder. “Mrs. Finch, let’s take a breather. You may call for Mrs. Weber and get cleaned up. I’ll speak to Pamela.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Finch responded curtly, glaring at Pamela as she stormed past.
“It seems everyone is in a bad mood today,” Camelia mumbled when the door clicked shut behind the governess’s taut back.
Pamela plopped down on an armchair and placed the books on her lap. “No, His Grace gets like this every year,” she whispered. “When it’s close to my birthday…”
