Camelia swallowed hard, turning towards the counter to hide her flush. “A duchess,” she said carefully, “should be allowed to bake without her husband’s shadow looming over her, and so should his daughter!” She grinned at the young girl, who smiled back at her politely.
“Even so, it is notproper.”
Camelia glanced at her with a faint smile. “Nonsense, Pamela! Come now, mix this flour with the butter and let’s make a glorious mess.”
Pamela frowned at the ingredients laid out before them. “How much should I use, Your Grace?”
Camelia studied the table as though deciphering a secret code. “Two cups of flour… I think,” she said uncertainly. “And half a cup of butter, softened but not melted.”
Pamela raised an eyebrow. “Youthink?”
Camelia laughed under her breath. “Well, I’ve never claimed to be a cook. But if it turns out dreadful, we can always feed it to the ducks and call it charity.”
Pamela’s fingers shook as she added the flour and butter together. “If we make a mess and Father sees it, he’ll be really upset.”
Camelia’s eyes blazed, one hand on her hip. “And what exactly would he do if we upset him?”
“I… I’m not sure.” Pamela frowned in thought.
“Then that settles it! There’s nothing to fear; the worst the Duke can do is frown down at us and lecture us on his many rules.” Camelia waved a spoon in her other hand dramatically, and a smile tugged at Pamela’s lips.
This is all that matters.
“I’ll deal with him later. You know, Pamela, I used to sneak into the kitchen back at Lempster with my sisters all the time. Iris, Margaret, and I were always up to some kind of mischief.”
“What was that like?” Pamela asked softly, her eyes fixed on the bowl.
Camelia’s lips curled into a warm smile, her tone brightening. “To bake? Oh, it’s absolutely wonderful! The mess, the laughter, the way the kitchen smells like home. It’s magic, Pamela.”
Pamela’s hands stilled, her head lifting, and a hint of vulnerability flashed in her eyes. “No… I mean, what’s it like to have sisters?”
The question pierced Camelia’s heart, and she ached for the lonely girl before her.
She had never known that bond.
She set down her spoon, her voice softening with raw honesty. “It is… less lonely,” she admitted. “Iris and Margaret are my anchors. We’d fight, tease each other, and make messes like this, but they were always there, making every dull moment brighter.”
Pamela nodded, her expression wistful as if she understood the void too well. “Do you miss them?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Always,” Camelia said, her throat tightening. “Every day. They’re like pieces of my heart, scattered back at Lempster.”
Pamela’s fingers tightened on the bowl, her voice trembling. “I don’t have anyone like that. Just… Father. Do your sisters ever stop arguing with you?”
Camelia laughed softly, the sound tinged with warmth. “Oh, never! Iris scolds me like a governess, and Margaret teases me until I’m red in the face. But that’s love, Pamela. It’s messy and loud. Kind of like baking. Have you never had a friend either? One you could bicker with, then laugh with?”
Pamela shook her head and said in a small voice, “Not really. The girls I met in the ton… they don’t talk to me much. They know I’m… different.”
Camelia’s hands itched to reach for her. “Different? You’re not different. You’re special, Pamela. And you have me now. We could be like sisters, you know. Making scones and sharing secrets. Would you like that?”
Pamela’s eyes flickered with longing until doubt overtook it. “Maybe. But Father wouldn’t like it. He says I need to prepare for Society, not… for fun.”
Camelia’s smile faded. “Oh, hang the Duke’s rules! We’ll have fun, and he’ll just have to scowl about it. Tell me, what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to try? Baking? Painting? Sneaking out for a midnight garden adventure?”
Pamela’s lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through.
Victory!
“I… I like drawing. I sketch the gardens. But I hide them because I fear that Father will say it’s a waste of time.”
