The door opened and Camille turned to see Charlotte had returned, and not empty handed.
Charlotte offered her a half-glass of amber liquor and raised her own in silent salute. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her eyes puffy, but her voice was steady. “To those we’ve lost and will love always.” She clinked their glasses. “And to the surgeon I’m going to find and boil alive for taking your baby away.”
The tears broke free. Camille let them come, welcomed the feeling, along with a wet laugh. “A new string of crime for thetonto twitter over.” She shook her head. “Not even a duchess could get away with murder.” The sick irony of her words didn’t elude her.
Charlotte smiled. “I’ll have a peach grove soon, remember?” She threw back her drink, emptying the glass in one shot. Eyeing the last drops in the bottom, her gaze went to the window. “It was my brother’s, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Did he know?”
“Yes.”
“And Hamish?”
“He knew only that I refused to leave my rooms when I first got here. Until one night, I did. I came back weak and covered in blood. He never asked what happened.” It was a rare show of restraint on his part. “No one else knew.”
“Your strength humbles me,” Charlotte said. After a moment, she continued, her voice soft. “I wish... I wish I had words of comfort, but I lack my friend’s gift for advice.”
“Diana Yamsbee?” Camille chuckled, knowing it sounded guilty. “I’m sure she’d have no words for this. BecauseIhave no words for this.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “You’re Diana?”
Camille swirled her drink. “You’re not mad, are you?”
Charlotte threw her arms around her friend and squeezed. “I love you.” Camille sighed and returned the embrace.
Charlotte pulled back. “How did you know? How could you possibly know the perfect things to say? You’d never met me.”
Camille smiled sadly.
Charlotte’s expression tightened in understanding. “My brother. Why write at all?”
“Curiosity. The way Renard described you was like a work of fiction. The bug hunting and the terrorizing governesses. I’d thought, ‘A woman like that wouldn’t care who I was or where I came from.’”
Charlotte shook her head as if in disbelief. “Then why change your name? You could’ve written as yourself.”
“At first, I was ashamed. I’d been the topic of scandal not long before I reached out and the details were still circulating through society. And because I had no way of knowing if a proper lady would respond to my bold introduction at all.” Camille smiled, remembering. “You sure did. ‘What are your thoughts on dung beetles?’ I couldn’t believe a well-bred lady would say anything like that to me.”
“What about some of your letters?” Charlotte asked, then quoted, “‘If a fearless creature can’t be seen terrorizing the stuffed shirts, there’s no point leaving the privy.’”
Camille grinned. “I stand by that assessment.” Her humor faded. “After you married my brother, I suppose the letters had gone on too long. I couldn’t find a way to tell you without it seeming as if I’d orchestrated everything. In a way, I guess I did.”
Charlotte touched her hand. “I’m grateful, truly.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the joy of reconnecting still dampened by their earlier conversation.
Camille set her untouched drink on the windowsill, watching the action send tight ripples through the liquid. Cause and effect. Action and reaction. She saw her life in those ripples, the moment-by-moment decisions having far-reaching consequences that never seemed to stop. One effect could bring people together to become lifelong friends and sisters. Others left devastation in every life it touched.
But Camille had known this moment would come. Her past with Renard was a living shadow, never more than a step behind.
No more running. She’d sent Renard away, but away he would not stay. He was as bound by the thread fate had woven between them as she was bound. A real confrontation, away from prying eyes and ears, was thirteen months past due. A debt that had cost everything and would continue to accrue collateral interest until she faced the collector.
Her amends would start this afternoon.
And then tonight she’d go to Renard and finish the foolish game they’d started all those months ago. A game that had gone too far.
Tonight it would end. One way or another.
