“It’s never too late,” Mary insisted.
Cassandra leaned her hip against the counter. “According to what he has told me, he tried to be honest, but you apparently stopped him.”
“Oh, really?” Mary grimaced. “And when exactly…” A tiny memory surfaced. She swallowed and looked at her friends. “Last night. He was going to tell me last night before we kissed, but I was too impatient. I stopped him.” How on earth could she have forgotten? “When we parted ways, he said we would speak today, that there was much for us to discuss, and I’m now convinced this is what he was talking about.”
“But then his brother showed up and ruined his chance to be honest,” Cassandra said.
Emily poured the milk into the pot and set it on the stove. Stirring the contents, she looked at Mary. “I think you’ve both made mistakes. The question is whether or not they’re too big to forgive.”
Sinking onto a stool, Mary propped her elbow on the counter beside her and leaned her head against her hand. “I honestly do not know. I mean, he lied to me about everything.”
“Are you sure about that?” Cassandra asked. “Or is this your wounded pride talking?”
Mary tried to be objective, and as she did so, she realized something. “Maybe not everything.” She bit her lip and thought back on all the conversations she’d had with Caleb these past two months. “Letting me think he was someone he wasn’t was wrong, although I suppose I can understand why he did it. But when we talked, he was honest. He told me about his time in France, about seeking his father’s validation. I don’t think he lied when he told me which books he preferred or how he wished he could choose the life he wanted instead of the one thrust upon him by fate. All along, I believed him to be the sort of man who would happily flirt with a woman but never consider marrying her. I accepted this. But what if the constant restraint he showed when we were together was the product of fear? Maybe he just wasn’t sure how to deal with the prejudice he knew I would have against him when I eventually learned the truth.” She stared at Cassandra and Emily, who were both watching her closely. “What if he were trying to protect me from getting hurt?”
“So you accepted the idea of him not being the marrying sort,” Cassandra said.
Of course that was the part she would focus on. “It made sense based on a few things he said.”
“What intrigues me is that you contemplated foregoing marriage in favor of having an affair,” Cassandra continued.
“Upon your recommendation, if I may remind you,” Mary told her.
Cassandra nodded. “Yes, but I made that suggestion because I thought you were utterly opposed to the idea of marriage and were facing a long life ahead without knowing what passion can feel like. But you actually took a moment to wonder what it might be like to marry Camberly. Didn’t you, Mary?”
Emily gasped. “Did you really?”
Mary glanced at the ceiling and finally nodded. “For a second or two. Until he refused to have his wicked way with me in the parlor.” Emily and Cassandra both snorted with laughter. “It became quite clear in that moment that he wasn’t the sort of man who robbed a woman of her innocence unless he intended to make her his wife. As you both know, he refused to let things escalate, which can only mean that he had no intention of suggesting a permanent attachment.”
“There are a dozen other reasons why he would refuse such an opportunity, Mary. We’ve been over several of them already,” Emily said, “like the fact that he would not bed you unless he could do so honestly, or how he probably believed you were averse to marriage, which we all know you have been until you met Camberly.”
“I do not wish to be a duchess,” Mary told them both adamantly.
“What if you must in order to be his wife?” Cassandra asked. “Would you be willing to make such a sacrifice if he asked it of you?”
“I…” She could not think let alone speak.
“The question now,” Emily said, “is whether or not you love him enough to forgive the deception and share your life with him.”
Mary winced. “He hasn’t even asked me to do so, and I doubt he ever will now.” She stood and went to the door. “Mr. Crawford is gone forever, and I must accept that. I’m going to see if any of the children are up for a game of cards. I’ll tell them their milk and biscuits are on the way.”
Mary headed into the hallway and paused for a moment to compose herself. Weeping would get her nowhere. So she squared her shoulders, blinked back the tears, and went to the library. The children who awaited her there would help fill the gaping void inside her, but forgetting the man who’d caused it would be another thing altogether.
13
When Caleband Griffin returned to London two days later, their mother was waiting.
“Finally,” she said, rising to greet them when they entered her private apartment. “I was so worried when I did not hear from you, Camberly. It has been two months.”
“My apologies.” Stepping forward, Caleb kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Work kept me busy until recently.”
“Work?” She stared at him in dismay. “What sort of work could possibly demand you remain in Cornwall for such a long time without so much as a word to assure me of your wellbeing?”
“He was in pursuit, Mama,” Griffin said. Brushing past Caleb, he kissed their mother’s cheek as well before offering Caleb a sly smile.
The duchess’s eyes widened. “In pursuit of what?” she asked.
“I was mending a roof,” Caleb said, deliberately avoiding the question. “Viscount Aldridge’s roof, to be precise. It was a personal favor.”
