Cam stiffened. He knew what was coming. Julian was about to say something he didn’t want to hear, but hear it he would. He and Julian had been inseparable since Cam was nine years old, and Julian had earned the right to have his say.
“You’re not her equal socially, Cam. You’re rich, yes—richer than any man should be—but you’re still in trade. She’s a lady, the daughter of an earl. Even with your money, her friends will see this marriage as beneath her.”
Bitterness welled in Cam’s throat at Julian’s words. Cam’s father had been landed gentry, and his mother the only child of a respectable country solicitor. His family was genteel, but he couldn’t claim an equal social footing with Lady Eleanor.
“That’s the price she’ll pay for being a Sutherland.” Cam’s voice was frigid. “She can’t have everything, any more than the rest of us can. Do you think Amelia will have everything she deserves, Jules?”
He didn’t give a bloody damn if thetonshunned Lady Eleanor after their marriage. It was fitting she should experience some of the shame he’d felt as a young boy, a shame that was still part of him even now, like a broken bone that hadn’t healed properly.
Perhaps Julian was right—perhaps he did want revenge. The dark thing that clawed at his heart whenever he thought about the Sutherlands didn’t feel like justice. He could admit the possibility to himself, but he’d never confess it to Julian, who’d batter relentlessly if he saw the tiniest chink in Cam’s armor.
He changed the subject instead. “Where’s Amelia now?”
Julian didn’t answer for a moment, then he sighed, and Cam knew the argument was over. For now.
“My mother took her to Gunter’s for an ice.”
Cam’s spirits lifted. Since he’d returned to London, he’d invited his Aunt Mary numerous times to come stay in Bedford Square to see Amelia, but she’d declined every invitation. “My aunt is in London, then?”
Julian rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yes, and no. She’s come to London, but she’s staying with Mrs. Drumwhistle in Leicester Square.”
Cam’s heart sank. “Ah. Well, at least she’s here.”
“It’s not her choice to stay away, Cam. You know that.”
“I know. No doubt your father refuses to allow her to spend a night under my roof.”
His dear Uncle Reginald hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him since Cam returned to London and informed him he’d be moving into the Bedford Square townhouse.
He did own it, after all.
The townhouse became available while Cam was still in India—some young earl or other lost his family’s fortune at dice and cards and was obliged to sell it to pay his debts. Julian discovered the house, and he’d written to Cam, who’d leapt at the chance to buy it. Julian arranged the purchase for him, and Cam agreed to allow his uncle and aunt to use the house while he remained in India.
Now he was back, but his uncle hadn’t welcomed him with open arms. “Your father still hasn’t reconciled himself to my return, then?”
Julian snorted. “No, not yet. Give him time. Another ten years or so, perhaps.”
“If he hasn’t made peace with my existence these first twenty-nine years of my life, I doubt another ten will help.”
It was most inconvenient for his uncle Cam had managed to survive his travels, and then he’d had the nerve to return not only sound in mind and body, but disgustingly wealthy, as well. He’d upset all his uncle’s plans, and Uncle Reggie had responded like any rabid animal backed into a corner—with teeth bared, snarling curses and threats.
Except Uncle Reggie hadn’t threatened Cam.
He’d threatened Amelia.
It could be an empty threat. His uncle stood to lose a great deal if he angered Cam, but Cam wasn’t willing to take any chances with Amelia’s future. If the truth were to come out, his sister would need protection. Cam intended to secure it for her, and soon—no matter what it took.
If Amelia was out of time, then so was Eleanor Sutherland.
“Amelia doesn’t have ten years.” Cam’s voice was quiet. “You know that, Jules.”
Julian flushed a dull red. He didn’t have any illusions about his father. “He thinks he’s doing what he must to hold onto Lindenhurst.”
Lindenhurst.Cam both loved the place and hated it at once. Sometimes he thought the beautiful memories of his childhood home haunted him even more than the heartbreaking ones. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ve told him time and again I don’t want Lindenhurst. As long as your mother chooses to live there, it’s hers.”
Cam didn’t forget debts, either those owed to him, or those he owed to others, and he owed his aunt a debt of gratitude. Aunt Mary had taken Amelia in less than a week after she was born, leaving Cam free to go off to seek his fortune in India. It was the only time he’d ever seen his meek aunt defy his uncle, but Mary had fallen in love with the child, and had refused to be parted from her. Mary was the closest thing to a mother Amelia had ever known, and she’d done a wonderful job with her. His sister had become everything Cam hoped she would—lovely and quick-witted, a child who smiled often, and laughed easily.
Cam was in India for eleven years. The time he’d been away hadn’t felt long to him—not until he returned and found not an infant, but his eleven-year-old sister, her angel’s face so like his mother’s. He realized eleven years might not be a long time in his head, but it was a lifetime in his heart.
