“It is generally considered the accepted practice when one is forced to marry at gunpoint.”
His eyes flashed, but all he said was: “Is it, then? I hadn’t realized that gunpoint weddings were an accepted practice.”
“They’re a rare enough occurrence that they are not usually covered in the etiquette books.” Camilla’s hands fluttered uselessly by her side.
“Well, by all means. Amend the etiquette books.” He looked around. “Is my little brother around, by any chance?”
“He’s gone—” She gestured, her hand waving in the direction of the cathedral. “To, um… Speak. With his uncle. Your uncle, I mean. About the annulment and other things.”
Captain Hunter looked heavenward, as if beseeching some unknown power.
“So. Let me guess. Adrian found himself married at gunpoint—God, I have no idea how that happens to a man—and rather than tell his older brother about it, which would involve admitting that he was wrong, he asked Denmore for help. Denmore, of course, didn’t give two sweeps of a broom about what had happened, and demanded some sort of quid pro quo. Have I got that right?”
Camilla bit her lip.
“That goddamned man. I told him so—but never mind. Here I am, forgetting my manners, and this is in the etiquette books. I’m Adrian’s brother, and captain of The Pursuit. I was informed that my brother had wed, and suspected it was part and parcel of this entire mess, which meant he’d come back to Denmore eventually.”
He must have heard about it from…someone at Harvil? No, not that. He’d called her Camilla Worth. “But how did you know my real name?”
“Ah!” His face cleared. “As to that. I’ve something for you.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. “Here.” He held it out.
She took it. It was sealed with a bit of wax, stamped with the initials TLW.
TLW? She had no idea who…
The wax snapped under her trembling fingers. She unfolded the paper.
Dear Camilla, the note read. This is your sister, Theresa.
Theresa. Good God. She almost dropped the letter. She’d just allowed herself to hope that her family might receive her if she tried one last time, but she’d only considered Judith—no one else. The last time she had seen Theresa, she had been a little girl tracing her ABCs.
Obviously time had passed, but Camilla had no image of her youngest sister at all.
We—and by “we”, I mean Benedict and I, but also Judith and Christian—Christian is Judith’s husband; you may remember him from the time he had our father convicted of treason—which is probably not the best introduction—and bother, I’ve used too many dashes and I have no idea where this sentence is going.
Dash it all!
A little punctuation humor to lighten the moment. Ha ha.
Camilla stared at the page. Oh, dear. The first thing she had learned about her youngest sister in almost a decade was that she had a dreadful sense of humor.
We have been looking for you. Judith misses you dreadfully. She wants nothing more than for you to come join us.
Camilla felt her vision blurring. No, she couldn’t cry—it mustn’t mean what it said, it couldn’t.
The next paragraph was taken over by a different handwriting—the letters darker and less blocky.
Benedict here. That sentence seems to imply that Theresa and I are indifferent. We are not indifferent. I have little memory of you, but I have heard stories. You would be a ripping great addition to the family, thank you.
Theresa had apparently wrestled the paper back to add:
You did grow up with Judith and, quite frankly, we need someone to commiserate with us.
She is an absolute tyrant and I do not doubt you were right to stay away for so long.
The handwriting for the next line changed once again.
Theresa has no call to refer to anyone as a tyrant. The only hope the world has is that she is a girl and girls are very rarely allowed to take over everything. Judith is not a tyrant.
She is by far the least tyrannical of the two sisters I am acquainted with.
The letter resumed in Theresa’s handwriting.
Since I must be honest: Judith is a perfectly good sister who would be improved only by being a little less perfect, but also, she favors Benedict over me and I refuse to turn a blind eye to injustice. You have been gone so long that she will no doubt favor you above us both, which will finally put us younger ones on equal footing.
Camilla felt overwhelmed in the best way possible.
Benedict took over again.
Please do not listen to Theresa. She will give you an ill opinion of us all, and you should only have one of her.
Back to Theresa’s writing again:
We have become distracted from our mission, and I refuse to get distracted for longer than five minutes. It is Judith’s birthday very, very soon, and we had hoped you might be willing to come for a visit.
Our direction is…
Camilla read this all in absolute bafflement. The last she’d seen Benedict, he’d been a child. When he was a toddler, she had used to carry him around the house and call him her sweet boy.
Theresa had been bossy even at six, but Camilla knew very little of her. She’d gone to China with their father while she was practically an infant, and most of what Camilla remembered was her absence, and then her return.
She had used to throw tantrums back then—loud, angry ones, ones that wouldn’t stop until Anthony wrapped her up in his arms and held her so tightly she couldn’t move. Theresa had liked that.
Of course, Theresa had grown out of the tantrums—children often did. It should have been impossible to imagine the friendly, familial bickering that the two engaged in, but…
She remembered it.
Not from Theresa and Benedict; they’d been too young to bicker properly. But Judith and Anthony had done it, and reading it now… Her heart ached.
She read the letter again.
She had no idea what Theresa and Benedict sounded like; the childish voices she could dimly recall no longer fit these two people who used words like ‘tyrannical’ and ‘injustice.’ But between the taunts, there was something there that made her yearn.
It hurt, to imagine being so comfortable in another person’s presence that you could call them a tyrant to their face and not fear being tossed out. It hurt, and it felt good, and…
Camilla had been sent all over England. She had tried to make herself into half of what she could be just so she’d have the barest chance of acceptance. And all the while, they’d stayed together. They loved each other, just as Judith had said they would.
Camilla had given up this for gowns. She’d given up this.
She read the letter a third time. Judith misses you dreadfully. How? How could Judith miss her? How could it be that anyone remembered her enough to miss her? And if she missed her, why hadn’t she written?
Camilla had spent her entire life hoping that one person would care for her. It was too much to discover that someone already did.
She burst into tears. Her whole heart hurt in th
e best possible way. She didn’t have room in her soul to understand how this could have happened, but it was here.
“Oh, God,” Captain Grayson said. “You’re crying.” He said it the way another man might have said, “Oh, God, I’m being eaten by wolves.”
“I’m sorry.” Camilla sniffled and tried to hold back her tears. “I hate crying, and I cry so easily. I haven’t seen my sisters in years. I thought they didn’t want me. I could barely even let myself think of their existence. This is…”
A gift, she wanted to say. But if she said those words, she’d start sobbing in earnest. “It’s been a while since I saw my siblings. I have no idea what they’re doing. You can’t imagine.”
The captain sighed. “I can imagine discovering that my brother was married because two hellions showed up in my office waving a duplicate from the General Register Office.”
Camilla sniffled. “Very well. You win the competition. Have a biscuit.”
“You’re right. That was an unnecessary comment. You’re here in our family home; I should endeavor to be polite. Have a handkerchief.” He removed a square of beige linen from his pocket and held it out.
She took it. “I’m here in your family home. I should be the one who endeavors to be polite.”
“That’s true,” he said. “Well, then. Don’t get tears on the family carpets. Those could stain, and I would have to throw you out to defend the family honor.”
She looked up at him. There wasn’t so much as a single telltale flicker of amusement on his face to suggest that he was joking. If he were Adrian, he’d have been smiling at that remark.
Camilla blew her nose messily on the handkerchief he had given her and then looked up. “Oh dear. I hope that wasn’t a family handkerchief.”
“Yes.” His voice was very dry. “It was. Non-Hunters who use it perish.”
She looked over at him.
He held up his hands. “Adrian is going to kill me. I’m bad with tears. And comforting. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to comfort you. Why isn’t Adrian here?”