Adrian stared up at him. Grayson gave Adrian’s forehead an affectionate rub.
“Stop that.” Adrian batted his hand away.
“I wanted to see if you were doing well,” Grayson said, “because I care about your well-being, and it is obvious you’ve had a difficult time of it. Not because I wanted to tell you so.”
Well. Adrian blew out a breath and took a bite of his own apple. It was sweet and just a little tart, and the juice running down his chin gave him an opportunity to think.
“This is awkward,” he said finally. “I’ve spent days avoiding you because I was trying to figure out what to say when you so prominently did not tell me ‘I told you so,’ and now you’ve gone and said something kind and gracious instead. It’s maddening.”
Grayson just shrugged. “How dreadful of me. Would it make you feel better if I said ‘I told you so’ now, just so you could feel vindicated? You’re the one who’s had the month of gunpoint weddings and suchlike. I’ll defer to your wishes.”
“It feels petty to ask for it.”
“You should be more petty, not less so. Let me go ahead. ‘Adrian, I told you so.’” Grayson even managed to get the tone right.
“Oh, it doesn’t work like that! You can’t just throw it out with no context. It is supposed to come after we’ve had an entire argument about how I’m too trusting.”
“That sounds reasonable. You are too trusting.”
“You were supposed to tell me that you used to be more like me. That you didn’t want me hurt the way you were. That you were only trying to protect me.”
“All of that sounds like something I would say,” Grayson agreed. “Consider it said.”
“Then you’d say ‘I told you so.’”
“Right. Now we’re getting to the good part.” Grayson gestured expansively. “Please. Go on.”
Adrian looked down, examining his hands, and then looked up. “And I would say that nothing has changed. Maybe I should learn to be less trusting, but I knew when this whole thing started that it might not turn out well.”
“Really.” Grayson raised a single eyebrow.
“I didn’t tell you I knew it. Just because I didn’t want to admit that you were probably right doesn’t mean I didn’t know it.”
His brother smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind for every future argument we have. Please, finish.”
Where had he been? Right. “I care about you, too.” Adrian said. “I just wanted…” He looked up into his brother’s eyes, and felt all the helpless impotence of the last few weeks. “You’ll be gone on your telegraph cable laying trip soon. I have so much—so many advantages. I didn’t go to war. I’ve never gone hungry, not really. I have so much, and I don’t know why it’s come to me. I’m alive, and I shouldn’t be—and I thought if…if…” Adrian trailed off.
“If what?”
“If I could get Denmore to keep his promises, I could make it up to you.”
Grayson just frowned. “Make what up to me?”
“I could make up for the fact that I stayed here in comfort, and…”
“And our brothers died?”
Now that it was said aloud, it sounded silly. It was impossible to ever make that up. Nothing Adrian did could ever change that.
He shut his eyes. “You’re right. It’s stupid.”
Grayson reached over and set a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “So. In your imagination, you thought I was going to be petty enough to say ‘I told you so’ but not petty enough to interrupt you three sentences into your monologue?”
“Idiot.”
“My apologies. I’m not good at moments like this. I don’t know what to say, except…” Grayson’s hand tightened on Adrian’s shoulder. “Adrian, they were your brothers, too. Not just mine.”
Adrian felt a hard core of emotion in his chest. He squared his jaw, resisting it.
“You cannot make up for their deaths, because they were not your fault. The only thing that brought me through the war was knowing that at least you were here. That you were safe.”
“But I have so much.” Adrian looked at Grayson. “I just want—I want…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. For a long moment, he struggled. “You’re my brother,” Adrian finally managed. “I want you to have the world.”
“I know.” Grayson put an arm around Adrian. “But I have you. If you take the world for yourself, it will be enough for me. I promise.”
* * *
In the end, there was nothing left for Adrian to do but to tell fifty truths and one half lie.
The truths were easy. Adrian swore during the hearing that was held that he was, in fact, the grandson of the Duke of Castleford and the nephew of the Bishop of Gainshire. Why yes, he had proof—here were his parents’ marriage records.
The gossip would go around. The truth would come out. Acknowledgment or no, his uncle wouldn’t be able to hide the connection.
The questioning went on for hours.
Yes, Adrian said, his uncle had requested that he look into the matter of Bishop Lassiter. Why yes, he had proof as to that, too. Here was the telegram requesting his presence at Denmore’s house; here were the telegrams they exchanged, where his uncle insisted that he complete his investigation.
The lie was harder. Adrian had never been good at lying.
“Did you consummate the marriage?”
Adrian thought of Camilla. Of the way she smiled at him, of the way he had asked her to be his when he had returned from his uncle, of the brilliant wave of delight that had lit her features.
He’d taken that from her—the joy she had in believing that she had been chosen. And he could give it back.
Adrian was a terrible liar; he did his best. “I am the nephew of Bishop Denmore. We have discussed church matters before. I knew that if the marriage was consummated, the marriage could not be annulled. We both deserved better.” It was not exactly an answer, but they did not realize it.
They did not hear we both—not truly. They heard that Lady Camilla—that was how they referred to her throughout the proceeding—deserved better.
They were not wrong. They were just not right in the way they thought they were right.
He did not speak to Camilla at the proceeding; they were interviewed separately, to see if there were discrepancies in their stories. He caught sight of her at the end of a long hallway once, though. Her head tilted toward him; his whole body turned to hers.
They didn’t exchange a word. Just that long glance shared from a hundred yards away.
But there was one person he did speak to.
It was on the final day when Adrian was delivering testimony. He left the room for a brief respite, and was trying to gather his scattering thoughts when a man came to stand in front of him.
“You!” Bishop Lassiter glared at Adrian. “You! I’ve been called here to account for my doings, and it’s all your fault.”
It really wasn’t. Bishop Lassiter, Adrian suspected, bore the lion’s share of the responsibility for his own undoing, with unnecessary added help from Rector Miles.
Still. Maybe his conversation with Grayson enabled Adrian to be just a little petty in the moment.
“Why, thank you.” Adrian smiled at him. “I’m delighted you noticed. I was hoping you would.”
“You were the worst valet I have ever employed.”
“I know.” Adrian tried to look sympathetic. “And that was true even before I publicly exposed you as a criminal.”
Lassiter just looked more enraged. “You were supposed to be a nobody! That was the entire point of making her take your name!”
Yes. Lassiter had decided that Adrian was expendable all those weeks ago, when he’d forced them to marry. Adrian had vowed he would learn otherwise. It felt surprisingly satisfying to bait the man.
“Yes,” Adrian said, still pretending to commiserate. “That was where you went wrong.”
“Do you understand that I could be defrocked for this? It’s just a few thousand pounds! It’s n
ot even really stealing.”
“Embezzlement,” Adrian said with a sunny smile. “Performing an irregular marriage. That all sounds terrible. I hope you are defrocked, you and Rector Miles both.”
For a second, he actually thought the man would hit him. Lassiter was certainly angry enough to do so. But a clerk came into the hall to call Adrian back.
“Do have a nice day!” Adrian said.
The moment passed.
Several days later, the news came that Bishop Lassiter had stepped down from his duties at the request of his peers. Rector Miles followed the next day. Adrian and his brother toasted the news with champagne.
Adrian went up to Harvil for a few days. The first plates were in production and he needed to see the results. Besides, he had realized that he needed to ask his artists for a very personal favor.
Shortly after he returned, the results of that favor in hand, a group in Surrey announced that they were breaking ground on a charitable institution—Martin’s Home for Women—for those who had nowhere else to go. The money, apparently, had come from a sizable donation from a wealthy, elderly woman.
Adrian kept copies of these news reports in a folder; one day soon, he hoped, he would be able to discuss them with Camilla.
He felt more ambiguously the next week, when Bishop Denmore announced that he would also be resigning his position. Adrian sent his regrets; he received no response.
Fifteen days after Adrian did his best to lie and claim that he’d never made love to Camilla, he received a notice delivered in person by his solicitor.
The petition to annul the marriage of Lady Camilla Worth and Mr. Adrian Hunter had been granted. The marriage was deemed void for lack of consent. Congratulations, said his solicitor. It’s as if you have never been married.
Adrian read those words as if from the end of a long tunnel.
It was as if he had never been married.
He thought for a long moment about everything that had transpired—from the moment he’d first seen Camilla in the rectory to now. Then he got out pencil and paper.
Cam, he wrote. I’m sure you’ve heard by now. We are no longer married in any sense. I am sure that you have a thousand things you might like to do—I have seen in the gossip columns that your sister wishes to launch you into society at large—but if you could find the time, I should like to call on you.
The response he received was swift.
I am not taking callers, Camilla said, as I have some personal matters I wish to attend to before I open myself up to social visits.
That being said, pursuant to those personal matters, I should mention that I am traveling quite often by train these days. If you should have a day or so free, I would welcome your company on a journey.
His reply came easily. Tell me where to meet you, Adrian said, and I’ll be there. Wherever it is.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Adrian met Camilla at the train station early the next morning, she was wearing a dark purple traveling gown with even darker trim, and a hat with a dark veil.
Adrian was not well versed in such things; he’d never had any desire to learn which gown was intended for what purpose. What could he say? This one fitted her perfectly. There was a luster to the fabric. It must have been expensive, because crowded though the station was, people flowed around her as if they recognized that she was a woman of quality and not to be trifled with.
Funny, that it had taken her wearing this gown for others to see that in her. The entire concept of women of quality seemed sorely lacking, especially if anyone imagined that it might ever have excluded Camilla.
It felt like ages since they had seen each other. It had been far too long. He could only guess what she thought of him, and didn’t know why she’d asked him to accompany her on a journey. He didn’t know anything at all, except that he never wanted to go so long without seeing her smile ever again.
Only her clothing had changed; she lit up in delight as he approached, her expression so reminiscent of their times together that his heart squeezed in his chest.
“Camilla.” He inclined his head in greeting, then remembered abruptly. “Oh, for God’s sake. Should I be calling you ‘Lady Camilla’ now?”
She giggled—an actual giggle, as if he’d tickled her ribs. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re friends, aren’t we? Just Cam is fine, as always.”
“Where are we headed?”
Her hand went to her hip; she frowned and opened up the large bag she carried at her side. “‘You need new clothing,’” she muttered in tones that did not quite sound like herself. “‘Think nothing of the cost, I promise. We’ll never notice, but you couldn’t possibly continue on without at least seventeen thousand utterly useless gowns.’” She rolled her eyes as she spoke.
“Your pardon? Is there a problem?”
“Pockets,” Camilla said grimly. “Pockets are the problem. That gods-be-damned seamstress that my sister insisted was the best in town made my dresses without pockets, and then explained that it would ruin the line of my silhouette to have them bulging out with who knows what. So now, I have no place to put train tickets except in this stupid bag that I’m forced to carry everywhere—” She shook a massive bag at him. “Here.” She held out two tickets. “We’re going to Somerset today. The journey isn’t so terribly long; we’ll arrive by mid-morning, as long as we don’t miss the train.”
There was nothing for it. Adrian held out his arm. “If you don’t mind?”
She took it.
“I told Judith you were likely coming along,” she said. “Judith doesn’t like the idea of my little journeys—she’s made Theresa accompany me thus far, but now that I am a lady whose marriage is safely annulled, I convinced her that no such company was necessary.”
He wanted to ask why they were going to Somerset. He wanted to ask if she remembered the last time they had been alone together—when they’d kissed—or the time before that, when she’d promised that she would be his and that she would make him very happy.
They were in the midst of a crowd of hundreds. He set his gloved hand over hers. “How are you getting on with your family?”
Her lips pursed, and she let out a sigh. “It’s…I suppose it’s good, really? I’m still adjusting to the idea of them. There are all these rules, and honestly, I have not had to be a lady in far too long. It’s all very constricting. I’m destined to be an eccentric. I kept correcting our solicitor on questions of ecclesiastical law, you know. He hated me at the end. He told me if I thought I knew the law so well, I should consider taking articles, and so I said I would.” She smiled sunnily. “And then Benedict is apparently doing so at the moment, so he said I should come along and do it with him.”
He laughed. “What did they think of that?”
“Luckily for me, I appear to not be the only eccentric in the family.” She gave him a bright smile. “All these years, I had no idea what was happening with any of them. But it was touch and go from time to time. They had scarcely any money at all, not until recently. And the entire household is in a constant uproar. Judith was seventeen when this mess with my father happened; she was raised in luxury, and for all that she struggled thereafter, she simply cannot see that she just assumes things must be a certain way because they were for her growing up. Theresa, on the other hand, was raised by the docks in near-poverty. She learned that ladies are supposed to act a certain way, but she never believed she personally would be expected to do so until she was much, much older. So Judith and Theresa are constantly at odds. They love each other dearly, but there is no reconciliation. Judith wants Theresa to have the chance to become just like Judith, and it hurts her feelings that Theresa doesn’t want it.”
They had reached their train. He found their car and then handed her up. The car was relatively empty; Adrian took off his hat and coat and sat on the other side of the seat from her.
“I’m sorry to sound as if I’m complaining,” Camilla said. “I really am delighted to get to know my family aga
in, and they’ve been nothing but welcoming. I don’t regret a minute. But it is bewildering to find yourself in the midst of five-year-old arguments that you don’t completely understand.”
“I can imagine.”
Camilla looked down at the floor. “Within the first three days, Judith was saying things like, Theresa, if you don’t learn to do such-and-such, Camilla will never be able to marry well. Which was extremely awkward. You see, I do not think I will ever have a chance to marry better than I did the last time, and the one thing I specifically asked Judith for was the chance to be unmarried from him.”
His heart clenched at that. He had been looking for an opportunity to bring up what they’d been to each other, and here it was. Adrian leaned forward. He thought of what he had in his pocket. All he had to do was—
The door to the car opened, and a man in a brown suit set an attaché case onto the luggage rack. He removed a newspaper, put on a pair of spectacles, sat down, and began reading.
Oh. Damn. Adrian tried not to feel impatient. There would be time, after all.
He pulled back, shifting subtly in place. “Go on, then. How did it all turn out?”
“It took three days for Benedict and Theresa to pull me into their pact.”
“Your younger brother and sister, right? What pact?”
“Ah, don’t you know? Everyone tries to use us against each other: ‘If you don’t behave like a marionette with no free will, your sister will lose her chance to also behave like a marionette with no free will. Do you want to be the one who does that to her?’”
Adrian laughed outright. The man with the newspaper looked up, sniffed, and pointedly went back to reading.
“So the three of us are now all in agreement. None of us wish to behave like marionettes, and thus, we cannot be used as weapons against each other.”
“That seems fair.”
“And that, in turn, hurts Judith’s feelings again. She loves her husband, but…” Camilla swallowed. “Would you believe she set up a trust in my name? She owns a business making clockwork, and she tries not to be difficult, but… I suspect that Judith just wants us all to have the chance to marry marquesses the way she did, and I don’t know how to tell her that she can keep her marquess. I don’t want one.”