Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(91)
“Not even that, Avery,” Camille remarked.
“Ah,” he said, “but your father and my stepmother were brother and sister. That surely makes us cousins of sorts. And never tell Jessica there is no connection between you. Not only would she weep an ocean; she would also throw a horrid tantrum and strain my nerves to the breaking point. How are you, Camille? And you, Abigail?”
“Well,” Camille said curtly.
“Yes, well,” Abigail said. “And much obliged to you for calling on us, Avery. I trust you left Aunt Louise and Jessica in good health?”
“I did,” he said, “but in high dudgeon too over the fact that Anna and I chose to marry quietly and secretly rather than be subjected to all the delights of a Wedding with a capital W. Will you greet my wife? She will be very unhappy if you will not, and then I will be unhappy too. It is a dead bore to be unhappy.”
Abigail looked at her and greeted her with a little curtsy. Camille looked gravely at her as they all seated themselves.
“I had a letter from Jessica a few days ago,” Abigail said, “though the announcement in the London papers had already been brought to Grandmama’s attention. I wish you happiness, Your Gr—” She stopped briefly and frowned. “I wish you well, Anastasia. I wrote back to Jessica to suggest that perhaps it is time to let go of bitterness. I ought to take my own advice.”
“Thank you, Abigail,” Anna said. “We have just spent a week in the village of Wensbury with my maternal grandparents, whom Avery discovered for me. They thought I was dead. My father wrote to them not long after he brought me to the orphanage here to inform them that I had died of typhoid.”
“Oh,” Abigail said.
Camille frowned at the hands clasped in her lap.
“Mr. Kingsley was very set upon marrying Viola to the Earl of Riverdale’s heir,” Mrs. Kingsley remarked. “His head was quite turned at the prospect of having a future countess for a daughter. And she was willing. He was a handsome young man. I was opposed from the start. I did not like him. I considered him selfish, and I saw that his charm concealed a lack of character. I kept my peace for years after my misgivings were brushed aside, but no longer. He was a wicked man.”
“I am pleased,” Camille said stiffly without looking up, “that you have rediscovered your grandparents and they you.”
“Thank you, Camille,” Anna said. “Have you heard from Harry? Is he safe?”
Harry had arrived safely in Portugal after being one of the few passengers on the ship not to be seasick and had apparently sent a brief, very enthusiastic letter to his sisters—as he had done to Avery. He was looking forward to his first battle and the chance to have a go at Napoleon Bonaparte’s armies.
They stayed for half an hour while the ladies made stilted, polite conversation. They said their farewells with thanks and good wishes on both sides. And Avery, thankful it was over, took Anna’s hand through his arm and started downhill with her in the direction of the abbey and the Pump Room and the main part of the town, on foot as they had come because the hill straight up was too steep for a carriage.
“Tell me, Anna,” he asked, “was it an error in judgment on my part to bring you here?”
For a moment she rested the side of her bonnet against his shoulder.
“No,” she said, “for they did receive me and they were civil and I could see for myself that they are in good hands with their grandmother. And perhaps now they will hate me less, though the fact that I have married you has surely not endeared me to them. Is it true that time heals all wounds, Avery?”
“I really have no idea,” he said with all honesty. “But for argument’s sake I will state quite dogmatically that yes, of course time heals all ills.”
“Thank you.” She smiled ruefully at him.
Twenty-two
“It was civil of them to call.” Camille was the first to break the silence.
“I thought so,” her grandmother agreed. “It is what I would expect of Netherby, of course. It must have taken considerable courage, though, for his duchess to accompany him. I was surprised to find her so modestly attired, though it is clear she has the finest of dressmakers. I could detect no trace of vulgarity in her, and her manners are excellent.”
“I still do not understand why Avery married her,” Abigail said. “He has a reputation for having an eye for only the most acclaimed of beauties.”
“That, I believe, Abby,” Camille said, “is the very point. Did you see the way he looked at her?”
Abigail sighed. “I thought perhaps Cousin Alexander would marry her,” she said, “in order to reunite the title and fortune. But Avery married her instead. He would not have done it just out of pity, would he, and certainly not out of avarice.”
“Certainly not,” Camille said. “Oh, we have been around and around these arguments in the few days since Grandmama read the announcement until I am mortally sick of the subject. I believe he married her for love, Abby, astonishing as it seems.”
“Poor Jess,” Abigail said. “She does so resent Anna on our behalf, though she is perfectly well aware that nothing in this whole dreary situation is our half sister’s fault. And now Anna is her sister-in-law as well as her cousin.”