After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(100)

He knew he should ask if it had helped in truth. Still, some dark impulse made him ask this instead: “Did you visit James?”

Somehow, the idea of her talking to the footman who had promised to love her and left her to the care of Rector Miles made him feel just a little angry.

Her lip quirked up. “No,” she said simply. “Not him. He didn’t deserve me, and when I thought back over that time… There was nothing I wanted to look back for. But I did go to see Larissa.” Her eyes dropped. “I mentioned her to you once. We were particular friends. Or at least I thought we were. I always did wonder what had happened to her, after her parents separated us. She’s… Um, how shall I say this?” She glanced across the car at the other occupant.

Camilla had mentioned that she had practiced kissing with Larissa.

“We were both very young,” Camilla said. “But she has apparently taken Mrs. Martin’s path.”

“She’s found a sweet young thing?”

“Someone a little older than her, actually. We hugged and she said she was sorry I was sent off, but that without me, she might never have realized that…”

“That like Mrs. Martin, she had no use for men?”

“Are you shocked?”

“Someday, I will tell you about my great-great-uncles. And… Never mind; I’ll let her tell you herself. Who are we here to meet, then?”

She cast him a coquettish glance. “Can’t you guess?”

He really couldn’t.

“I’m going back and revisiting everywhere I ever stayed,” Camilla said. “Everyone I wanted to love. Who do you think is left?”

He wracked his brain, trying to remember. He had absolutely no idea.

She had arranged to have a hired cart waiting for them at the station. The day was beautiful—just a few fluffy white clouds under a bright, sunny sky. He took the reins when she offered, and she pointed down the dry dirt road leading south. “That way, please.”

They drove out of town.

There were no houses in the direction she had pointed them. Maybe there was a hamlet over the next rolling hill; maybe their destination lay ten miles distant.

After half an hour, she stopped the cart and opened the massive bag she had complained about earlier. She produced a bottle of soda water and some meat pasties. “Here,” she said.

“You want to stop here for a rest?”

“I want to stop here because it’s our destination.”

Adrian looked around. He looked up, at the blue sun-kissed sky, and around them, at the landscape. There was a small copse of trees and the sound of a running brook. The grasses were green and the last late flowers made a riot of color.

“Here?” he asked dubiously. “Who are we visiting here?”

“Adrian,” she said. “Isn’t it obvious who I’m visiting here?”

“No. Not at all.”

She gathered up her bag and stepped down from the carriage. “Don’t be silly. It’s you.”

Oh. Oh. “And we couldn’t have visited in London?”

“We could have,” she said, “but this is prettier, and I have fewer sisters present.” She winked at him. “In fact, there’s nobody present here at all, and what my sisters don’t know won’t shock them.”

After that, there was nothing to do but tie the horses to a nearby sapling and follow her into the field. Little insects flew up underfoot as they walked.

He reached out and took her hand, entwining it in his. “I never got to do this,” he said. “Not at any point when we were together. We were always so intent on holding ourselves out as not married.”

She did not pull away. She just smiled. “And how do you like it?”

“I like it very well. I find myself never wanting to let go.”

Another shy look over her shoulder. “Adrian. You know you don’t have to.”

“I do, Camilla.” He looked at her. “I’m afraid to tell you—but I do. I have to let go now. I had a long talk with Grayson. He urged me to find a way to be happy for myself, and the thing that would make me most happy right now is if I let go.”

The look on her face—the way her eyes widened, the way her lips parted just a little bit—made him almost regret relinquishing her hand. Almost. But he did. He pulled away from her.

“You see,” he said softly, “if I do not let go of your hand, I cannot reach into my pocket—my tailor, by the way, is kind in the matter of pockets—and take out…” He found what he had been searching for, and made a fist around it, and held his arm out. “This.”

He opened his hand.

Her eyes widened even further.

“I didn’t think you would want something ostentatious,” he said. “And it turns out, I know some excellent artists who are skilled in enamel work. I asked them to put together a design while we were waiting for the annulment.”

She did not move to take the ring from him. “Adrian.” Her voice shook. “Is that an enamel tiger?”

“Yes,” he said, “and I hope you’ll forgive the few small stones, but I wanted to make sure that our tiger was crowned in the sparkliest of dreams.”

“I love it.” She looked up at him. “Is it intended for me?”