After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(103)

In pride of place, there stood the plates that Adrian and his cohorts had made. She would never tire of those tigers.

Neither, apparently, would England. They sold the entire initial run before the exhibition was over, and Camilla cheered when people clamored for more.

After those weeks of waiting were over, Camilla stood in the church, surrounded by those who loved her best.

She had dreamed of marriage ever since she was twelve years of age and had been shunted off to the first family who reluctantly took her in.

Over the years, she had told herself that it didn’t have to be marriage, and it turned out that it wasn’t just marriage that she celebrated here. Not any longer.

Camilla stepped into the aisle on the day of her wedding and looked around her.

Her brother and sisters were here. Larissa and her companion had come down to London via train, on Camilla’s invitation, and the correspondence they had exchanged in the weeks before had revitalized their friendship. Next to her sat Kitty with her daughter on her knees, smiling at Camilla with her heart in her eyes.

There were Adrian’s relations—his parents, whom she had just met this last week—and a mountain of cousins and friends who she was gradually getting to know. Practically everyone from Harvil had turned out for the occasion, and they all watched the ceremony in delight.

One person was all Camilla had ever wanted. One person, just one, who promised not to leave her. She had told herself she didn’t need love. She would have settled for tolerance and a promise that she would have a place to stay. And yet the one thing she had never done was stop hoping—hoping that one day, she would have what she wanted.

Camilla made her way down the aisle, on the arm of the brother-in-law who had taken over the role as gruffly protective guardian.

Adrian waited for her, and they could neither of them stop smiling.

They had wanted a morning wedding this time. The sunlight danced among the pews, lighting his face with a joy that she could scarcely believe she had inspired.

She listened with tears stinging her eyes as the ceremony proceeded.

“Adrian Hunter,” the vicar was saying. “Do you take Camilla Worth to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and protect her, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

She hadn’t thought she needed anything except one person, and here she was with an entire horde of friends. She didn’t need the gown of lace and pearls that her sister had demanded she commission. She didn’t need the trousseau that had been sent ahead for their honeymoon trip. There was only one thing she needed.

“Yes,” said Adrian, looking into her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

He’d chosen her, and she’d chosen him. Camilla smiled up into Adrian’s eyes, holding his hands so tightly that she thought she might never let go.

“I do,” she said, when it was her turn.

And then the wedding was over—for a second time—and Adrian kissed her in full view of the world.





After the (Second) Wedding





Theresa had not dared to proceed too swiftly. If she’d acted as quickly as she wanted, she would have been suspected. Suspected and stopped.

It had taken her week after careful week to research passage on ships. To figure out how to remove money from the trust that had been set up for her without her sister’s knowledge, to creep down to the shops and sell some of the sparkling gowns that they’d made for her. It was easy enough—she ruined her dresses often enough that they would never wonder why one had disappeared.

Theresa wasn’t a child any longer. The last time she’d thought of running away, she’d had a bit of food and nothing like a plan.

This time, though… This time, she didn’t know if she’d ever return.

On the night when Theresa Worth left London—and England—for good, she packed in the dark. She’d already marked the gowns she’d be taking—good, serviceable ones that wouldn’t set her apart as too wealthy. She’d memorized the list of things she needed to take because she didn’t dare set them forth on paper, lest she be discovered.

Petticoats and bloomers. A heavy cloak and mittens, for when it got cold at sea. Two hats, no more. And jewels to sell. It all made a heavy pack; it would join the more prosaic trunk of remedies and provisions that she’d arranged to be delivered to the Edelweiss a few days earlier.

She removed the last horrifically embroidered cushion attempt from her wardrobe. The Trent raven-slash-horrible farming tragedy looked up at her.

She could stay here and try to be that misshapen bird. Or she could go.

She took the note she had written the day before, the one she’d been carrying in her pocket all day, and set it next to the cushion on the bed. She’d not wanted to give too many clues; they’d find her, if they could. If they found her, they would try to convince her to come back.

She had the words of her note memorized by heart.

My dear Judith, Camilla, Benedict, Christian, and Adrian—

My love for you is like a field going to rot. It will grow without bounds. You cannot burn it out, I promise you, no matter how much you may want to afterward.

But I love my family—all my family—and I cannot stay here any longer.

Your loving sister,

Theresa

She’d sobbed as she wrote it. Her breath choked in her chest as she set it on her desk. She set another note next to it, her vision clouding in acute misery.