After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(14)

“I would hardly be setting out tea things if my father were an earl.” Camilla ducked her head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“So you don’t know Lady Judith Worth.”

Judith. A separate wash of forlorn desolation hit Camilla. Once, when she had been younger and even more stupid, her uncle had offered to take her in. Her and Judith and Benedict—and not their younger sister Theresa. She could scarcely recall why any longer—something about Theresa being difficult.

Camilla had said yes to the offer. He’d said she could have gowns, lemon tarts, and a come out, after all. Judith, her eldest sister, had tried to argue.

He doesn’t love us, her sister had told her.

I won’t starve, Camilla had responded, stupid at twelve.

It seemed a fitting punishment for Camilla, that she’d been granted none of her wishes—not the gowns nor the come out nor the lemon tarts. She’d spent every year since yearning more and more desperately for the love she’d dismissed out of hand.

She’d chosen to live without it; still, somehow, the demons on her shoulder whispered that she might still have it. Someday.

“Ah,” the bishop said. “You do know her.”

Camilla hadn’t seen Judith once in the years since—Judith had made it clear she was unwelcome.

Camilla shook her head and spoke through the lump in her throat. “I don’t. How would I know the Marchioness of Ashford?”

A pause. She could feel her longing, an almost tangible presence in her chest.

She’d heard the news about Judith’s marriage shortly after Rector Miles had taken her in. He was the one who had impressed on her the seriousness of her misbehavior. He had told her that she should not long to be loved so, that it would drive her to destruction. He’d told her that she hadn’t earned the right to such care, that the impulse that welled up inside her insisting that she might one day belong somewhere was the devil trying to seduce her.

Judith was married to a marquess, of all things. It was what Camilla had dreamed about when she’d abandoned her family. Rector Miles was right; Camilla didn’t deserve what Judith had. Still, she could not stop herself from dreaming.

The bishop was watching her with a troubled air. “You seem to know her well enough to know of her wedding. Interesting, for someone who claims not to be related.”

Camilla exhaled. “Well. Who doesn’t follow the nobility? Particularly when one family—entirely coincidentally—shares one’s name.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t sound as if he believed her. Rector Miles must have disclosed something of Camilla’s past if he knew her abandoned last name.

She hated admitting the truth. She hated even thinking it. “It really is the best that I’m no relation, don’t you think?”

“Is it?”

“Well—what you’ve described. The treason.” She swallowed. “Judith—I mean, Lady Judith’s new marriage. The family’s position in society must be terribly precarious.” She could hear her own voice shaking as she spoke. She pressed her hands into her skirts to stop them trembling.

“Is that so?”

She felt speared by his eyes. “There was talk after the father and the brother had that incident, you know. People said the family was nothing but bad blood.”

He examined his fingernails. “You do know quite a bit about them.”

“If people thought someone like me was related to the likes of them?” Her whole being ached, just thinking of what it would mean. “I imagine it would ruin whatever progress they’ve managed to achieve in society.”

“Someone like you. What are you, then?”

What are you. Not who. He looked at her like a thing, and under his gaze she felt like one.

The rector had made her say it—once—when she arrived here. She knew she was flawed to her core; she didn’t want to have to say it again.

“Nobody,” she whispered. “I’m nobody.”

The rector must have told Bishop Lassiter the truth, for him to subject her to this interrogation. He must have told him how he found her eighteen months ago.

Kissing a footman she had no business kissing.

Miles had impressed on her the consequences of her conduct—rumor is, your younger brother is going to Eton now. Maybe the family name can be rehabilitated. Maybe…

Maybe would be never, if the truth about Camilla ever came out.

“That whole business has nothing to do with you, then?”

“No.” She whispered the word hoarsely. “Nothing.”

“Camilla,” said the rector, “I’m filling out my logbook for yesterday. Do you remember who I discussed?”

The relief she felt at the change of subject was immense, a weight lifting from her shoulders. She liked being helpful; she had an excellent memory, and she’d often assisted him by providing names. “In the morning, before the bishop arrived? Mr. and Mrs. Watson. Miss Jones. Mrs. Landry. After the bishop, I wasn’t about.”

“Very well.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Wait—I do recall one name. Mrs. Martin—you discussed her while I was setting out the tea things.”

He didn’t smile at her. “That’s very helpful. You should endeavor to be helpful, Camilla. That’s the only way you’ll make progress.”