After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(26)

She had spent years hoping and hoping and hoping. Three years ago, she’d hoped Larissa would swear lifelong devotion; instead Camilla had been sent on as a bad influence. Two years ago, James had told her she was pretty and sweet, and she’d made herself as pretty and sweet for him as she could, only to have him swear at her and call her names when they were discovered together.

She’d even hoped to impress Rector Miles with the way she’d changed.

Fat lot of good that had all done her.

Old Mrs. Marsdell had used to quote Shakespeare—to thine own self be true, she had used to say, usually as a justification for why she was such a harridan.

Camilla had been true to everyone but herself.

She’d made herself over and over into someone who might be wanted, turning herself again and again like an overused sheet. Now she felt threadbare.

And look—she was doing it again.

Mr. Hunter wanted her to be his ally, to help him break free of their marriage.

Why should she do as he wanted? A vision flitted through her head—of how she might resist. He’d told her himself how to not annul the marriage, trusting she wouldn’t use it against him. After all these years, why shouldn’t she try?

She might force him to stay. She didn’t need love; she was just so, so tired of being left behind. She fell asleep, grimly imagining how she might force him to recognize their marriage.

When she awoke again, it was morning.

Sun peeked through the gap in the curtains. Birds were singing outside; she pulled the curtains back to see a cloudless sky on a perfect day. The air was crisp and sweet, scented with the smell of cut grass.

The ache in her shoulders from carrying her valise had matured into soreness; she stretched her arms overhead and felt her muscles protest. Her whole face hurt from last night’s tears.

She was going to have to go downstairs and see Mr. Hunter.

She inhaled.

She remembered her strategy, formulated well past midnight. Wait. What had she thought? She’d imagined seducing him. Telling the world that he’d debauched her. Last night, exhausted and angry, it had seemed almost rational.

In the morning, these plans felt like odd, dark dreams.

He was going to rid himself of her, just as everyone else had done.

It was true: rationally, she should be angry at him.

To thine own self be true, Camilla thought ruefully.

There was no reason to avoid anger except this: She wasn’t an angry person.

Camilla had been sent away over and over. Rector Miles had told her that the hope she carried was a legion of devils whispering from her shoulder, and despite his admonitions, she’d kept on hoping. She’d picked herself up and moved on time and time again.

It was time to face the truth about herself. If her hopes had not shattered for good by now, they weren’t going to do so. She was the kind of person who, when dragged into hell, would hatch a plan to win the devil over with a well-cultivated garden of flame and sulfur. It wouldn’t matter if it was impossible. She would still try. She just would.

Camilla took a deep breath and stretched her arms wide.

I like you, Mr. Hunter had said last night. You’re one of those people who can find the good in anything, aren’t you?

She looked out over the fields. They’d been picked over, some early summer crop plucked from the ground, and the remnants plowed over. They were now just long muddy furrows waiting to be planted with the eventual autumn harvest. She was the kind of person who could see all that ugly dirt and imagine the little seedlings that would poke bright green heads through the soil in a matter of weeks.

Everything she had thought about herself last night was true. She was worldly, idealistic, lascivious, flighty, and desperate. These were the foundations of her character, and no doubt they’d be her undoing, as they’d been at every step along the way.

Well. She’d tried doing what Miles wanted. She’d told herself her hope was a legion of demons leading her astray. She had tried to be good.

It hadn’t worked. This was why she tried not to look back: Nothing she did ever worked, and it was best to forget that it had happened.

With sunlight kissing her face, she could feel her desperation fading.

You’re one of those people who can find the good in anything, aren’t you?

“Yes,” she said. Her chin rose. “Yes, I am.”

Maybe nobody would ever love her, but she’d hoped beyond reason for such an eternity that it appeared she no longer needed a reason for it. Hope made absolutely no sense under the circumstances, but it was the only thing that hadn’t abandoned her.

She wasn’t going to let it go.



* * *



“You don’t look like you slept,” Adrian said, looking across the table at Miss Winters.

Her eyes were red and puffy, her skin wan. Their rooms weren’t on the same floor of the inn, but hers had been immediately below his.

He had suspected last night that he’d heard her sobbing. He could hardly blame her.

She gave him a dazzling smile that made him doubt what he had heard. “Of course I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking.”

He took a gulp of coffee. “I was, too. Our first course of action must be to contact my uncle.”

She blinked. “Actually, I was thinking about what you said. That your uncle thought there was something not right with the rector. I have quite a good memory, you see, and I had an idea.”