After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(37)

“But—”

“But we already have such a woman at our disposal. Gossip has entirely ruined her. She exists, and she’s willing to help.” She spread her arms. “Behold. Here she is—in the flesh.”

“Oh.” Well. That was entirely logical. “Do you intend to go apply to Rector Miles for assistance yourself?”

“No.” Her hands clenched. “I don’t think I want to look at his face, not right yet. But the groundskeeper is kept appraised of any such programs, so he knows where to send people.”

“You’ll talk to him?”

“He likes me.” A smile flashed on her face quickly, then vanished. “He used to, at any rate. Or I thought he did. I’m not the best judge.”

Adrian was silent for a moment. “It’s quite a lot to ask of you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be a burden on you. I want to do my part. Really, I do.”

“Well. I will keep that in mind the next time I need to draft someone to participate in one of my schemes.” He’d meant it as a joke, but she gave her head a vigorous shake.

“Lying would be hard for me. I don’t think I could lie well. I’m pretty near the end of my resources.” She stopped speaking, and pressed her hands into her skirts. “I have next to no money. Nobody I can go to. I have no home, and those I could call friends are…” She laughed. “Kitty, I thought, was my friend, and she lied about me and ruined me.” Another laugh, this more shaky. “I’m not going to be a burden on you. I promise, I won’t. But I’m desperate and it shows. You’re trying to be kind by calling me a tiger to bolster my confidence. I’m sorry. I can’t hide the truth.”

Somehow, he had not thought her side of things through. He had realized—intellectually—that she couldn’t have much. He’d held her valise. He’d seen her shoes.

“Haven’t you got anywhere to go?”

“I have been everywhere already.” She shut her eyes. A slight breeze caught a little tendril of her hair; it flapped in the wind, and she leaned her head back. “This last time? It’s not the first time I’ve been sent off in disgrace. It’s happened before. Multiple times.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“I lost my family when I was twelve.” She didn’t open her eyes. “I was sent first to my uncle, who found me too talkative, then a bit later, to his cousin. From there on I have passed through what feels like scores of homes. I have yet to inspire any sort of lasting affection.” A faint smile touched her lips. “It’s been half my life. I suppose I should really accept that I’m not the sort of person that people actually like, but I am pigheaded stubborn. I never do learn.”

The wind picked up a touch, ruffling the fraying edges of her hat. God. Even her hat was frayed.

“I grew older. The incidents grew worse. There was a girl my age named Larissa who became my particular friend. Her parents didn’t like how particular the friendship was. I told you I’m too desperate to lie—Mrs. Martin was right about that, too. Larissa and I practiced kissing together. Then we…weren’t practicing, and… They didn’t like that, not when they found out. So on I went. At the next house, a son wanted—never mind. After that came James, the footman.” Camilla shrugged. “I was sent on so many times. I regret my memory is good enough to count them all. James is when Rector Miles found me. He told me that I was destined for hell, that I should change my name and try my hardest to reform. If I was good for two years, he promised to help set me up in a place where I was unknown. For the sake of my soul.”

She had started rubbing her hands together as she spoke. He noticed now that there was a hole in her gloves.

“So you see,” she said, “it’s not that I wasn’t guilty of what they accused me of with you—I was. Not at that moment, but I was. I have nowhere to go. I am desperate. So desperate that—” She paused, then shook her head. “I am so desperate that I’ve contemplated trying to force you into this, you know. We were joined in matrimony. It would take so little for me to make an annulment impossible, and you already told me the rules.”

He must have made a sound, because she turned to him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to alarm you. I won’t—I promise I won’t. I’m na?ve and hopeful, and some part of me just wants someone, anyone, to care that I exist. I won’t. But you should know—I’m desperate enough to think of it. Even though I am not yet desperate enough to do it.”

She was trembling.

She talked when she was nervous, he realized. She also talked when she was happy, but they were two different kinds of talking.

“You know,” he said, “if I were a different person, one who expected less, I would count myself lucky over the events of the last day.”

“You wouldn’t. No one would.”

“On the contrary. You’re pretty and capable and clever. You’re honest enough to tell me the truth instead of hiding it. And you undervalue yourself immensely—enough that you seem grateful for receiving the normal human kindness that should be everyone’s right.”

She looked over at him. Her eyes were alight with liquid hope, and he almost felt sorry for what he had to say next.