After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(41)

Mrs. Beasley shook her head. “The hardest part of my work is staying silent. Most of the time, it’s all just fodder for my amusement. But sometimes I hear and I must sit in silence and pretend I don’t notice. My biggest regrets come from that—the not asking. You will let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

“I will.”

“Good.” Mrs. Beasley gave her fingers another squeeze. “Then go have your chat.”



* * *



Adrian had been waiting for ten minutes in the front room before Camilla appeared. Mrs. Beasley very obviously did not close the door to give them privacy. Adrian sighed. Well, so be it.

“I had been thinking eleven in the morning for when you talk to the groundskeeper,” Adrian said. “The church is a few miles away, so I should come by at ten thirty or so, to drive you out.”

Camilla sat in a chair across from him. She’d changed into one of her new gowns, pink stripes with yellow cuffs. The colors suited her—bright and cheery in the diffuse light from the gas lamp.

“Better be early,” Camilla said. “Mr. Graves gets hungry for his lunch around then. We want him in his best mood.”

“Nine thirty?”

“More like eight thirty.”

“Gah.” Adrian felt his nose wrinkle in disgust. “So early. I detest waking early.”

Camilla just laughed. “How did you ever pretend to be a valet? Really, Adrian.”

She said his name almost shyly, and then glanced at him through dark lashes, as if wondering if the familiarity that he’d specifically asked for was too much.

“Badly,” Adrian said. “So badly. I was a terrible valet.”

She leaned forward, smiling. “What do you do when you’re not pretending to be a valet?”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “This and that. My family has some business interests here, and I’m the one who spends the most time in England. So I see to them. I’m a little better at that than I am at being a valet.”

She let out a little gurgling laugh. “I suspect you are. You have an air of competence about you; you had to earn it somehow.”

If he had thought she was putting him on or flattering him on purpose, he would have pulled back. But she said it so matter-of-factly, and with such a smile, that it made him feel a little dishonest.

He thought about telling her about the china designs. But he really had almost nothing to do with them—he had excellent artists who did amazing things with almost no direction on his part—and she’d laugh at the story. But…he liked the way she looked at him. He shouldn’t have, but he did.

“Oh,” Adrian said, suddenly. “That reminds me. I brought you a treat? It’s a celebration for a successful day. Here.” He reached down and found the paper bag at his feet, opening it up. “I hope you like lemon tarts. They were all that was left at the bakery.”

She froze in place, her eyes fixing on the little pastries. Her hands flew behind her back.

“Oh.” He felt a strange sense of disappointment. When he’d stopped in front of the bakery, he’d thought of her smile earlier when he’d bought her a meat pie. She’d had little enough reason to smile lately; that was the only reason he had wanted to see her face light up. Not because he’d enjoy looking.

Nothing like that at all.

“Oh,” he repeated sadly. “You don’t like lemon tarts.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not that. I love lemon tarts. Or at least, I used to do so.”

“Then you should have them both.”

She actually sat on her hands and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Of course you can. Don’t worry about me. I never want for lemon tarts.”

That smile he had hoped for did not materialize. Instead, she looked even more perturbed.

“It’s not that. Or—it’s not just that.” She swallowed. “I said earlier I lost my family. Actually…” She stopped again, then glanced at the open door behind them. She dropped her voice even further. “Actually, I left them.”

He waited for her to continue.

“I was twelve. My uncle was wealthy; my father had just…” She paused, her lips pursing as if she were searching for the right word. “Died,” she settled on. “My family was in shambles. We were utterly ruined. My uncle offered to take me in. My sister told me not to go, but he told me I would have gowns and lemon tarts. So I gave in.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

She looked down. “I gave up everyone who cared about me for lemon tarts. Fat lot of good that did me.”

“Well.” Adrian wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “But…you still like lemon tarts, don’t you?”

Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I tried to eat one again when I was fourteen and staying with Mrs. Heilford? Back then, she had only just started asking me to do little tasks around the house. It was a special treat and I put it in my mouth, and…”

“And?”

“And I couldn’t taste anything,” she whispered. “It reminded me too much of things I couldn’t have any longer. It might have been sawdust, for all I knew. It has seemed like a waste to try one ever since.”