After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(51)

“Oh?”

“Where’s the one with the two-headed peacock?”

“In London,” Adrian said, turning to Camilla. He served her lamb and potatoes and peas, covering up the tree. “I just hate wasting anything, is all.”

They settled around the table with their food.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Adrian asked as he took a bite of lamb. “I’ll be busy the next few days.”

Camilla glanced at the designs. She wanted to ask more about them—where they came from, who painted them by hand. “I want something to do. Idleness doesn’t suit me.”

Adrian glanced at Mrs. Singh, then over at Mr. Alabi. “Of course. But—”

“We could use her,” Mr. Alabi said, “For the test audience. We don’t have enough white people here in any event.”

Camilla’s eyes widened. “What’s involved in that?”

“It’s not hard,” he told her. “We show you china designs. We get your reaction. We refine our designs.”

“But you don’t know if I have any taste.”

Mr. Alabi shrugged. “Most white people don’t, and yet they still buy china. That’s why your input is invaluable.”

Adrian let out a snorting laugh, and Camilla found herself smiling alongside them. “That will be nice. Is there not anything else I could do?”

“You’ve been traveling all day,” Adrian said. “Have a rest. Don’t worry about anything; I’ll finish the questions for Mrs. Martin’s affidavit when I’ve returned tonight. It’s just one more thing to do, after all. One more thing can’t hurt.”

He’d been traveling all day, too, and he was leaving to go do more work. Once he was finished, he’d do more work still.

“But—” she started to protest, and then realized that demanding that he help her figure out how to spend her time would only be more of a burden. She subsided.

“But?”

“But I hope you have a productive time,” she told him. “Best of luck.”





Chapter Fourteen





It felt only natural to assist Mrs. Singh in clearing the table. If the woman thought anything of it, she didn’t say. But she accepted the help, and afterward, the two of them made tea.

“It sounds,” Mrs. Singh finally said, as she drew two chairs close to the small table, “that you’ve had quite the time of it recently.”

Camilla shut her eyes. God. A week ago, she had not suspected what awaited her. “You could say that.” She shrugged. “I try not to complain.”

“Well. That makes you one of a kind.”

“Oh. I want to complain sometimes. I have just never found it to do any good.”

“Then you aren’t doing it right,” Mrs. Singh said briskly. “You need a sympathetic ear and a real conversation. Sometimes the only way to find the route forward is to grumble about all the paths that have closed.”

Camilla looked up at the woman. That lift of hope she felt was familiar—too familiar. For a second, a warm little fantasy filled her heart. They would talk, share secrets, become friends…

Mrs. Singh sighed. “It will be hard for you here, then,” she said. “I’ll warn you—when it comes to Adrian, we are all more than a little protective. This world is a hard place, and for most people, it hardens them or it breaks them or it rots them.” She shook her head. “Adrian, however…”

“He has always been kind to me.”

“Kind.” Mrs. Singh sighed. “Yes—that’s him. Kind to a fault. I surely don’t know where he gets it, because it’s not as if nothing bad has ever happened to him.”

Camilla could listen to Adrian being discussed for hours. She made a sympathetic noise and leaned forward.

“There was that eternally wretched business with his uncle. His middle three brothers were killed in the American conflict. I’ve been with him in London, and I’ve watched what men say to him. It takes a certain gentleness of spirit to not be all scars after that.” Mrs. Singh looked off.

Gentleness of spirit. Camilla let these words wash over her.

“You know,” Mrs. Singh said, “he took over here first when he was fifteen. Harvil…well, for historical reasons, the china-works here has offered employment to every sort of person, regardless of race. Sailors who were left in port, Chinamen who hoped to do business but fell on hard times… Harvil gave them all a chance.”

“That sounds very hospitable.”

Mrs. Singh’s lip curled up. “It does, doesn’t it? In reality, when Adrian arrived, the community was divided five ways. Nobody took him seriously. He was a fifteen-year-old boy and his family owned the place. It should have been a disaster. But he didn’t issue orders. He didn’t take charge. He didn’t tell us all what to do. He just…listened, and then somehow…?” She shrugged. “I can’t quite explain it myself. There are some people who are popular because they tell you you’re allowed to be the worst version of yourself. And then there’s Adrian.”

“He makes you want to be your best.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Singh shrugged. “And when you aren’t, he makes you want to be better without telling you how you’ve failed. As I said. We’re very protective of him.”