After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(55)

“Oh,” was Mr. Hunter’s bemused reply. He had been frowning at a notebook of sketches as he ate. “You’re reading that? Why?”

“I am attempting to. I don’t understand it.”

He glanced over, swiftly scanning the pages in question. “Well, the court is saying that—”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant. I comprehend the words perfectly now. I just don’t see how any person in their right mind could possibly have come to the conclusion that Sir William was tricked into marriage.”

“I don’t recall what happened.”

Camilla was warming to her subject. “As best as I can tell, this absolute rapscallion obtained a marriage license with her actual name on it, told this poor maid that he loved her, had his way with her, and then claimed the marriage wasn’t real and she had tricked him into it! And the ecclesiastical courts agreed!”

“Mmm.” He nodded.

“I want to get a stick and beat him.”

“I support you in your desire for justice, but the case was decided in 1721. He’s probably dead.”

“Then I want to beat his grave,” Camilla declared. “And it’s worse than that. This is the sort of court that decides if we can have our marriage annulled? They have no sense of justice, no principles. What are we doing, going before them?”

“Be fair,” Adrian said. “The men who decided this are all dead, too. It’ll be a different set of men.”

Camilla looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t going to laugh. “Is this amusing to you?”

“No,” he said. “It’s not. It’s why my uncle’s help is of the utmost importance. If they think we are upstanding people, they’ll be more likely to treat our story, outrageous as it is, with belief and kindness. If they don’t…” He shrugged. “Well, you’ve seen it. This all would be dead easy if you were a lady; we could play the lady and the utter blackguard for the court, and the annulment would come too swiftly for us to blink. They’d find a way to make sure you weren’t tied to the likes of me.”

“The likes of you.” Camilla blazed out. “If they say anything about the likes of you, I’ll beat them, too. As if these idiots could judge anyone’s character. I hope she hit him.”

“You hope who hit whom?”

“Miss Tabbott.” She gestured. “Sir William. Of course.”

And then the words he’d spoken came back to her—if you were a lady—and she remembered. She tried to think of her past so little that it no longer registered as a truth about her, not even when he said it aloud. This all would be dead easy if you were a lady.

Of course. He didn’t know.

How could he know? She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t wanted to look back.

They might be able to end this tomorrow, without any of this rigmarole. All she had to do was tell him the one thing that she no longer wanted to recall.

He would thank her; she could let him go without letting him see how much she hurt.

Or…she could keep silent and have him for a little longer. For company. For tea.

She looked over at him across the table. For a moment, she wavered on the edge of indecision. Was it even a lie, if she simply chose not to tell him the truth?

No. It wasn’t a lie. Camilla shut her eyes.

“Camilla? Is everything all right?”

It hurt to remember it. She could not be anything except a scandal to her family. The truth of her birth had no relevance here. She didn’t have to tell him.

It wasn’t a lie.

But it wasn’t right, either.

She exhaled slowly. “There’s something I should tell you.” Her eyes opened. “I didn’t mention it earlier; I didn’t know it would be of use. But… You should know that I used a false name on the registry.”

He blinked. “That doesn’t invalidate the marriage, you know.”

“My family name is not Winters. I was born Camilla Worth.” She kept her eyes down. “My father was the Earl of Linney, and he was hanged for treason, so my family name has no real value. Rector Miles convinced me to use a different name, so that the shame of who I had become would not further damn the rest of my family. They’ve made it out of this mess. I don’t… Even if they don’t want me, I don’t want to hurt them. But you said we could use it, so…” She shrugged. Her throat felt hoarse. “Here you are.”

“The shame of who you are?” he repeated. He said the words slower, enunciating them, grinding them into her soul.

“Please don’t make me say it. I don’t even like thinking it.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. She could hear the tick of a clock behind them. She shifted uncomfortably.

“I know you don’t believe me. But…I thought I should tell you.” She lifted her head to look at him.

He was watching her, his eyes dark and intense. “It likely wouldn’t help, you know,” he said slowly. “Your sister hasn’t talked to you in years, and you’d need her to vouch for her.”

“Well. Then.”

“But you didn’t have to tell me. Why did you?”

She shrugged one shoulder. She could not speak, not with that lump in her throat.