After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(61)

Anthony used to have to keep dragging her away from the edge.

She’d been the only child on the trip, and so apparently, she’d invented a playmate for the journey—a sister to take the place of the ones she’d left behind. Priya—that was the name she remembered, Pri for short—had been older. Dark-haired, brown-skinned, with laughing brown eyes. She had been maybe Camilla’s age, although at three, Theresa had been unable to judge such things with any degree of certainty. She’d been sweet. She had played games with Theresa, pulling her away from the edge of the ship when Anthony wasn’t around…and occasionally, sneaking there to stand next to her, watching the waves pass far below.

Don’t worry, Tee. I’ll keep you safe.

Theresa could remember her imaginary sister better than she could Camilla, and it was frightening that her mind could fool itself so well. Perhaps she never let herself think of Camilla because she was afraid that she’d invent something out of nothing.

Look at her; she’d invented an entire story, ending in lewd woodcuts, around Ann Edelbert Wumbler, and the poor woman had done nothing but get married.

Theresa knew that she worried Judith.

In truth, sometimes Theresa thought she worried Judith on purpose. She never wanted to forget that she was different, that her mind did things that other people’s minds did not. And maybe she wanted to remind Judith, because she never knew when she would…

“It’s arrived,” Benedict said, breaking Theresa out of this depressing reverie. Thank God. There was nothing more annoying than reflecting on reality.

The records from the parish were just sheaves of paper sewn together, so new that Theresa could still smell a hint of pungent ink.

Her brother’s fingers fumbled to the right page, spreading it open.

Camilla Cassandra Winters, age 19. Her parents were listed as George Winters and Anne Marie Weston. Her occupation was servant.

“It’s the right age,” Benedict breathed. “And…isn’t that’s her mother’s name?”

Camilla had a different mother than Benedict and Theresa. She stared at the name in question. “I think so.”

“George was father’s given name.”

“True,” Theresa said slowly. “But everybody’s named George. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

Still. It seemed increasingly possible that they’d found their sister. Now all they had to do was…find her.

A handful of weeks ago, she had married a man named Adrian Hunter. His parents were listed as a John Hunter the IIIrd and an Elizabeth Denmore. His occupation: valet.

Benedict exhaled. “This will be…interesting. Do we tell Judith now?”

“Tell Judith what?” asked a voice behind them.

Benedict jumped. Theresa was too well-disciplined to do so; inwardly, though, she winced.

It was the Dowager Marchioness of Ashford—her sister’s mother-in-law. She was a sweet, sweet lady who loved Theresa dearly.

Theresa still couldn’t figure out why. She looked at the black ink smeared on her gloves from examining freshly printed records and scrunched her hands into fists.

“Lady Ashford.” Theresa turned. She curtsied. “How lovely to see you. We were just getting ready to go home?”

The woman raised a single eyebrow. “Theresa, I taught you that trick. You can’t go all mannerly on me in an attempt to get out of an explanation. Whatever are you two doing here?”

Benedict looked at Theresa. “We were going to tell them anyway.”

“No, we weren’t,” Theresa contradicted. She turned to the dowager. “It’s a surprise. For Judith’s birthday. We’re planning it.”

The dowager looked around the General Register Office with a dubious air. Theresa could imagine how the place looked to her—an ugly, dusty building, inhabited by men in dour brown suits. They sat at a table, surrounded by volumes. It smelled of must.

Yes, she imagined herself saying, we are obtaining these lovely records requests for Judith’s birthday. Who doesn’t want to request records?

The dowager shook her head and sighed. “I knew you were up to something when Judith said you were shopping for hats. You never like shopping. You hate hats. You’ve been shopping for three weeks. Is this a good surprise for Judith?”

“It’s the best surprise,” Theresa said earnestly.

The dowager looked unconvinced. “Would Judith think so? Or will this be like the mice?”

“Judith will be overjoyed,” Theresa said. “I promise. With everything I have in me.”

Assuming that Camilla wasn’t dead, that was.

The woman looked around. “Very well, then. Are you almost finished?”

“We’ve just a few notes to make,” Theresa said. “Then we’ll be off home.”

“Off to get a hat,” the dowager told her. And when Theresa’s nose wrinkled, she gave her a stern look. “It won’t be much of a surprise if Judith suspects you of anything. Finish your…whatever it is you are doing. Then, for the sin of telling your sister a lie, I sentence you to hat yourself.”

“But—”

“You know how it is,” the dowager said. “You can be as odd as you like if you’re wearing the right hat. And you, my dear, need to watch yourself on that count.”