After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(72)

He took the book, looking at her, and then at the woman who stood five paces behind her, head down. Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t she—?”

“You may remember Kitty,” Camilla put in hastily, “from the time she perjuriously witnessed that we were legally wed? We found each other and spoke.”

“I recall everything about that evening in vivid and excruciating detail.”

Kitty winced and turned away; Camilla reached out and took her hand.

“She also put the room key in my pocket,” Camilla said. “And we have an affidavit from Mrs. Martin about the funds, right? I thought it could not hurt to have testimony from someone who would explain that she had an active role in the circumstances. Kitty will say that she had been coerced by threats to expose the truth of her three-year-old child, born out of wedlock.”

“Oh.” Adrian took a step forward. One of his hands drew up an inch—as if he was reaching out to touch Camilla—and then fell, slowly, as if he’d remembered not to do so. “Well done, you.”

His voice was warm with praise, and Camilla blushed as if he had lifted that hand and run it along her lips.

“Will it be enough, then?”

Let it not be enough. She hushed that selfish desire and held onto her conscience with both hands, willing herself to do the right thing, the best thing. But oh, part of her wanted. Part of her wanted their quest to be hopeless, wanted him to look at her and say, “We’ve done all we can, let’s try to make this marriage work.”

He flipped through the parish account book instead.

She had thought he was handsome the moment she met him, but now, now that she knew his moods, now that she could read the intense concentration as he scanned down the pages…

Now, her whole being swayed toward him. That firm set of his eyebrows, the press of his lips…

Part of her wanted their quest to be hopeless.

But it was no longer just conscience. There was another part of her, something that had always been there. A part of her that had yearned and wanted and desired, year after year.

I want to be loved.

Not just picked as a default. Not just accepted as fate.

She wanted to be loved. She wanted him to devote that intense concentration to her not because he had no choice, but because she’d earned it.

I want to be loved.

It was no longer enough to win for the sake of her conscience. Now, it felt almost imperative—that she should prove it to herself. That he should care for her by choice, not by necessity.

I want to be loved by him, Camilla thought.

His finger halted on the page, tapping. “Here,” he said. “This is where the entry ought to have been. But there is very distinctly nothing in the parish accounts.”

“That’s good. But…have you checked? Perhaps he recorded it earlier? Or later?”

“Did he often do so?”

Camilla shook her head. “I don’t think so. But—we can compare.” The second book—the book of Rector Miles’s private accounts—was taken out.

There it was—a thousand pounds entered into the ledger. Income from investment, it read.

“But Mrs. Martin gave two thousand pounds.”

“Lassiter must have received half. Somehow. But… There’s no record. At least not here.”

“Well, then.” He exhaled. “We have them. Proof of wrongdoing. Mrs. Martin can prove she gave the rector money; we can prove they never sent that money on to the church or used it for its intended purpose. And Miss…”

“Shackleton,” Kitty provided.

“Miss Shackleton,” Adrian said, “I must ask you—did Bishop Lassiter speak to you about this scheme? Did he threaten you?”

“No.”

“Ah.” Adrian shut his eyes.

“Is it enough?”

Still, Adrian hesitated.

Her mind raced through the possibilities. She’d read the reports after all.

“It might be enough if all we needed was to prove facts for our annulment.” She knew how it worked, unfortunately. “It would be enough if facts were enough. There is motive. There is explanation. There are witnesses.”

“But.” He gave her a sad smile.

“But.” She shut her eyes. “But facts are what people believe them to be. And with nobody powerful on our side, the truth will not be enough. Your uncle…”

“My uncle,” Adrian said, “wants Bishop Lassiter. And all of this points to Miles alone.”

“You don’t think your uncle will help anyway?”

He looked over at her. “I want to,” he said slowly. “I want to think he will lend his voice. But…”

She watched him.

“But,” he said, “I’ve known him too long. I suspect he won’t.”

Another silence fell. Camilla bit her lip and considered. She was technically Lady Camilla. Judith had no desire to see her, but… Maybe, if Camilla asked nicely?

“They must have corresponded,” Camilla said. “The bishop arrived on almost no notice.”

“If they did, it was not in my presence.”

Camilla shut her eyes and thought about that morning again. She could see it, plain as day. She’d been harried, running around. They’d had no notice of the bishop’s arrival, not until lunchtime. Her memory was good; she returned to it now, trying to recall any helpful detail.