After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(87)
“I’m married,” Camilla said.
Her sister stared at her. “What?”
The elderly woman tilted her head. “To whom?”
Christian frowned, glancing at her bare feet. His question came out a little more of a growl, almost a warning. “When?”
Judith shook her head, brushing all that aside. “Do you love him?”
Adrian would be awakening just now. She could imagine him blinking in the sunshine. Reaching for her across the mattress. Not finding her.
Her breath seemed hot inside her, burning her lungs.
Adrian would look around the room. He’d wonder if she had gone to get something to eat. He’d find her note in the study…
She hoped he found the note soon. She hoped he understood. She didn’t know if he would read it with relief or sorrow. She wouldn’t know if he would understand the difference between fleeing him and fleeing the situation.
“It hardly matters,” she said. “You see, I want—no, I need—an annulment. And you’re the only one who can help me.”
After all these years, her sister should have hesitated. She should have frowned, perhaps, or asked for more information. After all these years…
“Of course,” Judith said. And she held her close.
* * *
A whirlwind descended before Camilla could understand what was happening.
Judith sent for a solicitor, and then—before she did anything else—she sent Camilla off for a bath in her private room. Because apparently that was the sort of thing her sister had now—an entire private bath.
The water was deliciously warm; the Marquess of Ashford (“Christian,” he had said, “we knew each other when we were children, and you’re not about to start calling me by my title now.”) had plumbing and taps in the house, and there was as much hot water as Camilla could ever want.
The soap smelled of roses; a jar of bath oil released the scent of vanilla. Camilla changed the water twice, until it was almost clear when she rinsed.
A towel had been placed on a marble-topped table next to a dizzying array of glass jars. They were all labeled—skin cream that smelled of cherries, hand cream that smelled of oranges, foot cream that smelled of peppermint, eye cream that smelled of lavender.
Who knew there could be so much cream in the world?
She dipped her finger in each one. Aside from the scents and faint hints of color, she could not detect a difference between any of the creams. They all felt equally creamy.
Her feet hurt; tiny little cuts had broken the surface. She had bled and bruised. It was nothing that wouldn’t heal in short order.
In an act of defiance, Camilla applied the hand cream to the soles of her feet. It was probably a dreadful faux pas; they would know her for the imposter she was the instant she set her orange-smelling feet outside of the bathroom.
It felt appropriate.
The towel had a sachet of lilac folded inside; the soft, fluffy robe hanging on a hook smelled of cinnamon and cedar.
She’d forgotten how the wealthy could surround themselves with scent, so much scent. They hardly had to smell the real world at all.
When Camilla finally opened the door to her sister’s dressing room, she found Judith and Theresa awaiting her with two maids—Beth and Jenny, she was told upon inquiry.
Camilla had more in common with Beth and Jenny than Judith. If they’d worked in the same house, they would have thought themselves above her.
Camilla tried to protest that she didn’t need help dressing, but Beth looked hurt and Jenny looked worried. She gave in.
One of the maids combed her hair, then vanished to obtain hair pins. The other brought in gowns that were too long.
“You’re so short,” Judith said. “When did that happen? Goodness.”
But between the two maids, they pinned the hem in mere minutes.
A third maid arrived with a tray; she deposited a teapot, then a plate of sandwiches, and finally, biscuits.
“The biscuits are currant,” Judith said. “The sandwiches are beef, pickled onion, Wensleydale, and a bit of horseradish. One of my creations.”
Camilla stared at them for a moment. “I had forgotten about you and sandwiches.”
“Yes, well. If one is going to grow plump, it had best be on sandwiches.” Judith offered her the plate.
Camilla picked one up and took a bite. Her stomach growled as she did, and oh, God, how had she not known how hungry she was? She hadn’t eaten since the night before.
The sandwich was divine—the savory flavor of the beef mingling with the sharpness of the pickled onion, finishing with that little kick of horseradish.
“So,” Judith said, as one of the maids came back into the room armed with a curling iron and sparkling pins. “Tell me about this marriage that must be annulled.”
She didn’t know how she managed to get through the entire story without sobbing, but she did it without a tear.
The last weeks sounded utterly unreal. Working for Rector Miles. The wedding at gunpoint. Adrian telling her they mustn’t consummate their marriage. Their friendship; then working together. Telegrams, Mrs. Martin, then Kitty and finally, Adrian’s uncle. That last betrayal was where she ended her story.
As Camilla spoke, she began to feel something besides heartbreak—something she’d been feeling ever since she wrote her letter in the middle of the night. She was beginning to be…angry. Actually angry. How dare Adrian’s uncle treat his loyalty in so cavalier a fashion?