Part 15 (1/2)

Her mother had come closer too to look at the baby and then to gaze steadily at Camille. ”And you felt obliged to give her caregiver a chance to have some breakfast and relaxation, Camille?” she said.

”She has taken a fancy to me,” Camille told them almost apologetically. ”Sarah, that is-the baby. And I must confess I have taken a fancy to her. I was not expecting you. I was to come up to Grandmama's this afternoon to call on you.”

”And I beg you to come anyway,” her mother said, seating herself on the sofa. ”But there will be other visitors, and I wanted you-both of you-to myself for a while.”

Abigail went to sit beside her.

”You resent my coming back here,” their mother said. She was still speaking softly in deference to the sleeping baby.

”Oh no, Mama,” Abigail protested.

Her mother reached out to cover her clasped hands with one of her own. ”I was referring to Camille,” she said. ”You were not entirely happy to see me last evening, Camille.”

Oh, she had been, had she not? She had been happy, but also . . . resentful? Her mother had always been perfect in her eyes, the person above all others she had tried to emulate. But there was no such thing as perfection in human nature. Her mother had become human to her in the last few months, and it was something of a jolt to the sensibilities. Parents were not supposed to be human. They were supposed to be . . . one's parents. What a foolish thought.

”Abby was and is eighteen, Mama,” she said. ”Only just out of the schoolroom, not yet launched upon society. She had recently lost Papa and had just learned the terrible truth about herself. She had just seen Harry lose everything and go off to war. And I-” She swallowed. ”I had just been spurned by the man I had expected to marry.”

”And I went away,” her mother said, ”and left you both here alone with only your grandmother to comfort you.”

”Oh, Mama,” Abigail said. ”Grandmama has been wonderful to us. And you explained why you must leave. You did it for us, so that we would not so obviously be seen as the daughters of someone who had never actually been married. I still do not believe people would have judged you so harshly, but you did it for our sakes.”

Their mother squeezed Abigail's hands and gazed at Camille. ”That is what I told you,” she said. ”It is what I told myself too. I am not sure, however, that even at the time I deceived myself into believing I spoke the truth. The truth was that I had to get away, not quite to be alone, perhaps, since I went to your uncle Michael's, but away from . . . you. I could not bear the burden of being your mother and seeing your worlds come cras.h.i.+ng about your ears. I could not bear to see your suffering. I had too much of my own to deal with. So I left you in order to nurse my own misery. It was terribly selfish of me.”

”No, Mama,” Abigail protested.

Camille looked down at Sarah, who was fussing slightly though she was still sleeping. ”Have you come back to stay?” she asked.

”But Uncle Michael needs you,” Abigail said.

”No.” Her mother smiled. ”He was doing very well without me, and he is launched, I believe, on a very gentle, very gradual courts.h.i.+p of a lady who is currently employed as a governess. My presence at the vicarage has probably slowed its course, and that is a great pity, for I believe they are truly fond of each other.”

”You are here to stay, then,” Camille said, ”because you feel you ought to leave there.” Her tone was more bitter than she had intended.

Her mother sighed. ”I am not as penniless as I thought,” she said. ”I have heard from Mr. Brumford-your father's solicitor, if you will recall, and Harry's after him. It would seem that the dowry I took to my wedding is to be returned to me since the wedding never actually took place, not in any legal form anyway. It was a sizable sum, and it has gained considerable interest in almost a quarter of a century. It is not a vast fortune, but it is certainly enough to enable me to live independently with my daughters, either here in Bath or elsewhere.”

”Is this part of the money that went to Anastasia a few months ago?” Camille asked sharply.

Her mother hesitated. ”Yes,” she said. ”But it has been judged to be mine, not hers. She certainly will not miss it. She still has the bulk of your father's fortune. And she is married to Avery.”

”Did you protest the will?” Camille asked.

”No,” her mother said. ”The news came as a surprise to me.”

Camille stared at her. The money had come from Anastasia, then. She had found a way to give them some of her fortune without making them feel beholden to her. She had found a way to give some of her fortune to Mama. At first she had wanted to divide her entire fortune four ways to include Camille and Abigail and Harry-they had all refused-but had made no mention of Mama beyond suggesting that she and they continue to live at Hinsford Manor, which she now owned.

Her mother cut her eyes to Abigail without moving her head and then looked pointedly back at Camille. She had thought of it too, then. But she had decided to accept the money anyway, so that she could provide a home again for herself and her daughters. And perhaps she was right to accept. It seemed just. The dowry had been paid by Grandpapa Kingsley on Mama's wedding to Papa. But there had been no real wedding. Papa had not been ent.i.tled to that money. Therefore, Anastasia was not ent.i.tled to it either or the interest it had gained over the years.

”We are going to live together again, Mama?” Abigail asked, her voice painful with hope.

”Would you like that?” their mother asked. ”It would be nothing as grand as the house on the Royal Crescent.”

Two tears trickled down Abigail's cheeks. ”I would like it,” she said. ”If it is what you want, Mama.”

Mama smiled at her and squeezed her hands again.

”I will remain here,” Camille said, smoothing a hand over Sarah's head as she fussed quietly again.

”I understand,” their mother said. ”I honor you and what you are doing, Camille.”

Camille lifted her head and looked at her. ”I am glad you have come,” she said. It would take a s.h.i.+ft in her thinking to see her mother as a person rather than just as her mother and Abby's and Harry's. But everything in her life these days was causing a s.h.i.+ft in her thinking. She wondered if life would ever be a stable thing again.

Sarah opened her eyes and gathered herself to express her displeasure vocally. But her gaze focused upon Camille and she smiled broadly instead.

”h.e.l.lo, sweetheart,” Camille said, and bent her head to kiss her cheek.

Her mother and sister gazed in silence.

Seventeen.

Aunt Louise had gone with Aunt Mildred and Uncle Thomas to call upon an old acquaintance they had met at church during the morning, Camille was informed when she arrived at the house on the Royal Crescent during the afternoon. Alexander had taken Grandmama and Mama and his own mother for a drive out to Beechen Cliff with the argument that the weather was too fine to be wasted indoors. Elizabeth, Jessica, Anastasia, and Avery were at the house with Abigail.

Avery soon maneuvered Elizabeth over to the drawing room window-by design?-and the two of them stood there, talking and looking out and pointing to various things outside. Abigail and Jessica were seated side by side on the sofa. Camille took a chair close to them and Anastasia joined them. It was brave of her, Camille had to admit silently to herself. She and Abigail were the half sisters who had spurned her advances of sibling affection, and even Jessica, who was her sister-in-law and lived with her and Avery as well as Aunt Louise, had resented her at first and perhaps still did.

It was all unfair, of course. Although Anastasia now dressed expensively, she certainly made no parade of her wealth. She dressed with simple, understated elegance. And she behaved with quiet dignity. She was also looking pretty and happy if a little uncertain at the moment. It was increasingly difficult to dislike her. And a bit impossible not to.

”I hoped I would have the opportunity of a private word with my sisters this afternoon,” she said, first glancing Avery's way and then looking at them each in turn. ”We will be making some sort of announcement to the whole family this week, but I wanted the three of you to be first to know that Avery and I are expecting a child and that we are ecstatically happy about it. We do hope you will be pleased too at the prospect of being aunts.”

They all stared at her as though transfixed by shock. But it was really not so surprising. Anastasia and Avery had been married for a few months, and there was a certain look about Anastasia, a glow of contentment and physical well-being that should have spoken for itself. Such an announcement from one sister to three others should surely be eliciting squeals of excited delight, but Jessica looked rather as though she had been punched on the chin, Camille felt like a mere observer, and Abigail-ah, dear Abby!-was recovering herself. She set her hands prayer fas.h.i.+on against her lips and smiled slowly and radiantly around her fingers until even her eyes sparkled.

”Oh, Anastasia,” she said with quiet warmth, ”how absolutely wonderful! I am so pleased for you. And thank you for telling us first. That was terribly sweet of you. Goodness, I am going to be Aunt Abigail. But that makes me sound quite elderly. I shall insist upon Aunt Abby. Oh, do tell us-do you hope for a boy or a girl? But of course you must wish for a boy, an heir to the dukedom.”

”Avery says he does not care which it is provided only that it is,” Anastasia said, and Camille could see now the bubbling excitement she had been keeping at bay. ”If it is a girl this time, she will be loved every bit as dearly as an heir would be. And really, you know, Abigail, I would not think of a boy as the heir, but only as my son and Avery's.”

Jessica had caught some of Abby's enthusiasm and was leaning forward on the sofa. ”Is that why you were being lazy and sleeping late every morning a while ago?” she asked.

”Laziness. Is that how Avery excused my lateness?” Anastasia asked, grimacing and then laughing.

”Oh goodness,” Jessica continued. ”I am going to be an aunt too, Abby. Or a half aunt, anyway. Is there such a thing as a half aunt?”

Across the room Camille met Avery's lazy glance. She looked away before he turned back to the window.

”I am delighted for you, Anastasia,” she said, and she was jolted by the look of naked yearning her half sister cast upon her before masking it with a simple smile.

”Are you, Camille?” she said. ”Thank you. After the baby is born, you and Abigail must come and stay for a while at Morland Abbey if Miss Ford can be persuaded to do without you at the school-and if you can be persuaded to do without it. I want my children to know all their relatives and to see them frequently, especially their aunts and their uncle. Family is such a precious thing.”