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Father was gone. He had taken his horse and valet and rode out of town earlier that morning. I had gone to Mother’s dressing room shortly after, hoping Father’s absence would make her more inclined to bend the rules, and I had been gratified by the agreement of one extra day. I invited her along with me to bid Aunt Georgina farewell and she declined on the basis that she must oversee the remainder of the packing. I did not argue, for I knew Aunt Georgina would be equally grateful if she stayed away.
I stood in the foyer awaiting my carriage when a knock sounded at the front door. I waited a moment for Billington to see to it, but silence carried on and when the knock came again I pushed aside proper convention and opened it myself. I promptly shut it again when I came face to face with Cameron, a look of relief crossing his features before the door slammed against them. I had not expected to see him and I shook myself, opening the door again with a smile pasted on my face.
“Good day, Lord Cameron. May I help you?”
He seemed to see through my false cheer. I did not back down, but neither did I open the door further to let him inside.
“I had thought you would be gone by now. I hoped to speak with you.”
My voice was wooden even to my own ears. “I apologize but I do not have time. I am on my way out.”
“Allow me to accompany you?” he asked. He must’ve been desperate in order to disregard convention and push himself on me in such a way. I weighed my options, but I did not want him ruining the little time I had left to say goodbye to Aunt Georgina.
I opened the door and he stepped inside, closing it behind himself. I turned for the small morning parlor we had on the ground floor that we hardly used, and I knew would be void of people, if a little dusty.
I chose not to sit, walking to the center of the room and turning to face him, I clasped my hands in front of me and put on the bravest face I could conjure, mindful of Aunt Georgina’s advice to feign courage if needs be.
He stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar and removing his hat. He played with the brim in his fingers, spinning the hat slowly while his brown eyes tried to read my face. I hoped it was as impassive as I was trying to appear, for I was certain the boiling emotions within me would erupt shortly if we did not end this conversation soon.
“When I began to write those articles, I did not know I was going to fall in love with you.”
Stunned silent, I took in his nervous form on the other side of the room and tried to make sense of his words. He stepped forward and placed his hat on the small table at the end of the sofa. Clearing his throat, he said, “Ignorant that I was, I thought mentioning you in the papers would give you a boost in society. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
It made sense now, why Rosalynn was not mentioned during the musicale despite her amazing performance and later outburst. He had been protecting her.
“Not everything you wrote was positive,” I reminded him. “‘Guffawing like a caged bird’? A mention in passing would have been a boost. The articles’ utter obsession with me was marked attention. I was a target.”
“I did not intend to focus so wholly on you,” he said softly. I hated his soft words. I wanted anger and defense. I wanted a reason to vent my anger on him.
“So you accidentally wrote about me and nothing else?”
“You could say subconsciously.”
I shook my head. What a heap of rubbish.
He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I can see that you do not believe me. It took me quite some time to realize I was developing feelings for you. At first, I wrote about you because I knew your name and my man at the paper requested real stories about real socialites. I assumed mentioning one of Rosalynn’s friends would be nice of me and Miss Hurst seemed off-putting. You, on the other hand, intrigued me.”
“Is this an apology?” I begged. “You must see how much cause I have to be furious.”
“Of course you have cause to be furious. I would be livid if I were in your shoes. When I learned how considerably you hated the articles, I tried to put a stop to it, I even refused to write for the paper at all. But all they did was assign my column to a different writer and tell him he needed to focus on you. That is when things started getting nasty.”
“That was when they began harassing you, as well,” I said, understanding.
He shot me a rueful smile. “That particular writer and I have never quite gotten along.”
He was close now and I backed up, placing the sofa between us. “What about the book?”
“I told my publisher I was through and he would not be getting the manuscript of the sequel from me.”
My eyebrow raised of its own accord. “Am I meant to simply believe you?”
“Yes,” he said emphatically. “Can’t you trust me? I would never purposely hurt you, Elsie.”
“Do you not see that you already have? Nevermind that my reputation is in shatters, you brought to light Mr. Hurst’s other family, causing them unending trauma and questioning Freya’s legitimacy. And you have ostracized Lord Fischer, to say nothing for countless others. That book was a horrible, horrible thing and I cannot love a man who would knowingly do that to so many people.” I was crying now, my face distorting in frustration. “I am ashamed I read it, that I enjoyed it!”
“You love me?”
“No!” I shouted. “I despise you. Did you not hear me correctly? I could never love you. I could never forgive you.”
Hurt washed over his face and I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I was sick to my stomach, and I wanted nothing more than for him to leave.
“I am leaving London,” I said. “And I don’t expect to see you again.”
It was a clear dismissal. But one he obviously chose to ignore.
“I refuse to leave things this way.”
I shrugged, my voice breaking. “You do not have a choice.”
We faced one another, his frustration mounting. “You would do this to me on the day after I learned of my brother’s death?”
That was a low blow. I sucked in a sharp breath, reminding him, “You have done this to yourself.”
“What can I do?” he begged. “How can I prove I am sorry? That I love you enough to protect you always?”
I looked away, forcing myself not to falter at his pleading. “You can let me go.”
My words seemed to slap him, his expression turning to one of surprise and hurt. He gathered himself together, placing his hat upon his head and making it to the door before he stopped, facing me with his hand resting on the wall. “I am sorry, Elsie.”
He left, taking all of the air from the room with him. I waited until the door shut before I crumpled to the floor, sobbing into my hands. I had gotten what I wanted, the chance to yell at him. But somehow, again, it did not make me feel better as I had hoped it would.
***
“WHATEVER HAS GOTTEN into you, Elsie?” Aunt Georgina asked. I continued to stroke Coco’s fur, my eyes focusing on the chocolate brown of her coat that perfectly matched Cameron’s eyes.
“Elsie,” she said again, this time with more force.
“Yes?”
“What is distracting you so terribly?”
“I am sad to be leaving,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed on me. “I do not doubt that, but that is not all. What has happened?”
I did not know how much to share. I could not give away Cameron’s role as the writer of The Green Door without making him look terrible. Despite what I had said earlier, I did not despise him. In fact, I felt much the opposite. I only knew I could never trust him again.
“I discovered the author who wrote those horrible articles about me.”
“Don’t let that get you down,” Aunt Georgina said with a disregarding wave of her hands. “Wendel is a pompous moron who escaped his own countrymen to be hated by ours.”
“No, it wasn’t Mr. Wendel, it was—”
She lifted her eyebrows and I wondered whether we were speaking of the same thing. She came out with the name so readily I could not help my growing suspicion. “How do you know that?” I asked instead.
“Because I have orchestrated gossip for the newspapers for years, darling. For payment, of course.” She took a sip of tea, unbothered by the fact that she just admitted she threw her friends into the lion’s den for money. “I did not do so for years without earning favors of my own. When they turned nasty, I knew Lord Cameron had ceased to write for them and I had to know who it was.”
“You knew about Cameron?”
She scoffed. “Of course I knew about Lord Cameron.”
“Well,” I said, focusing on Coco’s pouting eyes, tears pooling in my own. “I did not.”
The silence was thick until Aunt Georgina finally spoke. I could hear her grin through her words. “And I thought the rumors false. But you have fallen for him, haven’t you?”
I was afraid to admit it aloud. “Yes. But it can never be. I could never trust him.”
“Oh, pish,” she said. “It has nothing to do with trust and everything to do with his intent. Did he set out to hurt you?”
“No, but—”
“Has he spread false rumors and lies about you?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Then what is there to be so angry about?”
I stared at her, smugly sitting in her golden armchair, and saw her differently. Could she really be so callous? “He used me! I happen to value integrity. I made a decision long ago that I couldn’t marry, for it would be forcing me to give my power to a man. If I give that up now to the first man I have deep feelings for then what is it saying about my ability to stick to my ideals? How am I valuing myself if I readily disregard the ways he has hurt me?”
“It was not his idea,” Aunt Georgina said. “Who do you think the busy Society matron was who entertained all of the witless victims?” She spread her arms out in indication.
So she really was so callous.
I stood to depart, forcing Coco to jump from my lap. “We are leaving in the morning and I will miss you terribly.” I stepped forward and kissed her cheek. I did not respect her anymore, but I still loved her. “I do not know if I shall return. I have many things to figure out first.”
I was close to telling her that Father had lost all of our money gambling but decided not to feed the gossip mill. It was a difficult thing to learn that I must guard myself in the future in what I said to Aunt Georgina.
“Come visit us the moment you return, darling. Coco and I shall miss you immensely.”
I took my leave. I felt a lesser degree of hurt when I discovered Aunt Georgina knew who was behind everything than I had when learning of Cameron’s role. It was evident that my feelings for him were not fleeting, for the pain only grew in time. The more I considered how I had hurt him with the things I said, the worse I felt. I would never be able to leave town without first apologizing.
As my coachman handed me up into my carriage, I said, “To Rosalynn’s house, please.”