As an Earl Desires (4 page)

Camilla sat within her library, gazing out the
window, while Lillian sat nearby reading aloud the latest batch of
correspondence. A countess received an ungodly amount of letters,
was required to send an abundance of replies. When Camilla had
hired Lillian, she'd explained that she believed her eyes
should be spared the constant squinting necessary to read all that
came her way. She also had no desire to get ink upon her fingers,
so left the task of writing to Lillian as well.

She and Lillian had devised a workable solution.
Lillian first read the letter aloud. Camilla skimmed over it later
if she determined it held any significant information, then
provided the response that Lillian dutifully wrote.

Camilla was going to have a dreadful time
responding to each of today's inquiries because she could
barely remember what each person had written. It was so unlike her
not to remain focused on the task at hand. Whatever would Lillian
think when Camilla stumbled along instead of providing her usual
confident responses?

How could Camilla explain that her mind kept
drifting to the afternoon and the kiss that Archie had bestowed on
her? Even after her refreshing walk in the park, she found that his
bay rum scent still lingered, and memories of the passion simmering
between them wouldn't be put to rest, but remained to taunt
and tease her with the possibilities of what might have been if she
weren't so fearful of the consequences.

She'd never considered herself a coward, but
where he was concerned she certainly was.

A sound at the doorway had her turning her
attention there, grateful for the distraction from her morbid
musings. The butler stood patiently, holding a silver tray. Like
all the servants in her residence, Lillian, too, for that matter,
he technically worked for Archie because it was the Earl of Sachse
who paid the salaries. She fully understood that if it ever came
down to it, their loyalty would have to go to him rather than to
her. She was really no more than a guest, and she feared a time
would come when Archie would realize that.

“Yes, Matthews?”

“A letter has arrived from his
lordship.”

Her heart kicked painfully against her ribs, and
she had trouble drawing in a breath. “From Lord
Sachse?”

The high tone of her voice surprised her,
sound
ing very much like the squeak of a mouse
when cornered by a large and ferocious-looking cat.

The butler, as befitted his station, gave no
indication that anything was amiss in her response, and stated
levelly, “Yes, madam.”

She felt as though her ability to think clearly had
stepped out of the room as Matthews stepped farther into it. What
could Archie possibly want? Why would he send a letter? Had he
written about their encounter that afternoon? Described it in
detail? Asked for another session? Demanded another kiss, or she
would indeed find herself with an allowance?

It was as though she watched through a dark tunnel
as Lillian, reacting from years of habit, took the letter from
Matthews and, using an intricately carved silver letter opener,
unsealed the envelope in preparation of reading its contents aloud
to her mistress.

“No!” Camilla jumped to her feet, then
fought to regain her composure as both her employees stared at her
as though they didn't quite know this woman who was acting so
unlike herself. She held out her hand. “I'll take the
letter.”

Lillian furrowed her brow, which caused the pointed
tip of her nose to appear more pointed. “You don't wish
for me to read it to you first?”

And risk the possibility of
revealing my very per
sonal and private encounter
with Lord Sachse this afternoon? I think not
.

Although she knew that Lillian was the soul of
discretion, she also believed it was imperative to keep secret that
Archie had kissed her—and worse, that she'd kissed him
back—until she'd regained her senses. It was so much
less embarrassing that way. Deigning not to answer Lillian's
question, she snapped her fingers impatiently. “The letter,
Lillian, if you please.” And even if she didn't.

“As you wish, my lady.” Lillian handed
the envelope over to Camilla.

“Leave me now,” Camilla ordered.
“I wish to have a moment of privacy.”

Once the servants had departed, and the door was
closed, Camilla returned to her chair by the window. She removed a
single sheet from the envelope, unfolded it, and held it toward the
late-afternoon sunlight.

In spite of her apprehension regarding what he
might have written, she smiled. She'd known that he'd
write with neat, yet bold, sweeping strokes. Slowly, she trailed
her fingers over the marks he'd made. So beautiful, so
elegant, so perfect.

She'd known it would be so. He was a teacher
after all, and she'd known he'd teach by example.

Tears filled her eyes. At that precise moment,
she'd have gladly given up her hard-earned
title to be able to read what he'd written.

 

With letter in hand, Camilla retreated to the
sanctuary of her bedchamber. She was desperate to know what Archie
had written, but not desperate enough to risk asking Lillian to
read her the letter—especially after she'd broken from
their usual habit. How would she explain her sudden reversal
without appearing flighty? She certainly wouldn't reveal the
truth: that she lacked the ability to read.

It was her most shameful secret: her inability to
decipher the complex maze of scrawl that resulted in words that
allowed people to communicate through writing rather than
voice.

She envied those with the ability to read, to open
a book and bring forth a story that had once existed within someone
else's mind, to know with a single glance over a newspaper
everything of importance that was happening within the world, to
see a sign on a shop window and know immediately what was being
advertised even though no drawing was provided. People who could
read took for granted the possibilities that existed because they
could share others' experiences and thoughts. Even a
stranger's. They didn't appreciate the largeness of
their world,
while she was left to flounder
within the smallness of hers.

She'd spent the early years of her life in
poverty on the streets, clutching her mother's skirt while
her mother sold her skill with a needle…and sometimes
herself. The memories were not pretty.

She'd been eight when her mother had taken
her to the children's home. Had she been younger, she might
have had more success with the schooling they'd offered, but
she'd been too proud to let on that she hadn't a clue
as to how to read or write. Her gift was memorization. She could
have someone read to her and repeat what she'd heard almost
verbatim. She'd thought if she pretended that she could read
and write, that eventually both skills would take root and the
pretense would become reality.

Instead, she'd simply learned how to pretend
extremely well and convince people to believe whatever she wished
them to. She made herself indispensable at handling chores, so she
was often called upon to work rather than to study. She became like
a magician, providing distractions that hid the truth and
manipulating the performance so that it seemed true magic had taken
place.

They thought she was oh so smart—and so had
she—until she realized that in her cleverness
she'd sacrificed all hope of ever mastering the
ability to read. By then, it was too late.

But then her world again changed. The Countess of
Sachse had taken to volunteering at the children's home to
lessen the heartache she'd experienced after her son had died
in America.

She'd liked Camilla. Camilla had liked her.
And when she'd made the offer to take Camilla on as her
companion when Camilla was fourteen, Camilla had seen an
opportunity to better herself. Certainly, the countess had never
required that she read. It was conversation that interested her,
and so Camilla had learned how to speak like a lady, with a
lady's intonations and an educated woman's choice of
words. Words she couldn't spell, words she would never
recognize when presented in print.

But speak well she could, fool the world she did.
Then she became a countess and achieved the means—a
secretary—to keep forever her most humiliating secret buried
deeply where none would find it.

She walked to her dressing table and opened the
large gold-inlaid box in which she kept her precious jewelry. She
removed a tray, then the one beneath it. Carefully, she took out
the remaining pieces of jewelry and set them aside. Then she
slipped a fingernail into a spot between the side of
the box and its apparent bottom. The slot was
invisible to the most discerning eye. She worked free the covering
that hid the false bottom.

She set Archie's letter on top of another
she'd received and never read. As she lay dying, the countess
had given it to Camilla.

“Show it to no one,” she'd
whispered. “And do not read this until my husband is dead and
buried, because I never want him to look into your eyes and see the
truth. Although I would find some satisfaction in knowing that
I'd bested him—I would not have all that I've
done undone until it is time. I trust you and you alone. I know
that you will see that my wishes are carried out.”

And Camilla would indeed see that they were carried
out—if she only knew what they were. Countless times since
Sachse had died, she'd considered taking this letter to
Lillian and asking her to read it aloud, but the countess had
written something she wanted no one else to know, and she'd
trusted Camilla with whatever it was.

So she was left to wonder and unable to carry out
the dear woman's final request. She couldn't even fake
doing so, as she had no earthly idea what the countess might have
asked of her. She'd provided nary a hint of what she wanted.
Perhaps to spit on her husband's grave. Although Camilla had
done that anyway. Twice. Once for herself and once for
the previous countess on the off chance that it had
indeed been her request. She knew the old earl had been no kinder
to his first wife than his second.

She'd assumed his first wife had wanted to
exact some sort of revenge, but she had no idea what it might
actually entail. Still, Camilla took satisfaction in knowing that
regardless of what it was, she
would
have carried out the request to the best of her ability had she
known what it was.

The knock on her door nearly had her leaping into
her jewelry box. She swallowed hard to get her rapidly pounding
heart lodged out of her throat and back into her chest. “One
moment please.”

She scrambled to reassemble everything and put all
the items back where they belonged. She always felt so guilty about
letting down the earl's first wife. The woman's
ignorance concerning Camilla's inability to read was a
testament to Camilla's success at convincing everyone that
she was indeed well educated. She would have told her predecessor
the truth, but it seemed a cruel thing to reveal when death had
been hovering in the shadows. Camilla had determined it would be
kinder to allow the countess to believe that her final wishes would
be handled to her specifications.

Closing the lid on the jewelry box, she released a
sigh before straightening and turning to face the door.
“Enter.”

Her lady's maid, Frannie, stepped into the
room. “Lord Sachse has arrived for dinner.”