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“My mother and I used to live in the village, my lady,” Cam told her easily. “Grace Monroe.”
The old lady gazed at him blankly for a moment. Then her brow cleared. “The seamstress?” she asked, her voice vaulting upward. “You are the seamstress’s son?”
“Yes, my lady. I am.” He stared back at her stonily.
The countess’s eyebrows vaulted upward, and she turned a sharp gaze upon her grandson. “Jeremy?”
“Yes, Grandmama. Mr. Monroe is our guest.” He moved forward to her chair, dropping his voice a little. “I am sure you will welcome him. He has come here all the way from the United States. He is Mr. Pettigrew’s employer.”
She shot a dark look at Mr. Pettigrew. “I’ve yet to determine what this Pettigrew is doing here. What are you about, Jeremy?”
“‘Tis business, Grandmama. Perhaps you remember that Cameron Monroe moved to the United States several years ago. He is the head of a company that, ah, I have been dealing with.”
“What he is saying, Grandmama,” Angela said crisply, “is that Mr. Monroe is apparently quite wealthy now, so we must be pleasant to him. Isn’t that right, Jeremy?”
She cast a sardonic look up at her brother, then at Cam, who was still standing in front of the couch, gazing down at her. Cam raised a quizzical eyebrow at her words, but his expression was more amused than offended.
“Angela!” Jeremy whispered, sending Monroe an apologetic glance. “I must apologize for the women of the family. They are used to a solitary life here at Bridbury.”
“That’s right. We don’t get out much, so we don’t know how to act,” Angela went on with false sweetness. “I am afraid that I have never before been called upon to meet a suitor who holds a gun to my head as he asks for my hand.”
“What?” Lady Margaret’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“Angela.” Jeremy groaned.
Mr. Pettigrew blushed to his hairline and looked away. Only Cam remained seemingly unaffected, still gazing at Angela with that cool half smile on his lips.
“A trifle dramatic, don’t you think, Angela?”
“Perhaps. But the drama is not of my making.” She stood up. “Grandmama, if you will excuse me, I believe that I will go up to my room now. I am feeling a trifle under the weather. Kate?”
Her maid moved quickly to her side, and the two women walked out of the room together, leaving a dead silence behind them.
Angela strode faster and faster, until by the time they reached her bedroom, Kate was almost having to run to keep up with her. “My lady … wait. Slow down.”
Angela swept into her room, but even then she could not seem to stop. She marched across it to the window, then swung back and looked around, as if trying to find somewhere else to go.
“What is going on?” Kate asked with all the familiarity of a friend, as well as a lifelong servant. “Why is Cam Monroe here? And what is he doing dressed up as a gentleman?”
“He is the one,” Angela replied tersely. “The man I told you about, the American who is trying to marry into the nobility.”
“Cam?” Kate had heard all about the Earl’s request that Angela marry a rich American to save the family, but she had a little trouble connecting the fearsome American with her former neighbor and the Stanhopes’ stable boy.
“Apparently. That Pettigrew man said his employer had arrived, and the next thing I knew, there was Cam marching into the room. And I realized that he was the one behind it all. The man trying to force me to marry him.”
“‘Tis no wonder you fainted.”
“I thought for a moment that I had lost my mind. I couldn’t imagine—Cam! It’s been so long—I never thought I would see him again. It’s been years since I even thought about him.”
Her grandfather had made sure that she was married before she could change her mind, whisking her away to London and getting a special license so that she could marry Lord Dunstan without having to wait for the banns to be read. When she returned to Bridbury, newly married, she had gone to Cam, hoping to explain what she had done and to give him money so that he could, at least, get away to America and the new life they both had dreamed about. But he had been too wounded and furious to allow any explanation from her.
“Do you think I don’t know why you married him?” he had roared, his dark eyes spitting fire at her. “Because he is a lord, and one of the wealthiest in the land, as well! I was too stupid to realize that you were just toying with me, amusing yourself until your nobleman came up to scratch!”
“No! No, please, Cam, that’s not—”
“Damn you! I don’t want to hear it!” He had hurled the purse she had offered him down at her feet, and the bright gold coins had spilled out onto the floor of his cottage. “I don’t want your whore’s money, either. I shall make it to America on my own.”
Then he had wheeled and torn out of his house, ignoring her pleas. She had not seen him again.
She had thought about him enough, God knew. At first she had been able to think of little else—missing him, aching for him, crying for him, that pain so great that it for a while somewhat masked the pain of her marriage. What had a blow mattered, when inside she had felt as if she had already died?
Later, when the fresh pain of losing Cam sealed over, and the realization of the lifelong despair and pain that her marriage would be settled in upon her, she had often dreamed that somehow Cam would return and rescue her. That he would find out, all the way across the ocean, what was happening to her, and he would come back and sweep her away from Dunstan. But she had known, even as she hoped and prayed, that Cam would not come back. Even if he had known her fate, he would no longer have cared. He hated her.
Finally she had accepted that her dreams were nothing but that, and that no one could save her from her fate. And, gradually, she had ceased to feel at all, either loss or the memory of love, all emotions ground into sand under the millstone of her marriage.
“So he got rich in America,” Kate mused, following her own thoughts. “He always was a smart one—and hardworking. If anyone could do it, I guess he could.” She paused, then continued, “And now he’s wanting to marry you again. He must never have forgotten you.”
Angela let out an inelegant snort. “Don’t wax romantic on me, Kate. I can usually count on your good sense.”
Kate allowed a little smile. “Hard head is more like it, my lady. But even I can see that if a man’s still wanting to marry you after, what, thirteen years …?”
“I don’t think it is romance that is on his mind. I think it’s revenge. It was my family that hurt him thirteen years ago, and now he has come back to extract his vengeance on us. He has already taken over control of our mines and acquired much of our land, not to mention buying up practically all Jeremy’s debts. The Stanhope family virtually belongs to him. And I, the one who hurt him the most, well, he can bring me permanently under his thumb by marrying me. What exquisite revenge—to have all of us subject to him, applying to him for whatever we might need, currying his favor, obeying him. I cast him off, and he wants to repay me for that. What better way than to make me do what I did not thirteen years ago—marry him! He will have the rest of my life to make me suffer, too, for now even Jeremy would not dare take me in against his wishes. Cam owns Jeremy.”
“Oh, no, my lady! Cam would not treat you ill,” Kate protested. “He is a good man.”
Angela raised an eyebrow. “How can you know that? He seemed so, I know, years ago. Gentle and good and—” Her voice caught for an instant, then she went on. “But how can you know what is really inside a man’s heart? And after so many years, with all the bitterness he felt about my marriage, with whatever he has had to do to make all the money he has, well, he is bound to have changed. He is obviously a very different man now. The Cam I knew would not have set out to wreck a family, as he has done with us. He would not have tried to force a woman to marry him.”
Kate shrugged. “Still … it does not mean he is a devil like Lord Dunstan. My pa, he was a strict one, and I’ve seen him madder than fire, but he never raised a hand against Ma. You know your brother is not like that. Why, even his old lordship wouldn’t have struck his wife.”
Angela cast her a speaking look. “Strike Grandmama? He would not have dared.” She sighed. “I know. You are right. Not all men are like Dunstan. Maybe Cam would not actually hurt me. He was never rough … before. But, oh, Kate, I could not. I could not marry him.”
She tightened her hands into fists, her stomach beginning to roil with the old, familiar fear. “To be under a man’s complete power again. Just to know that he could—” She broke off and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her fists beneath her arms. “To have him in my bed.” Her voice came out a horrified whisper. “I cannot.”
Her maid gazed at her with profound sympathy, wishing, not for the first time, that she could somehow wipe Angela’s prior marriage from her mind. But even that would not be enough, she suspected. The lady’s scars were burned into her soul, as well.
“You need not, my lady,” she reassured her softly. “Your brother cannot make you. He would not, even if he could.”
“I know he could not force me. But I am dependent on him. He has done so much for me. I feel terribly guilty not to, when it would help him so much. I don’t know what he will do if Cam calls in those notes or closes down the mine. Or both. Jeremy will be destroyed.”
“Then you must convince Cam not to do it.”
“I? You jest. Cam hates me.”
“Hates you? A man who is asking for your hand in marriage?”
“I told you, that is only for revenge. It does not mean he has any feeling for me. I am sure he only wants to make me suffer for how I hurt him.”
“He may say that is what it’s for. He may even believe it. But deep inside, I don’t think so. I cannot believe a man would want to tie himself to a woman for the rest of his life—for any reason—knowing that he despised her. If you went to him, explained to him—”
“Never!” Angela looked even more horrified. “Tell Cam about Dunstan and our marriage?”
“No. I did not mean you had to explain everything. Just tell him you cannot marry again, for … for personal reasons. Explain how you feel about marrying. Remind him that it isn’t Jeremy’s fault and ask him not to punish Jeremy and your family.”
“I don’t think Cam is overflowing with sympathy for my family.”
“He will listen to you. It at least warrants a try, don’t you think?”
“Yes. I suppose you are right. It is just—oh, Kate, it scares me. I don’t want to have to talk to him. Just seeing him tonight made me feel so strange. It was him, my Cam, and yet he seemed so different. And I am different, not the same person I was back then. I was foolish and naive and … and … so emotional.”
Kate smiled sadly. “Yes. I remember how you were. Always full of spirit.”
Angela frowned, uneasy. It made her feel unsettled even to remember those feelings, let alone to think of talking to Cam. However, she knew she could not hide from everything. She had spent many years forcing herself to do things that frightened her. Unconsciously, she stiffened her spine. “You are right. I will talk to Cam.”
Angela was sorry to find out that the occasion to talk to Cam alone presented itself to her the very next morning. She went down to breakfast early, as she was accustomed to doing. Generally she did so alone, since Jeremy kept town hours even when at Bridbury, and her mother and grandmother were wont to breakfast in their rooms. This morning, however, as she stepped into the dining room, she found Cam Monroe and Mr. Pettigrew already seated at the table.
“Miss Stanhope.” Mr. Pettigrew jumped to his feet. “That is, my lady. Forgive me, I am quite useless with these titles.”
Cam, whose back had been to her, turned at his employee’s words and also rose to his feet. He looked at her without expression and gave her a small bow. “My lady.”
Angela, who had stopped dead when she saw them, realized that she could not turn now and flee, as had been her first thought. She forced a small smile onto her face. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
The footman came forward to pour a cup of coffee for her at her usual place. Unfortunately, this place was beside Cam’s chair. The thought of sitting next to him made Angela’s lungs feel as if all the air were being crushed from them. But it would be rudely obvious if she was to change places after the servant had already placed her there. So she walked stiffly over to her chair and sat down, avoiding Cam’s eyes. She wished she could avoid his very presence, as well, but that was impossible. He filled up too much space and was entirely too close to her. She was aware of the heat of his skin, of his size, his breath, the faint lingering scent of his shaving soap.
She took a sip of her coffee, hoping that the trembling in her hands did not betray her too much, and glanced surreptitiously down at the men’s plates. Their plates were full; they had obviously just sat down, and they would just as obviously be here awhile. Angela considered getting herself only toast, so that she could eat quickly and leave. After all, the way her stomach felt right now, she could not eat anything, anyway.
However, when she got up and went to the breakfront, she found herself filling her plate like a trencherman, just to delay her return to the table. But when she sat down again, she could eat little, and merely toyed with it.
There was a gaping silence. Finally, Mr. Pettigrew cleared his throat and began, “I find the weather here more pleasant than I had expected. Is it always like this?”
“Usually it rains more this time of year,” Angela replied.
“I see.”
Again quiet lay upon them like a weight. Pettigrew tried again. “My compliments to your cook, Mi—I mean, my lady. The food is excellent.”
“Thank you. I will be sure to let Mrs. Fletcher know.”
Mr. Pettigrew seemed to have run out of conversational topics, for the silence stretched again. This time it was Angela who was pushed by the awkward atmosphere into attempting to make conversation. “How is your mother, Cam? Does she enjoy living in America?”
“She died a year and a half ago.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
The last exchange seemed to end all hopes of polite conversation. Pettigrew ate swiftly and silently, and after a few moments, he rose to his feet, saying, “Excuse me, sir, ma’am, uh, my lady. I, ah, I am afraid I must excuse myself from the table. It was most delicious, but I have quite a bit of work to do.”
“Of course.” Angela smiled at him graciously, and Cameron gave him a short nod. Pettigrew left the room, and the servant cleared his plates. At a gesture from Cam, he, too, exited, leaving Cam and Angela alone together.
Angela pushed her eggs around, keeping her eyes on her plate, but she kept glancing at Cam out of the corner of her eye. He looked different—older, larger, harder—and yet so much the same that it made her heart skip a little in her chest. Over the years, she had forgotten exactly how thick and long his lashes grew, how fiercely dark his eyes were, and how angular his face was.
“Have I changed so much?” Cam asked finally.
Angela colored, aware of how she had been studying him. “I—I am sorry for staring. No. You have changed but little.” She turned back to her food. She did not expect him to say the same thing about her; she knew if he did, it would not be the truth. She saw herself in the mirror every day, and she knew that though her hair was the same texture and her eyes the same color, though her body was only a little less slender and more rounded, no one could think she looked the same as she had at sixteen. The spark that had once lit her face was gone, and her drabness was only emphasized by the plain, dark gowns she wore and the severe knot into which she wound her hair at the nape of her neck. Her skin, albeit still soft and white, no longer held a glow.
“I cannot say the same about you,” Cam told her bluntly.
Angela gave him a cool, measured look. “How kind of you to say so.”
“I did not mean,” Cam said stiffly, “that you are not still beautiful.”
“I am well aware what you meant. I have not aged well, shall we say? It does not matter to me.”
“I meant,” Cam went on stubbornly, “that you did not used to be so quiet. You were never timid.”
“Timid? You make me sound like a mouse.” Angela straightened her shoulders and fixed him with a firm, clear gaze. Once, she had looked at people in that way with ease; in recent years, she had learned to do it again. She could force herself to regard a man with no fear, though inside her stomach might coil. “I am hardly that, Mr. Monroe.”
“Mr. Monroe?” He looked at her quizzically. “I hardly think I am that unfamiliar to you.”
His words reminded her forcibly of exactly how close they had been years ago, and color flooded her face. She tilted up her chin, as if he had insulted her.
“I am sorry,” he told her quickly. “I did not mean—Well, I did not intend that as it sounded. I was talking about the fact that you had called me Cam since you were eight years old.”
“We are hardly in the same positions, however. You are a grown man, and one, moreover, who holds the future of Bridbury in his hands. I can hardly address you as a child does a groom.”
“I am still Cam.”
“All right, then. Cam.” She looked away as she said it, unable any longer to meet his gaze.
There was a moment’s silence while he studied her. Finally he said, “I think ‘tis time we talked. No more intermediaries. What do you say?”
“All right.” She turned back to face him. “However, I am afraid that we have little to say. My answer to you is the same as it was the other day. I will not marry you.”
“Indeed? I had thought you were a woman of greater common sense.”
“Common sense? Is that what you call giving in to coercion? I know some who would call it cowardice.”
“‘Tis common sense to marry where there is money. Look at it logically. You are facing living in genteel poverty. If you marry me, you shall be living in luxury. You married for money before. Why balk at it now?”
Angela blanched. His casually cruel words were like a slap in the face. She stood up abruptly, pushing back her chair. Her hands tightened into fists. “I did not marry Dunstan for money. However, I know that you will think what you will, no matter what I say. You always have. I thought I had good reasons for marrying him, but despite that, I regretted it bitterly.”
“So I have heard.” He looked at her levelly.
“I will not make that mistake again. I will not sacrifice myself, even for Jeremy.”
“Would marrying me be such a sacrifice?” His face tightened, and he rose to face her. “Once you were willing enough to come to my bed.”
Angela gasped. “How dare you! I never—”
“No. But can you say that you stayed away of your own volition?” His voice was as hard as steel.
