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Crispin regarded her a long moment. Then he pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped his face and hands.

He stood and gave her his hand to help her stand.

Gesturing to his knees, the pale-blue superfine now filthy, he said, sounding more like himself, “A little hard to explain. The black of your dress hides the dirt, fortunately.”

“I doubt anyone will be crass enough to say anything.”

“You don’t know Hazard.”

He toed the dirt from around one of the paving stones and wiggled it loose.

“You’ll see,” he muttered. Then he used his handkerchief to brush his trouser legs as best he could before offering his arm to her.

They took a few steps along the path, then he groaned.

“What was he like? It is unfair of me, but I have so many questions.”

“I don’t mind speaking of him.” It kept his memory alive. “He was beautiful. He had your eyes. The brightest blue you ever saw.”

“Blond hair? Taverston blond?”

“No. He was bald.” Her voice caught. He would have been blond. She and Manfred were both dark. “He was so sweet. So precious. Looking into his eyes you could see an old soul.”

“How did he die? If it isn’t too painful…if you can say.”

“He couldn’t eat. Rather, he could not keep anything down.

” His arm went limp, so her hand fell away from the crook of his elbow.

Seeing his appalled expression, she said, “It was not that food bothered him. You mustn’t think that.

” It was not a curse inherited from Crispin.

“The doctor said that the outlet from his stomach was blocked. He said there was nothing I could have done. Babies with this always die. They don’t grow up to pass it down. ”

The blood seemed to drain from his face. “How long did he live?”

“Four weeks. He died in my arms.”

He winced. “I’m sorry you had to bear that alone. You’ve borne so much. And this.” He gestured about, seeming to encompass the Stirlings’ home, her mourning dress, everything. “If I can do anything…”

She shook her head. “You can’t. I don’t want to court scandal. I skirted so close to ruin. I just want to live quietly.”

“I understand.” He puffed out a breath. “But I cannot simply walk away from the consequences of our folly.”

“Not our folly. The fault lies with me. You would never have—”

“No, Camellia. Trust me. I would not have lain with you if it was not something I wanted to do.”

Her neck and face warmed. It mortified her still, what she had done. “I truly thought,” her voice dropped, “that I had taken the right precautions. But I don’t regret—”

He dismissed that with a flick of his hand. “Where is he buried?”

“The churchyard in Tonbridge,” she whispered. “Next to Manfred.”

Crispin nodded, jaw clenched. They continued in silence to the side door of the house. They carried such a cloud of gloom, it seemed to dim the riotous colors of the garden.

“Would you mind if I went to see him?” he asked.

“Why would I mind?”

“I feel I have no right to claim…to claim grief.”

She halted. The poor man. Guilt radiated from him. “You have every right.”

“Would you like to come with me? I’ll borrow Jasper’s carriage again. We can go and come back in a day.”

Was that an offer or an entreaty? “Of course I would like to.” How like a man to think it a simple thing. “But people talk. I don’t dare.”

*

From the moment they reentered the parlor, Camellia could tell Crispin was himself again. Or his other self. He stood with a relaxed formality and addressed Philip directly.

“Lord Stirling, you might want to have your gardener look at the paving stones by the roses.” He indicated his knees. “One of them felled me.”

Philip looked startled. “Major, I apologize. I hope you weren’t hurt.”

“It’s nothing. But if it had been one of the ladies…”

Flushing, Philip stammered another apology. It was unfair of Crispin, so Camellia laughed. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth and continued laughing behind it. When all eyes turned to her, she said, “But you should have seen him. He toppled over like a tree in a strong wind.”

Hazard joined her, laughing at Crispin. Then Alice did too.

“I’m sorry.” Camellia looked to Crispin with a very slight attempt at looking regretful. “I shouldn’t have laughed, but I haven’t felt like laughing in so long.”

There was a glint in his eyes before he turned back to Philip.

“It was only my pride injured. And Lady Bod—excuse me, Camellia—is not helping.” Then he laughed too, dispelling any tension.

“And I should apologize for bursting in as I did, and insisting to speak with her. I didn’t want to embarrass her, but I fear my attempt at discretion made it worse. ”

Camellia could not guess where he was going, so she merely put on a disturbed expression and waited.

“I had a very fine pair of dueling pistols that I accidentally left in Tonbridge with the colonel. I wrote to the cousin—”

“Alexander Pritchard,” Camellia put in. “A dreadful man.”

“Who denied possessing ‘anything that was not his own.’ He intimated that Camellia might have sold them.” Reddening, he appeared sincerely abashed.

It was disconcerting how easily he lied.

“I didn’t come to accuse her. Only to ask if she might know what happened to them.

I would not have blamed her if she had sold them.

I left them behind, after all, and they could well have been Neville’s. ”

“Had I opportunity, I might well have sold them,” Camellia said. It wasn’t hard to feign anger. “Alexander claimed everything in the house, whether it be Manfred’s or Neville’s.”

A chorus of support arose. Crispin interjected, “Haz, if you are not going to Tunbridge Wells with Alice and her father, would you object to me playing escort?”

Hazard tapped his quizzing glass. Camellia had no time to wonder why Crispin thought Hazard would not escort his own wife, before the man said, “I have no objection if Alice does not. So long as you are not planning to put those dueling pistols to use, should you find them.”

“In truth, I don’t care much about the pistols. I was only going to give them to Jasper as a jest.”

Hazard and Alice laughed at what was evidently a private joke.

“But I may pay a call on this Mr. Pritchard.”

Something in his tone caused a chill to run down Camellia’s spine. Everyone went silent.

Crispin smiled. “Alice, if you would like a companion, may I suggest Camellia? She knows the area well.”

“What are you plotting, Crispin?” Hazard said, narrowing his eyes. “My wife is not one of your pawns.”

Camellia tensed. One of his pawns ?

“I’m not plotting anything,” he answered with a touch of offense. “And even if I were, you can’t think I would involve Alice. Especially not—” he halted. “I would not involve Alice. I just thought Camellia might like the opportunity to visit her loved ones’ graves.”

Hazard was still giving Crispin a studying look. Then he let out a long sigh. “I trust you know what you are doing?”

Crispin turned to Alice. “Have you any objection, Alice?”

“Of course not. It will be a great deal more enjoyable with you there. And Camellia, please say you will come, too. I would love to have your company.”

“Well, yes, of course. Thank you.” She tilted her head. “And thank you for thinking of me. You’re very considerate.”

She saw what he had done. He’d raised everyone’s suspicions. But no one knew what they were suspicious of. And no one bothered to question her inclusion at all.