The Exception of an Earl

by Deborah Wilson

  Camilla felt something crack in her chest. “He’s…”

  “Apparently, he was ill and again, that was my fault. By the time I tried to make right with Annie, it was too late. They were gone and he was unprotected.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be sorry for me.” His voice cut through the air. “I never knew him. I never saw his face. Not once. I heard he had my eyes. I’ll never know what else he had of me. There were no portraits of him commissioned.”

  She released a soft sob.

  “No, Camilla. Don’t feel sorry for me. I never learned what it was like to have his weight in my arms as I held him. I never watched him learn to speak or walk. I was never a part of his life, therefore I’ve lost nothing.” Yet even as he said it, the words didn’t seem true.

  He’d wanted all those moments. She wondered if her father had been the same when she’d been born. Had he been anxious to do with her all the many things Will had missed?

  Will said he’d tried to make it right. Did that mean Annie had refused his proposal? “This was five years ago?”

  He nodded.

  “And what happened to Annie?” Camilla asked.

  “She married someone else.” His expression soured. “Some older chap she doesn’t love.”

  Had Will loved her? She thought he’d said he hadn’t loved anyone. She was confused, but she didn’t know how much of the situation she had the right to know about.

  She wanted to hear more, but it was painful to hear, so she suspected it was also painful for Will to share. She was sad for both him and Annie. This was the sort of loss she prayed she’d never experience.

  She tried to set those thoughts aside. He’d told her he didn’t want pity, but if she allowed her mind to continue on the journey it was going, he’d see the truth on her face.

  But she wanted to know more.

  She’d never had a conversation like this in her life, but she also needed to figure out what this meant for her book.

  He clearly regretted his choice from long ago and sadly, there was no going back.

  Camilla put the book down. His eyes followed her motions as she sat back on the couch and placed her hands on her lap. “This is why you won’t kiss me.”

  He shook his head. “No. Well, yes. I don’t wish to make yet another mistake.”

  Did he mean that if Camilla ended up with child, he’d abandon her too? Her brother would call him out. He’d have no choice but to marry her.

  But maybe he would fight for his freedom. Would he ever marry?

  It was all very sad to think about.

  Her mother’s voice filtered through her mind. She could hear the marchioness saying how terrible and animalistic men truly were. That they were like dogs, who took any woman who showed a hint of interest, faithful to no one but themselves.

  Will’s voice distracted her from her thoughts. “My decision not to kiss you is simply about doing the right thing.”

  She nodded even though she didn’t know what he meant. She was less inclined to kiss him at the moment. How could she after hearing about Annie? This story made him seem so much older than his years. He’d experienced war and the death of a child.

  “Are you planning to leave?” he asked.

  She looked at the clock on the wall and then at him. “It’s only been an hour.”

  He turned his mouth down. “But you’re not writing anymore.”

  “No, not at the moment.” Did he want her to leave?

  Perhaps he wished to be alone with his thoughts. Camilla often sought solitude when she needed time to think of heavy matters, but that time alone wasn’t always good.

  He resumed his seat across from her. “Why haven’t you left? What I just confessed to you should have had you running out the door.”

  It should have, but… She shrugged. “You won’t kiss me, so I’m going to assume I’m safe. And blame the writer in me, but I don’t want to leave.” She was starting to think of Will as a friend, so it didn’t sit well with her to leave him as he was.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re really not leaving?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I should go tell your mother what I confessed. Do you think she’d carry you away?”

  “I know she would.” Her mother already hated men. They were all guilty until proven guilty. The evidence against them was nothing more than the organ between their legs. “I think it’s best we leave my mother out of this for the moment.”

  “It will come out,” he said. “Sooner or later, the ton will know. You should distance yourself from me before then.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Was Annie a lady?”

  “No.”

  “So, you think Annie or your child will matter to anyone? It will only be you who is haunted by their memory. You’re no longer a knight. You’re an earl. Society will forgive you.” Then she sighed as she thought of her father. “No. In fact, Society will believe there is nothing to forgive. It is a man’s right to do as he pleases.”

  That Will was troubled by the matter beyond the death of his son proved him to be very different than the lords she knew. That alone made her stay.

  He fisted his hands. “They should matter. He should matter.”

  He meant his son. Would he ever say the boy’s name? Did he know the boy’s name?

  She remained silent, but her mind ran away with things she wanted to write down.

  Tortured past. Mistake. Her hero was becoming more real by the second.

  Will shook his head. “I no longer want to speak about this.”

  “What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

  He lifted his head. “You can ask me whatever you want.”

  “Anything?”

  He nodded.

  That picked up her spirits. She was almost certain Will didn’t say that to everyone. “Did you love Annie?” She told herself she was asking for the writer that lived within her and not for the woman.

  He shook his head. “I never loved her.”

  “Then why did you go back for her?”

  “Because…” He rubbed his hands with his face. “Love shouldn’t have mattered. I should have done right by her.”

  Camilla stiffened. “Are you saying you didn’t marry Annie because you didn’t love her?” Surely, that was not what he meant. Such a sentiment didn’t seem to dwell in the man before her.

  Could he truly have let the notion of love guide his choice?

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  3 2

  * * *

  Will scoffed and wished he could take back the offer he’d made Camilla to ask whatever she wanted. “Childish, I know, but yes. I didn’t marry Annie because I didn’t love her.”

  He’d thought nothing a worse fate than being stuck with a woman he didn’t love for the rest of his life. “But then I quickly discovered I couldn’t live with the shame of that choice either. I went after her, but she was gone by then and my shame was solidified.”

  “And then she married someone else.”

  He nodded. “I shouldn’t have left her for something as silly as the hope for love. It was childish.”

  “That isn’t childish,” Camilla told him. “It may not have been the honorable choice either, but I don’t think wanting love is childish. Everyone wants love. Even God wishes for our love.” She smiled. “It is why he gave the choice to do so or simply not. Love is not childish. It’s simply… complicated. But honestly, I find this conversation very enlightening.”

  “How so?”

  “From what I know about you, from what you’ve revealed to me, you’ve never given me any indication that you valued love at all.”

  “I don’t. Not anymore.”

  “Why not?” She frowned. “Annie is wed. There is nothing you can do for her now.”

  Yet he was still guilty of his crime and would be forever. “Love is not for me. The title and Society may require I take a wife, yet there is still a chance that this new title will die with me.”
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br />   “So, if you choose to marry, you plan to take a wife you don’t love?” she asked in confusion.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want this title, Camilla. I didn’t want any of it, not even the land. I don’t want a place in Society.” He’d liked his position with the yeomen, spying on behalf of the Crown. He’d been content there. He’d been certain he would die there.

  Now, his life was on an entirely different path and he wasn’t sure what he was doing. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Me?” Her eyes widened. “You’re asking me what you should do?”

  “Your father is a marquess. Your brother will inherit. Tell me, what do you think I should do? What would you do if you were me?” It was an honest inquiry.

  And she took it just as seriously as he wished. She was silent for a long time, her gray eyes roaming the room.

  He looked away when his thoughts went places they had no business. Now that he’d invoked Annie’s name, her presence was there in the room. He couldn’t look at another woman and not think of her.

  “Do you believe you made a mistake with Annie?” she finally asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you ever make such a mistake again?”

  “I don’t intend to.” He’d try not to, but even looking at Camilla made it hard for him to give her a straight no. He wanted her. He’d already crossed a line when he’d slipped into her room the other evening.

  He could still see her wrapped in her soft silk, her dark golden hair around her shoulders. Her pale eyes had held both fear and… happiness.

  “Well, I would think that being sorry would be enough.” She sighed heavily. “I always hope people can change. I want to believe that everyone can be happy and that no one would be sad if they can be otherwise. It’s foolish, I know. My brother tells me that all the time, but… Why not?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not be happy?” she asked.

  “Because… Annie isn’t happy.”

  “Is Annie’s husband cruel to her?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, he is not. Actually, he’s very kind to her.” It was Annie who was cruel to him. Will hadn’t forced her to marry the man, but he’d left her with few other choices. How could he be happy when she wasn’t?

  “But she could be,” Camilla said. “So, I see no reason you shouldn’t be either.”

  “She doesn’t love her husband.”

  “To love is a choice,” she said. “One can beg for it, but in the end, it will always be the other person’s choice. Shall they love you? Spend time with you? Cultivate a good relationship?” Her eyes slowly became haunted and her lips trembled before she pushed them together.

  He wondered… had she begged for someone’s love before? And who?

  The anger that flooded his blood surprised him. Camilla wasn’t his.

  He didn’t inquire about this other man, but Lord Anthony came to mind. And he set him aside just as easily. If anything, Lord Anthony wanted Camilla and not the other way around.

  He thought about Annie and her sadness. He then thought about Camilla’s words.

  And he realized that Camilla might be right. Perhaps Annie was choosing to not be happy. She was discontented with life and only saw one way to true happiness: being his wife.

  But how could she not see that they’d be miserable together?

  He often wondered if Annie enjoyed his pain. He believed she did and he allowed it. He suffered for her enjoyment. He sighed. “You’ve given me much to think about.”

  “Good. So have you.”

  “Am I still your muse?”

  Her smile softened the hardness that had grown in his chest. “Yes, and you made me realize that I was wrong about you. We spoke of dreams in the park. And I think…” She paused warily, as though fearing he would leave at her next words. “I think you still dream of love.”

  “That’s not true.” He’d given that up.

  “Then why are we here?” she asked.

  She couldn’t have guessed the truth, had she? “Because you asked me to be your muse.”

  “But you’re doing much more than that,” she said. “You’ve become involved in my book, my romantic tale.”

  He stiffened.

  She moved to the edge of the couch. “Tell me the truth.” Her eyes were alive with an unnamed sensation. Perhaps it was hope, but he wasn’t sure.

  He swallowed. He was like most men. He shied away from looking weak.

  But Camilla was asking of the truth. And he’d told her she could ask him anything.

  “Yes.”

  She leaned back and let out a breath. It was like his answer had blown her away. Then she stood. “Thank you.” She gathered her book. “I’m going to see where my mother is.”

  ‘You’re leaving?”

  She nodded. “I need to write.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

  He stood. “It’s starting to sound like I’m no longer just your muse. It’s beginning to sound like you’re writing about me.”

  She tilted her head. He was starting to like the way she gripped her book to her chest, like she was trying to comfort it.

  And he wondered… What would it be like to be held by her?

  There was nothing sexual about the thought. He simply… liked Camilla. Not only as a woman but as a person. He liked her for who she was.

  “Maybe I am writing about you,” she said. “And you will know love, Lord Sencio, even if it only on paper.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  3 3

  * * *

  “Your grandmother is here,” Lady Hornstein said from Camilla’s bedchamber door.

  Camilla turned away from her writing and looked up at her mother. Then she looked at the clock. The party had started an hour ago, but her grandmother was never on time for anything. Now, Camilla would make them even later.

  She wasn’t ready.

  She’d been writing. Her mind hadn’t been able to stop for more than a few minutes at a time all week. Her story had made her laugh and even cry. It was coming along. It was beautiful, more beautiful than her first one. She hoped people like it when she was done.

  She hoped Will liked it.

  Camilla stood. “Tell her I’ll be down soon.”

  Her mother didn’t leave. “How is your book coming along?”

  “Well.”

  The marchioness was having one of her calmer days. In fact, she’d been calm all week. Ever since Camilla had begged her mother not to shout at the breakfast table, the woman had been rather... kind. She’d thought to ask her mother why, but in the end, she’d let it go. Why bring up something ugly when they were having so many beautiful days?

  “Will you be seeing Lord Sencio again?” her mother asked.

  She hadn’t been back to see Will since she left him the morning he’d confessed about Annie. She wondered how he was doing. In fact, she worried about him, but she hadn’t written to him. She didn’t know if that were appropriate.

  But considering the fact that he’d been in her room…

  When her mother still hadn’t moved, Camilla asked, “Is something wrong?”

  The marchioness shook her head. “I was thinking to… come with you tonight.”

  Camilla’s eyes widened. Then she quickly tried to fix her expression.

  But too late. Her mother saw her horror at the idea.

  Lady Hornstein stiffened. “I would almost forbid you to go if I didn’t suspect you wouldn’t mind staying in and writing your book.” Her mother could just as easily forbid Camilla from writing tonight, but for some reason, she hadn’t.

  She hadn’t even complained when Camilla had decided to write through her meals, taking most of them in her room.

  She hadn’t been by to see Emily or Luke either. In fact, Camilla had barely moved from her seat at the writing desk in her room. That was how engrossed she’d become.

  The sound of her lady’s maid moving through her gowns in the wardrobe was the only sound for a moment.


  “Father will be there,” Camilla eventually said.

  Her mother pulled her brows together. “Is that why you’re attending?”

  Camilla shook her head. Just a month ago, it would have been the reason but now… “Grandmother wishes to go.” That was the only reason Camilla was leaving her house. She would rather write, but the dowager had been looking forward to this evening and Camilla had no intention of letting her down.

  Her mother’s expression cleared. Strangely, she didn’t press the issue of her father.

  Odd.

  “Have a good evening, then.” Her mother closed the door behind her.

  Half an hour later, Camilla and her grandmother were on their way to the party.

  “This will be a marvelous party,” the dowager said. “Lord Causefield rarely gives parties anymore, not since his best friend died in America’s War of Independence, but tonight he honors a fine man.” She sighed. “I was born when our country fought against the French and Austrians. France thought to grow their power and cripple Britain completely. Back then, the whole world was at war. Every power was involved in this great struggle of dominance.”

  As usual, Camilla soaked in anything the woman said. This time, it was about the Seven Year War and the time after that. Her grandmother had a sharp memory. Perhaps all her sleeping kept everything so fresh.

  Often, Camilla could imagine herself in the stories, standing right where her grandmother had and seeing everything the woman had witnessed.

  More than once, Luke said Camilla got her artistry from the dowager.

  “If only Landcastle were alive,” her grandmother said. “The old one. Charles, not Marcus. Charles would have enjoyed this, seeing his son and his best friend give a party in honor of a war hero and a new earl.”

  Camilla gasped. “Grandmother. Whose party are we attending?”

  “The Duke of Causefield.” Her grandmother frowned. “I already told you that. I told you this night was important to me.”

  Camilla nodded. “But who is the earl being honored?”

  “Lord Nyeport.”

  Camilla sighed. She remembered reading about a Nyeport. It had been mentioned in the same article as Will. Both men were being given titles. Both had earned them by saving the royal family.