“Abby was and is eighteen, Mama,” she said. “Only just out of the schoolroom, not yet launched upon society. She had recently lost Papa and had just learned the terrible truth about herself. She had just seen Harry lose everything and go off to war. And I—” She swallowed. “I had just been spurned by the man I had expected to marry.”
“And I went away,” her mother said, “and left you both here alone with only your grandmother to comfort you.”
“Oh, Mama,” Abigail said. “Grandmama has been wonderful to us. And you explained why you must leave. You did it for us, so that we would not so obviously be seen as the daughters of someone who had never actually been married. I still do not believe people would have judged you so harshly, but you did it for our sakes.”
Their mother squeezed Abigail’s hands and gazed at Camille. “That is what I told you,” she said. “It is what I told myself too. I am not sure, however, that even at the time I deceived myself into believing I spoke the truth. The truth was that I had to get away, not quite to be alone, perhaps, since I went to your uncle Michael’s, but away from . . . you. I could not bear the burden of being your mother and seeing your worlds come crashing about your ears. I could not bear to see your suffering. I had too much of my own to deal with. So I left you in order to nurse my own misery. It was terribly selfish of me.”
“No, Mama,” Abigail protested.
Camille looked down at Sarah, who was fussing slightly though she was still sleeping. “Have you come back to stay?” she asked.
“But Uncle Michael needs you,” Abigail said.
“No.” Her mother smiled. “He was doing very well without me, and he is launched, I believe, on a very gentle, very gradual courtship of a lady who is currently employed as a governess. My presence at the vicarage has probably slowed its course, and that is a great pity, for I believe they are truly fond of each other.”
“You are here to stay, then,” Camille said, “because you feel you ought to leave there.” Her tone was more bitter than she had intended.
Her mother sighed. “I am not as penniless as I thought,” she said. “I have heard from Mr. Brumford—your father’s solicitor, if you will recall, and Harry’s after him. It would seem that the dowry I took to my wedding is to be returned to me since the wedding never actually took place, not in any legal form anyway. It was a sizable sum, and it has gained considerable interest in almost a quarter of a century. It is not a vast fortune, but it is certainly enough to enable me to live independently with my daughters, either here in Bath or elsewhere.”
“Is this part of the money that went to Anastasia a few months ago?” Camille asked sharply.
Her mother hesitated. “Yes,” she said. “But it has been judged to be mine, not hers. She certainly will not miss it. She still has the bulk of your father’s fortune. And she is married to Avery.”
“Did you protest the will?” Camille asked.
“No,” her mother said. “The news came as a surprise to me.”
Camille stared at her. The money had come from Anastasia, then. She had found a way to give them some of her fortune without making them feel beholden to her. She had found a way to give some of her fortune to Mama. At first she had wanted to divide her entire fortune four ways to include Camille and Abigail and Harry—they had all refused—but had made no mention of Mama beyond suggesting that she and they continue to live at Hinsford Manor, which she now owned.
Her mother cut her eyes to Abigail without moving her head and then looked pointedly back at Camille. She had thought of it too, then. But she had decided to accept the money anyway, so that she could provide a home again for herself and her daughters. And perhaps she was right to accept. It seemed just. The dowry had been paid by Grandpapa Kingsley on Mama’s wedding to Papa. But there had been no real wedding. Papa had not been entitled to that money. Therefore, Anastasia was not entitled to it either or the interest it had gained over the years.
“We are going to live together again, Mama?” Abigail asked, her voice painful with hope.
“Would you like that?” their mother asked. “It would be nothing as grand as the house on the Royal Crescent.”
Two tears trickled down Abigail’s cheeks. “I would like it,” she said. “If it is what you want, Mama.”
Mama smiled at her and squeezed her hands again.
“I will remain here,” Camille said, smoothing a hand over Sarah’s head as she fussed quietly again.
“I understand,” their mother said. “I honor you and what you are doing, Camille.”
Camille lifted her head and looked at her. “I am glad you have come,” she said. It would take a shift in her thinking to see her mother as a person rather than just as her mother and Abby’s and Harry’s. But everything in her life these days was causing a shift in her thinking. She wondered if life would ever be a stable thing again.
Sarah opened her eyes and gathered herself to express her displeasure vocally. But her gaze focused upon Camille and she smiled broadly instead.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Camille said, and bent her head to kiss her cheek.
Her mother and sister gazed in silence.
Seventeen
Aunt Louise had gone with Aunt Mildred and Uncle Thomas to call upon an old acquaintance they had met at church during the morning, Camille was informed when she arrived at the house on the Royal Crescent during the afternoon. Alexander had taken Grandmama and Mama and his own mother for a drive out to Beechen Cliff with the argument that the weather was too fine to be wasted indoors. Elizabeth, Jessica, Anastasia, and Avery were at the house with Abigail.