Paris and his friends may succeed at last. But, they have lured Galen into their set. I fear for his safety. Of course, he will listen to no one—no one but you. I wish you would come, before it is too late.
E.
Though it might not be readily apparent to the casual reader—deliberately so, Cami suspected—the note conveyed a great deal of information. Paris’s “friends,” a group of patriots known as the Society of United Irishmen, had been working for years, first publicly, then in secret, to render Ireland a truly independent nation. Two years past, an uprising had failed when promised French support had not materialized. Erica’s intimation that they might at last have found a way to succeed sent a thrill of pride through Cami, chased by fear. Paris and the others, including Erica’s betrothed, Henry Edgeworth, would be risking their lives on behalf of their country. Was such a sacrifice necessary to reach their goal?
History would answer yes, she supposed. Knowing how often men’s lives had been demanded in the cause of freedom, she had written The Wild Irish Rose in hopes of making people see Ireland’s struggles and forge a solution without bloodshed. Perhaps such a notion had been naïve. She loved Paris dearly, and of course she did not want to lose him, the closest to her of all her siblings, and not only in age. He was smart and determined and—oh, brave, so she must be brave in turn. She would try to see the honor in his sacrifice, if it must be made.
But Galen was just a boy, though he would protest to hear himself described as such, no doubt. Young enough to listen to stories of war and hear only tales of thrilling adventure and glory, nothing of pain or loss or even death. Oh, Paris had better hope all was still well when she sailed into the Bay of Dublin, or he would know something of pain firsthand. At her hand.
“Cousin Camellia?” Felicity regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and alarm. “What news?”
For the briefest moment, she forgot Felicity’s dilemma. Forgot her own contribution to it. “My younger brother is in trouble,” she said, dropping the letter onto the table. “My sister has written begging me to come home. I must go immediately.”
“Of course you must,” Felicity agreed without hesitation. Before his disastrous debts, and the equally disastrous plan to resolve them, she and her brother had been quite close. “But how will you get there?”
“The public stage to Wales,” Cami replied matter-of-factly, for she had no money for anything else. Perhaps not even enough for that. “The packet from Holyhead to Dublin.”
“But you can’t travel all that way alone.”
Her uncle had sent a servant to accompany her to London, a fatiguing journey that had taken the better part of a week by private coach. It was a daunting prospect to imagine what the trip might involve if she were by herself. Nevertheless, family must come first. She lifted her chin. “I assure you, I can.”
“But you would be…ruined.” The last word required a moment’s fortification before it could be spoken.
Cami did not know whether to be charmed or annoyed by everyone’s sudden concern for her reputation. “You judge from your own experience, dear. No one will pay me the least mind, I assure you. I am not ‘lady’ anything. I am a servant. And a spinster.”
A catalog of characteristics remarkably similar to the one she had given to Gabriel, though to prove a drastically different point.
“Go to Ireland?” The hand that had been shading her aunt’s eyes fell to the table, making china and silver rattle. “Nonsense.”
Felicity frowned with surprise. “But Mama, it must be important or her sister would not ask it of her.”
“What good could you possibly do there, Camellia?” Aunt Merrick nodded toward the towering pile of invitations to be answered. “I have need of you here. I forbid it.”
Cami had dreamed of the day she would earn enough with her writing to be independent—or, at least as independent as any woman could be. Able to go where and do what she would. She glanced toward Erica’s letter where it lay beside her untouched plate. She could not wait around for freedom to be granted. She must seize it. Rising, she laid her hands on the table in front of her for support. “I am sorry to defy you, Aunt. But you leave me little choice. I must go. I can only promise to return as soon as I am able.”
Lady Merrick’s face grew red. “How dare you behave in this insolent fashion?”
Cami bit her lip to keep from retorting, but to her surprise, her cousin threw off her usual restraint and stood. “Enough, Mama.” That lady’s face grew darker, beet red, nearly purple, but Felicity turned coolly away. “Come, Cousin. I will help you pack your things.”
In the corridor, she squeezed Cami’s hand and pulled her toward the staircase. “You needn’t fear her.”
Cami shook her head. She was not so much afraid of her aunt as for her. She had looked to be on the verge of an apoplexy.
“Papa will make her understand,” Felicity continued. “Oh, Camellia—I do wish I had your bravery. I have so often wanted to prove to her that another person’s heart could be stronger than her will.”
A reminder, though doubtless not a deliberate one, that
