Miss…?”
“Forgive me. Here you have been so kind, and I haven’t even told you my name. I am Camilla Ferrand.”
“Miss Ferrand. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even under such deplorable conditions. Please come over here by the fire and warm yourself. I am sure you must be quite chilled.” He guided her toward the fire and into the chair beside it.
Camilla sank into the chair, grateful for its softness and for the warmth of the fire. She leaned forward, soaking up the heat. Benedict looked at Camilla, and his mouth twisted in a grimace. He withdrew to the other end of the fireplace, turning away from her and planting his elbow on the mantel. Sedgewick glanced from him to Camilla and back again, but he made no comment. The silence stretched out awkwardly.
At last there was a knock on the door, and Saltings bustled in, followed by the tap boy, carrying the inn’s best silver punch bowl and a trayful of ingredients. They set their loads down on the sideboard, and Saltings fussed around for a bit before Benedict pointedly opened the door for them and gestured a dismissal.
“Now, then,” Sedgewick said, advancing on the punch bowl. “This will fix you right up, Miss Ferrand. Normally, of course, it is not what I would consider giving a young lady such as yourself, but considering the chill of the night and the ordeal you’ve gone through, I think it will be just the thing to set you up.”
He began to mix the punch expertly, adding rum, sugar and lemons until he decided that the hot drink had just the right taste. He handed one silver cup of the mixture to Camilla, and she took the steaming drink gratefully. She had never had as strong a drink as this, for, as Mr. Sedgewick had pointed out, it was not considered a fit drink for women. However, Camilla considered herself no slave to tradition, and she was rather pleased to have the opportunity to sample a little of the sort of drink men consumed. It had a slightly unpleasant taste underlying the fruity sweetness of the punch, but, all in all, it was not as strong or as bad as she would have thought, and it was blessedly warm. The liquid rolled down her throat, warming it all the way, and burst fierily in her stomach. She finished off the cup and decided that she felt better already.
“That was excellent, Mr. Sedgewick, thank you,” she said, and he graciously refilled all their cups.
“Now, Miss Ferrand, you must tell me how you happened upon Mr., uh, Benedict.”
Camilla cast a stormy look toward that individual. “He abducted me.”
“Oh, God,” Benedict said callously, turning his back to the fire to warm it. “Not that again.”
“I was almost killed,” Camilla added, crossing her arms over her chest and glowering at Benedict.
“Benedict!” Mr. Sedgewick stared at the other man in astonishment. “What in the world happened?”
“She exaggerates. It was nothing.” He waved a hand dismissively. “We were shot at.”
“Shot at?” Sedgewick repeated incredulously. “You call that nothing?”
Benedict shrugged. “No one was hurt. They were some distance away, and I don’t think any of them could hit the side of a barn, anyway.”
“No one was hurt!” Camilla cried, raising her face from her hands. “What about my driver? I think you killed him!”
Benedict rolled his eyes. “I knocked him out,” he explained patiently to Mr. Sedgewick, then added to Camilla, “The reason he stayed out so long is that he’d been nipping at a bottle all evening. He was drunk. ’Tis no wonder you were lost.”
“Lost?” Sedgewick repeated. “My girl, you have had a dreadful day.”
Tears started in Camilla’s eyes as she thought about just how dreadful the day had indeed been, even before Mr. Benedict came along to persecute her. “You’ve no idea, sir.” Her voice roughened, and she stopped, trying to blink back her tears. “I think—I think this is the worst day of my life!”
And suddenly, surprising even herself, she burst into tears.
Sedgewick stared at Camilla, his face showing all a gentleman’s horror at being confronted with a sobbing female. “Dear lady,” he began feebly, “pray, don’t… I’m sure it cannot be that bad.”
“Oh, it is!” Camilla cried, covering her face with her hands. “You just don’t know. It is too, too awful!” Tears poured down her face.
“Well, it’s not a tragedy,” Benedict pointed out brutally. “I am sure you have been lost before, and will be again. We were never in any real danger. I told you.”
“Oh!” Camilla would have liked to shout at him that she was not absurd enough to collapse into sobs because her carriage had gotten lost, but she could not stem the tide of her tears enough to answer. At any other time, she would have been ready to sink through the floor with humiliation at giving way like this in front of two strangers—especially when one of them was as obnoxious and rude as Mr. Benedict. However, tonight, she was too weary and distressed to care.
“Shouldn’t have given her that rum punch,” Benedict told Sedgewick. “She’s bosky.”
Sedgewick cast him an impatient glance. “Don’t be absurd.”
Benedict shrugged. “I’m not. She’s in her cups.”
“I am not in my cups!” Camilla flashed, raising her head and glaring at him, her irritation at his rudeness cutting through her emotional outburst. She wiped angrily at the tears wetting her cheeks. “I am merely tired and…and overset. Everything is just…just ruined!”
Benedict cocked a supercilious eyebrow. “A party canceled? A beau marrying another?”
Camilla jumped to her feet, her fists clenched by her sides, letting out an inarticulate cry of rage. “How dare you! How dare you trivialize my…my… Oh, I hate you! My grandfather is dying!”
She burst into tears again and threw herself back into the chair. Sedgewick cast the other man an admonishing look, and even Benedict had the grace to look abashed.
“I am sorry,” he said stiffly. “I had no idea….”
“Dear girl,” Sedgewick began, going over to her and reaching down to take one of her hands and pat it. “I am so sorry. If there is anything I can do…”
“There is nothing anyone can do,” Camilla said when her spurt of tears had subsided. She brushed the tears from her cheeks, once again disturbing the smears of mud, and drew a ragged breath. “He is old, and his body is failing him. He had a fit of apoplexy several months ago, and ever since then he hasn’t been able to leave his room. His doctor—” She swallowed hard. “His doctor said he hadn’t long to live, but he has kept hanging on.” She offered a watery smile. “He was always the stubbornest of men.”
“I am sure he’s had a long, full life,” Sedgewick said comfortingly.
Camilla nodded. “He has. And I—I’ve almost resigned myself to his death. It’s just— Oh, I’ve made the most awful mess of everything.” She gulped back her tears and raised large, beseeching eyes to Sedgewick. “Truly, I didn’t mean to. I did it all for the best, but now…well, now I have to tell him the truth. All of them. And I am so afraid it will kill him.”
