her words, Benedict let out a noise of disgust and said with withering sarcasm, “Naturally.”
Camilla whirled toward him indignantly. “I did it for the best!”
“That is what they always say,” he retorted. “Deceiving you and then pretending that it’s for your own good.”
“Hush, Benedict. Don’t mind him, Miss Ferrand. Our Benedict has a warped view of the human condition.”
Benedict grimaced but did not reply, and Camilla turned back to Mr. Sedgewick, ignoring the other man. “I did do it for the best,” she reiterated. “I was trying to give him some comfort, to make his last days better. But I never thought that he would tell Aunt Beryl!”
“Well, of course not,” Sedgewick agreed, confused but sympathetic.
“But I haven’t been to see Grandpapa, not since that first collapse, and all because I cannot bear to face Aunt Beryl. She will ask all sorts of penetrating questions, you see, and would want to know where he is. It would be impossible. And now Lydia is there, and of course she can’t carry the burden of the lies. It’s not that she can’t lie to Aunt Beryl, for Lydia is capable of the most perfect whoppers, all the while looking completely innocent.” Her tone indicated a wistful envy of the said Lydia’s ability. “The trouble is that she gets carried away by them and winds up saying so many things that she gets all tangled up. So I had to come. And I have to tell them the truth.”
“You are not making the slightest bit of sense,” Benedict pointed out rudely.
“Benedict…”
“No, he’s right. I’m all muddled.” Camilla put a hand to her head and sighed. She gazed at Sedgewick for a moment, then gave a little nod, as if coming to some sort of decision. “You can be trusted, can you not? I mean, you would never tell another soul, would you?”
“Of course not!” The man looked offended that she could question his integrity even that much. “But you must not tell me if it makes you uneasy.”
“No, I feel as if I must tell someone or burst. I have been thinking about it all day, driving down here. All day—truth is, I’ve thought of little else for weeks. I don’t know what to do, how to extricate myself from this tangle I’ve created.”
“You have my word of honor,” Sedgewick assured her solemnly, “that anything you say will not go beyond this room. Feel free to tell us.”
Camilla cast an uneasy glance toward Benedict, who grimaced and muttered, “Trust me, Miss Ferrand, I shall not be telling your girlish secrets all over London.”
Hastily Sedgewick put in, “I will vouch for Benedict. He will not say anything. Now, tell me, what is this problem you are wrestling with so?”
Camilla hesitated, glancing toward the punch bowl. “Do you think… Could I have a bit more of that punch? It is so warming.”
“Of course.” Sedgewick politely took her cup and ladled more of the spicy brew into it, also refilling his and Benedict’s cups.
“You are going to wind up with an intoxicated female,” Benedict warned him dryly, taking his own cup and drinking from it.
“Don’t be nonsensical,” Camilla retorted. “I have neber, uh, never, been intoxicated in my life.”
“Hush, Benedict. Now, Miss Ferrand, please proceed.”
She took a sip of her drink, drew a deep breath and began. “Well, as I told you, Grandpapa was taken with apoplexy, and the doctor put him in bed and said he hadn’t long to live. Of course, I posted down to Chevington Park as soon as I heard.”
“Chevington Park?” Sedgewick repeated, surprised. “You mean…your grandfather is…”
“The Earl of Chevington.” Camilla nodded. She was looking down at the cup in her hands and so did not see the swift glance that her benefactor cast toward Benedict. “Yes. My mother was his daughter.
“My parents died when I was a child. So I was raised by my grandparents, as well as by my aunt Lydia—Lady Marbridge, that is. She was married to my uncle, the heir to the Earl, but he died when their son Anthony was just a child. So it was quite kind of her to take me on, as well. We all lived at the Park with my grandparents. I suppose that is why I am so close to my grandfather. My grandmother died a few years ago. I came to see my grandpapa as soon as I learned that he had been taken ill. The doctor said we should all be very careful not to upset him, that it would damage his health, maybe even send him into another fit. But I could not keep him from worrying about me. He was so very anxious, you see, because I am not married. He kept saying that I needed a husband to take care of me, which is, really, the most absurd thing, because I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”
Benedict made a muffled noise, and Camilla turned to look at him sharply. He gave her a bland look in return and gestured for her to continue.
“As I was saying, he was fretting himself tremendously. You see, Grandpapa is rather old-fashioned, and he is convinced that I ought to be married.”
Sedgewick cleared his throat deprecatingly. “Well, it is the usual thing for a young lady to do.”
“Yes, but, you see, I am not the usual young lady. I don’t wish to be married.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes.” She nodded vigorously. “Marriage, you see, is an institution designed for the benefit of men, and I see little advantage for a woman in marrying.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it’s true. Men, after they marry, are still free to do as they please, the rulers of their households, whereas their wives have no freedom at all. They are expected to obey their husbands and raise heirs and keep the house in order. And nothing else. They have no rights and no freedom.”
Sedgewick smiled faintly. “Come now, Miss Ferrand, surely you overstate the matter.”
“Do I?” She straightened, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “A woman’s property becomes her husband’s as soon as they are married. She, in fact, is considered his property, a chattel. He has the right to discipline her, to restrict her movements, even to beat her if he wishes. She cannot vote.”
“Vote? Good Gad, you wish to vote?”
“I don’t see why not. But that is beside the matter. The point is, whether I wish to or not, I cannot. I have had an excellent education, and my understanding, I think I may say without contradiction, is not small. Yet the stupidest fellow is allowed to vote, simply because he is a man and owns property, whereas I am not.”
“God help us,” Benedict commented dryly. “A bluestocking.”
Camilla shot him a look that would have blighted a less sturdy sort. “I fail to see what is so reprehensible about a female of intellect and education. No doubt you are the sort who thinks that women should tend to their knitting and not speak unless spoken to or have a thought in their heads that does not pertain to dresses and hairstyles.”
“No, Miss Ferrand, actually, I have had quite enough of empty-headed females.” He gave her a small bow, a faint smile
