The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,113
was a conversation that had come about two decades earlier than Charles had anticipated. As such, he’d not put time into properly preparing.
“It was what I wished to talk about,” Camille explained, clasping and unclasping her gloved hands. “I have asked you to live a lie, and I know what this has done to you and Miss Gately.”
He shook his head, looking pointedly at his nephew.
“He deserves to hear and know everything, Charles,” she insisted with far greater strength than Charles could manage in this moment.
“Of course,” he said on a rush, nodding his head. “But I have no regrets,” he implored the both of them to understand. Not over caring for them. The only regrets Charles carried came from the fact that he’d not shared with Emma. And even so . . . the struggle had been that it hadn’t fully been his story to tell. “I would have you each know that.”
“But we have regrets,” Seamus admitted with an honesty that threatened to cleave Charles in two. “I don’t like living a lie. It is hard enough being a bastard,” he said with a bluntness that sent pain stabbing in Charles’s gut.
Camille reached for her son’s hand and held it tight. “It’s worse when you’re lying, too.”
Warning bells chimed. Oh, God. What was his sister saying? He was already shaking his head.
“I’m claiming him as my own, and acknowledging that you are not, in fact, his father.”
“No!” The denial exploded from him. There would be too much. Too much pain. Too much gossip. Too much of everything, when she’d already endured far more than any woman should.
A sad little smile wreathed her lips. “I’m not asking you, Charles. I’m doing this for me and Seamus. It is time that Seamus and I . . . and you . . . be set free. My mistakes were not yours to own. It was wrong of Mother and Father to ask you to make this sacrifice, just as it was wrong for me to allow it.”
“I didn’t—”
“Ask,” she murmured, interrupting his hoarse exclamation. “I know that. And I know you never would. But you have cared for me and Seamus.”
“And I will always care for you,” he vowed. His eyes burnt from the sting of moisture there, and he blinked several times as he looked to the solemn, silent little boy. “I will always care for you,” he repeated, more insistent, willing his nephew to hear that and believe it. Charles had been there for Seamus since the moment he’d entered the world and would be there until he took his last breath.
“I know,” his nephew said with the quiet, calm confidence only a child could be capable of.
Tears filled Camille’s eyes. “We both know.” Exhaling softly through her lips, she brushed back the tears slipping down her cheeks. “But it is time I do the same as his mother.”
She’d be shredded by society. Seamus, as well. And their parents. He grimaced. “Mother and Father—”
“Are not pleased.” Camille smiled her first real smile since she’d entered his offices. “But they know I am determined in this.” She stood, and stretched out a hand for Seamus. The little boy slipped his fingers through hers.
Charles exploded to his feet. “The tart.”
“I promised Seamus a visit to Gunter’s. There will be more for you,” Camille said gently but firmly, her meaning clear. Her refusal of that baked treat had more to do with her at last claiming her role as mother to Seamus and making the decisions for him.
Charles stared after the pair walking off hand in hand.
Seamus cast a lingering glance over his shoulder, and with one final smile for Charles, he was gone.
They both were.
The moment Camille and Seamus left, Charles sagged against the settee the mother-son pair had occupied. He raised trembling hands and ran them over his face. For so long, he’d been set on protecting Camille. She’d been right in her charges, that he’d been so intent on saving her that he’d not allowed her to be fully involved in decisions that had directly affected her and her son. He’d underestimated her, as he’d underestimated women until Emma. Until Emma had opened his eyes to everything he’d failed to see. And yet, though he was confident in Camille and sure of her strength, it didn’t erase the fact that there would be scandal . . . and struggle. The scandal he could give two rots about. But if he could spare her pain . . . he would.