Page 69 of Private Arrangements
“I will keep that in mind,” she said numbly.
He rose. She stood up too.
“You'll need to watch out for fortune-hunting young ladies now,” she said, wondering whether her awkward chuckle sufficiently hid her unhappiness.
“And title-hunting ones too.” He smiled. “And those who are simply dazzled by the way I walk and talk.”
“Oh, yes, especially watch out for those.”
Don't cry. Don't cry now.
Suddenly she realized that she was now the one holding on to him, not the other way around. He but allowed his hands to remain in her panicked grip. He was done. He'd said everything he wanted to say to her.
Let go,she thought.Let go. Let go. Let go.
When she at last did what she commanded, it was not through force of will. Her hands slackened and slid off his because it was not her place, nor her privilege, to touch him of her own volition.
“Good-bye, then,” she said. “And a safe crossing.”
“I wish you every happiness,” he said, with grave formality. Then, with a swift peck to her cheek, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
She didn't know what was so sweet about a sorrow that felt like her still-beating heart impaled upon the fangs of Cerberus. She could only watch hopelessly as he disappeared from her view, from her life.
This time for good.
Chapter Twenty-six
London
25 August
My dearest Philippa,
I apologize for my letter arriving late yesterday. The light these past couple of days, though thinner and cooler than the light of high summer, has a wonderful golden quality, especially late in the day. Miss Carlisle thinks I've made tremendous progress on “Afternoon in the Park.”
People are trickling back into London. Last night I had dinner at the Carlisles' and revealed myself a bounder when I admitted that I'd been in town for two weeks. Everyone else boasted that he'd spent the whole of August grousing in Scotland or sailing off the Isle of Wight.
I'll be overjoyed to see you tomorrow. I wish we were already married.
I enclose, as always, a thousand loving thoughts.
Yours ever devoted,
Freddie
Camden's departure had not gone unnoticed. Such was the newsworthiness of the event that within thirty-six hours the whole of London knew he'd vacated his apartment and taken everything with him. The telegraph—indeed, the telephone—paled before the swiftness and efficacy of mouth-to-ear gossip transmission.
What did it mean?Everyone had wanted to know. Had Lady Tremaine won her battle? Had Lord Tremaine permanently withdrawn from the war? Or had he only temporarily retreated to regroup?
Gigi paltered, fudged, and equivocated—when she could. When pressed hard, she lied outright. She didn't know, she repeated. Lord Tremaine did not communicate personal plans to her. She didn't know what he intended—didn't know, didn't know, didn't know—and therefore must curb her impatience just a bit longer.
The divorce papers were typed afresh, needing only her signature. She told the lawyers to sit on them. Goodman inquired whether the furniture and decor in Camden's bedchamber should be removed, covered, or polished daily in anticipation of his return. She had him leave everything alone. Her mother sent a fortune in telegrams. She ignored them en masse.
But she couldn't ignore Freddie. Freddie—bless him for having been so patient—showed mounting signs of distress.Is there anything from Lord Tremaine's solicitors?he asked every time they met.I wish we could get married. Right away.There was a fearful and almost frantic quality to his pleas. She gave the same carefully crafted answer each time and hated herself with ever greater venom.
Croesus was the only one who didn't pose questions she couldn't answer. But he looked dejected and listless in Camden's absence. She'd find him in the conservatory, napping on Camden's favorite rattan chair, the one with faded blue paisley cushions and cigar burns on the armrest, as if waiting for his return.
Maintaining this intractable status quo was like juggling flaming scimitars. She woke up tired and went to bed dazed with fatigue: parrying a thousand acquaintances' curiosity, keeping her mother at arm's length, cosseting Freddie as best as she could, and withholding the truth even from her few trusted friends.
