Chapter 6
Richard tried to explain.
That made everything worse.
“Your father had enemies,” he told me. “Camille was vulnerable. The child was vulnerable. I did what I thought was safest.”
I stared at him.
“For twenty-six years?”
His jaw tightened.
“Things became complicated.”
Mariana laughed through tears.
“You made me polish silver.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes.
“Here we go.”
Mariana turned toward her.
“You told me you rescued me.”
“We did.”
“My mother was alive.”
“She was unstable.”
I stepped forward.
Beatrice did not retreat.
Perhaps she had spent too long surviving Richard’s weakness and Sebastian’s obedience to recognize when a room had stopped belonging to her.
“She was weak,” Beatrice said. “Always crying over the baby. Always talking about Alexander coming to save her. Do you know how exhausting hope becomes when it refuses to die?”
Mariana stared.
I felt rage move through me slowly.
“What happened to Camille?”
Richard answered.
“She became ill.”
“When?”
“Years later.”
“How many?”
He hesitated.
Mariana saw it.
“You knew her for years?”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Seven.”
The number landed like a blow.
Mariana stepped backward.
“I was seven when you took my necklace.”
Nobody spoke.
Her face changed as memory returned.
“There was a woman at the north cottage.”
Beatrice went pale.
Mariana looked at her.
“You told me she was a seamstress.”
Richard whispered, “Mariana…”
“She made me blueberry bread.”
Her voice broke.
“She knew my birthday.”
Beatrice said nothing.
Mariana’s breath hitched.
“She called me Mari.”
Camille used that nickname as a girl.
I knew before anyone said it.
Mariana knew too.
“That was my mother.”
Richard looked destroyed.
“Yes.”
The word barely left him.
Mariana bent forward like the air had been knocked from her.
Renata reached her first.
I stood staring at the Sterlings while something inside me became cold.
They had not merely hidden Camille’s daughter from me.
They let Mariana meet her own mother without knowing who she was.
Then sent her home.
Again and again.
Beatrice finally spoke.
“She was easier to manage if she thought Camille was nobody.”
That sentence changed even Richard’s face.
He looked at his wife as though hearing her clearly for the first time.
Mariana looked up.
“How many times did I see her?”
No one answered.
Beatrice did.
“Enough.”
I turned toward her.
“No.”
My voice dropped.
“Not anymore.”
Then Rafe entered.
May you like
“Evelyn Shaw is here.”
And Beatrice, for the first time that night, looked like she wanted to run.
