“Nonsense,” said Lord Wrenworth. “Lord Frederick is tremendously accomplished for his age.”
His age—yet something else Camden hadn't expected. Lord Frederick could not have lived through more than twenty-four winters, a mere babe, barely old enough to grow hairs on his chin.
“Lord Wrenworth is much too kind,” Lord Frederick mumbled. Camden could see he was beginning to sweat, despite the cool interior of the club.
“I beg to differ,” said Wrenworth. “I have one of Freddie's pieces at home. Lady Wrenworth quite admires it. In fact, I believe Lady—”
Suddenly Lord Frederick looked quite panic-stricken. “Wren!”
Lord Wrenworth was taken aback. “Yes, Freddie?”
Lord Frederick could not come up with a slick answer. “I . . . uh . . . I forgot.”
“What were you about to say, my lord Wrenworth?” Camden asked.
“Only that I believe my mother-in-law begged to have it,” said Lord Wrenworth. “But Lady Wrenworth refused to part with it.”
“Oh,” said Lord Frederick, turning a shade of carmine to rival the drapes.
The two older men exchanged a look. Lord Wrenworth shrugged subtly, as if he had no idea as to the reason behind Lord Frederick's outburst. But Camden had already guessed. “Is Lady Tremaine, like Lady Wrenworth, an admirer of your work, Lord Frederick?”
Lord Frederick looked to Lord Wrenworth for recourse, but the latter chose not to involve himself, leaving Lord Frederick to meet Camden's direct question by himself. “Uh, Lady Tremaine has always been most kind to . . . my efforts. She is a great collector of art.”
Not something Camden would have said about his wife. But he supposed it was possible that, in a society enamored of the classical styles and subjects of Sir Frederick Leighton and Lawrence Alma-Tadema, she could very well host one of the largest collections of Impressionist paintings. “You approve of the latest trends in art, I take it?”
“I do, sir, indeed.” Lord Frederick relaxed slightly.
“Then you must come see me the next time you happen to be in New York City. My collection is far superior to Lady Tremaine's, at least in quantity.”
The poor boy clearly struggled, wondering whether he was being played for a fool, but he chose to answer Camden's invitation as if it had been issued in good faith. “I shall be honored, sir.”
In that moment Camden saw what Gigi must have seen in the boy: his goodness, his sincerity, his willingness to think the best of everyone he met, a willingness that arose less from na?veté than from an inborn sweetness.
Lord Frederick hesitated. “Would you be returning to America very soon or would you be with us for a while?”
And courage too, to ask that question outright of him. “I expect I should remain in London until the matter of my divorce is settled.”
Lord Frederick's blush now exceeded Hungarian paprika in depth of color and vividness. Lord Wrenworth took his watch out and glanced at it. “Dear me, I should have met Lady Wrenworth at the bookshop five minutes ago. You must excuse me, gentlemen. Hell hath no fury like a woman made to wait.”
To Lord Frederick's credit, he didn't run, though the desire to do so was writ plain on his face. Camden gazed around the large common room. Newspapers suddenly rustled, conversations recommenced, cigars that had been dropping ashes on the scarlet-and-blue carpet rose once again to mustached lips.
Satisfied that the rampant, untoward curiosity in the room had been temporarily curbed, Camden returned his attention to Lord Frederick. “I understand that you wish to marry my wife.”
The color drained from Lord Frederick's face, but he stood his ground. “I do.”
“Why?”
“I love her.”
Camden had no choice but to believe him. Lord Frederick's answer brimmed with the kind of clarity born of the deepest conviction. He ignored the stab of pain in his chest. “Other than that?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Love is an unreliable emotion. What is it about Lady Tremaine that makes you think you won't regret marrying her?”
Lord Frederick swallowed. “She is kind, wise, and courageous. She understands the world but doesn't let it corrupt her. She is magnificent. She is like . . . like . . .” He was lost for words.
“Like the sun in the sky?” Camden prompted, sighing inwardly.
“Yes, exactly,” said Lord Frederick. “How. . . how did you guess, sir?”
Because I once thought the same. And sometimes still think it.
“Luck,” answered Camden. “Tell me, young man, have you ever considered that it might not be easy being married to a woman like that?”
Lord Frederick looked perplexed, like a child being told that there was such a thing as too much ice cream, when he had only ever been allowed a few spoonfuls at a time. “How so?”
Camden shook his head. What could he say? “Do not mind the rambling of an old man.” He offered his hand again. “I wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lord Frederick sounded both relieved and grateful. “Thank you. I wish you the same.”