Freddie's head lowered. “Do you still love him?”
The question that she'd once dreaded, that he hadn't dared to ask six weeks ago. “Yes, I'm afraid. I don't know how I can apologize to you enough—”
“You don't need to apologize to me for anything. You've never let me down, and you didn't this time either.” Freddie enfolded her in an embrace. “Thank you.”
She was befuddled. “Whatever for?”
“For liking me as I am. I never much cared for myself until you came along. You don't know how wonderful the past year and a half has been for me.”
Dear Freddie, only he could be so sweet to thank her at a time like this. She hugged him back fiercely. “You are the most wonderful person I've ever met, bar none.”
When they let go of each other, his eyes were rimmed in red. She, too, had to fight the urge to cry, a sigh and a tear for something that simply wasn't meant to be, a lovely courtship that would have collapsed under the weight of a complicated marriage.
Freddie was the first to speak. “You'll be going to America now, I guess?”
She shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it. “I don't know.”
Camden had let her go with such ease and graciousness; he must have already come to the conclusion that he no longer wanted her, that the offer of reconciliation had been an aberration brought on by an emotional surge that could little withstand the force of reason.
He would have gone on with his life already, taken a new lover or two, perhaps even begun to pay some mind to those beauteous young American misses being paraded before him, with their perfect American teeth and perfect American noses. Would he really want her to show up and spoil all his brand-new plans?
“Come.” She placed her hand on Freddie's elbow. “We'll walk back. It's time for lunch. My groom can get the horse later. Tell me what is it you will do, now that you have declined to be the next great, world-renowned artist?”
Gigi saw Freddie to the train station on Monday morning. She managed to have an agreeable time, conversing more frankly, affectionately, and easily with him than she'd been able to do in a long time. She even enjoyed her guests once she took the plunge and informed them that, though she esteemed Freddie more than ever, she had deemed it prudent to release him from his commitment.
When she arrived home, Goodman informed her that she had a caller waiting. “A Mr. Addleshaw from Addleshaw, Pearce and Company is here to see you, milady. I have him in the library.”
Addleshaw, Pearce & Co. were Camden's solicitors. What was a senior partner doing paying her a visit far from the city?
Addleshaw was in his early fifties, shortish and natty in his tweed suit. He smiled as Gigi entered the library— not the tight, cautious smile she'd have expected from a lawyer but the delighted grin of a long-lost friend.
“My lady Tremaine.” He acknowledged her with a neat bow.
“Mr. Addleshaw. What brought you all the way to Bedfordshire?”
“Business, I fear. Though I confess, your ladyship, I've wanted to meet you in person ever since Mr. Berwald first contacted us with regard to the late Duke of Fairford.”
Of course. How could she have forgotten? She had relentlessly driven Mr. Berwald, her head solicitor, against this very same Mr. Addleshaw, who had defended his client's interests with the ferocity of a mother lion.
She smiled. “Am I quite as fearsome in person?”
He didn't answer her question directly. “When Lord Tremaine informed me that he would marry you by special license, I'd half-expected it. Unlike his late cousin, however, he was all but counting the days. I can see the reason now.”
Ah, the sweet yesteryear. Her heart ached anew. She indicated a chair. “Please, have a seat.”
Addleshaw produced a rectangular box from his briefcase and pushed it across the desk. The scent of rosewood, sweet and heady, wafted to her nostrils. “This came to our office last week, by special courier. I ask that you please open it and verify that the contents have not been disturbed during the transit and my safe-keeping.”
What could Camden possibly want to give her? She drew a complete blank. Inside the wooden box lay a velvet jewelry case. She lifted its lid and lost her breath.
Against a bed of cream satin sparkled a magnificent necklace, the chain of it done entirely in diamonds, one teardrop loop nestled against the next. Seven rubies, each surrounded by diamonds, dangled from the necklace, the smallest two the size of her thumbnails, the largest one at the center bigger than a quail's egg. There were also two matching earbobs, each with a ruby as big as the pad of her index finger.