Page 68 of The Companion’s Secret

Lord Sebastian crossed his hands over his cane. “Strange place for an Englishman to be, on the eve of a rebellion.”

“What are you insinuating, Finch?” Uncle Merrick demanded.

Cami, however, had already begun to put together the scattered pieces of the man’s puzzling words. It sounded as if he hoped to find a way to associate Gabriel with the rebellion, to implicate him in something illegal, as he had, thank God, apparently failed to do with the assassination attempt on the king.

Only this time, as she well knew, his talk of treason would be true.

“And then there’s that story everyone’s blathering on about,” Lord Sebastian continued, “The Irish Something—”

“The Wild Irish Rose?” Felicity chimed in. Only sheer force of will kept the gasp of shock from passing Cami’s lips. “Oh, isn’t it thrilling?”

“It’s dreck, girl,” he declared, thumping his cane against the floor for emphasis. “But there’s a character in it who seems more than a little familiar. Almost as if the author had a close, personal acquaintance with such a villain…” He sized Cami up once more. “An Irish writer, of course. Has to be. And likely a woman…”

“Enough, Finch. Surely you’re not suggesting my niece is acquainted with the person who penned a popular work of fiction, merely because they are both Irish?” Her uncle glanced her way, and with the eye farthest from Lord Sebastian, out of that man’s line of vision, he gave a slow wink. Again, she fought to keep her reaction from showing on her face. “Or that your nephew is somehow involved with the United Irishmen? Have done with your tiresome theories about Ashborough. They grow wilder than The Wild Irish Rose.” Lord Sebastian scowled, but Uncle Merrick’s expression remained remarkably pleasant. “Won’t you let me walk you out?”

With another smile of welcome for Cami, he motioned her and Felicity down the corridor while ushering his unwelcome guest in the opposite direction.

In another moment, she found herself in Aunt Merrick’s sitting room. “Well,” Felicity said as she seated herself, “that was an odd encounter.”

“Yes,” Cami agreed, taking a chair. Her head whirled with the strange and surprising things she’d heard, along with a few new questions. She decided to begin at the beginning. “I gather you knew that Lord Ashborough took me to Dublin?”

“Of course. I sent him after you. I could not let you travel alone.”

Cami parted her lips to reply, though she could not think what to say. The cousin who had worried over her reputation on the public stage had thought her safer in the hands of a notorious rake?

“Oh, Camellia,” Felicity said with a laugh, “I suppose you thought you were keeping a great secret, but if you could have seen your eyes every time the man spoke to you.” She shook her head in a mock scold, and her golden curls caught the room’s primrose-tinted light. “He was relieved, I think, not to have to make me an offer. But you could have knocked me over with a feather when he wrote a letter for Papa and in it—why, what do you suppose?” Cami shook her head. “He agreed to waive Stephen’s debt and restore my dowry.”

She had known of the former provision, of course, but not the latter, even more generous, one. “On condition of your father’s assistance with the treason charge, I suppose,” she said, thinking of Lord Sebastian’s complaint.

Felicity’s lips lifted in a small smile. “Papa was grateful, to be sure. But no. He asked only that my father be willing to consider an honorable suitor for my hand: Mr. Fox.” From the sparkle in her cousin’s eyes, Cami could guess his suit had been successful. “We are engaged! And we shall be married as soon as he is ordained. Lord Ash has gifted him the living on his estate.”

“How shall you like being married to a clergyman?”

That question, Felicity did not need to answer. “Oh, but Mama was furious. When I told her I saw very little use in being trotted around to garden parties and balls and soirees after that, she took King and went into the country.”

Cami leaned forward and took her cousin’s hands in hers. “I envy you your happiness. You were truly named, Felicity.”

Felicity accepted the compliment with a blush. “Now, let’s see,” she said, tapping her lips with one finger. “What else have you missed while you were away?”

“Lord Sebastian said something about a scandalous book…?” she prompted, feeling certain her eagerness was once more plainly to be read on her face.

“Oh, yes. The Wild Irish Rose. Every tongue is wagging about it. What with the uprising, people are intrigued by anything to do with Ireland. One of the papers called it…what was the phrase? Oh, yes: ‘a prescient allegory for the present troubles.’ But it’s not a book. At least, not yet.”

“I beg your pardon?” Cami said, although she had heard every word.

“The story is being published in parts in some gossip sheet called The Quizzing Glass.”

Cami knit her brow. “In parts?”

“A section at a time,” Felicity explained. “They began appearing a month ago. Papa says it’s really quite innovative—far more people can afford a penny for The Quizzing Glass than can afford a guinea for a novel. The idea is that each installment builds up interest for the next.”

Cami’s mind flooded with more questions. Had Mr. Dawkins changed his mind? Gone to print with what she’d first sent him? Decided the story was too timely to wait, the appetite for scandal too great, to risk forgoing the potential profits? But she asked only, “Have you read it?”

“Everyone has, Cousin.” Felicity rose from her chair to search through the papers on her mother’s escritoire. “Ah, here it is. The latest installment. See for yourself.”

Hesitantly, Cami took the periodical from her cousin’s hand. Her words. Róisín’s story. In print. And in the hands of half of London, according to Felicity.

She had expected to feel joy at having realized her dream. Instead, it felt a great deal more like she’d swallowed a lump of lead. “Is the author known?”