Page 28 of Papa's Rules
“Yes, I would much prefer to work here too,” Cammie said.
“My lady, please forgive my forwardness, but I do not believe common employment is a concern for the wife of Lord Cavendish.”
Cammie flushed. “I am new to life as Lady Cavendish,” she said. “Sometimes I forget.”
Priscilla’s brows furrowed. Fearing she had shared too much, Cammie changed the subject. “Are you married?” she asked.
Priscilla blushed and glanced at the floor. “No,” she said, pausing as though debating whether to say more. “But,” she added, “there is a young man who makes deliveries here. We sometimes walk out together on Sunday afternoons. We are both working hard to save money so we can afford to get married, but after expenses, there is not much left over for either of us. Well, if he were to ask, that is...” Her voice drifted off and her face turned pink.
“Oh.” Cammie perked up. “How exciting. Please tell me more about him.”
“No, my lady, it is not proper. I have said too much already. No one is interested in me.”
“I am,” Cammie said. “It is a wonderfully romantic story.”
A bell at the back door signaled a delivery and Priscilla’s eyes lit up. “I must go,” she said with an excited smile.
“I hope it is him.” Cammie was nearly as excited as the shopgirl. She watched as Priscilla patted her hair and hurried to the delivery door. She would give anything to take a look at the young man who made her new friend blush so prettily. Glancing toward the front of the shop, she saw Papa pass a hat to Mrs. Stilton whose hands were already full. They would return soon. She dared not move from her seat. A shiver ran up her spine remembering how Papa had punished her when they first met and she had wandered into the garden without permission. Her little kitty, already swollen and eager from the interlude in the carriage, quivered with the recollection.
The voices of Priscilla and the delivery man wafted in Cammie’s direction. The young man laughed and the sound of it triggered another memory, this one much further into the recesses of her brain. No, it could not be, she told herself, then turned to the mirror to examine her flushed cheeks. A fleeting reflection in the corner of the mirror caught her attention. With a gasp she swung around and charged toward the back of the shop, Papa and his rules forgotten.
She moved past a display of gloves, bumping half of them to the floor in her haste, and could just make out the delivery man’s profile. Robert. A flood of emotions swirled through her at the sight of her brother after so many years. He had grown to manhood, but she recognized the familiar features. Opening her mouth to call out to him, her movements were halted by a firm hand upon her upper arm.
“Camellia,” Papa’s breath warmed her ear, his voice low in warning, “did I or did I not instruct you to remain seated?”
Gaping up at her Papa, Cammie heard the bell above the back door jingle and knew her brother had left. Her eyes moved to try to catch a glimpse of him but Papa’s fingers closed more tightly on her arm. “I expect you to look at me when I am talking to you, Cammie. Have you forgotten the rules so quickly? And just look at the mess you’ve made. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young lady.”
Her heart sank. Not only had she missed her opportunity to speak to Robert, she had broken one of Papa’s rules, not to mention made quite a scene in the shop. Her bottom tingled, anticipating Papa’s reaction to her misbehavior.
“I am sorry, my lord,” she said, staring at the floor as Priscilla cleaned up the toppled gloves.
Papa did not reply. Disappointment emanated from him and Cammie hated herself for not living up to his expectations.
Glancing past Papa’s shoulder, she saw Mrs. Stilton arranging half a dozen exquisite hats near the area where Cammie ought to have been.
Continuing his grip on her arm, Papa signaled Priscilla with his other hand and the shopgirl immediately responded, having quickly fixed the display of gloves. “Yes, my lord. How may I help you?”
“Thank you for cleaning up the gloves. Now, I have some business to attend to with Mrs. Stilton,” he said. “I would appreciate it if you would make certain my wife does not move from this spot. Not one inch.”
Shamed, Cammie stared at the floor, embarrassment flaming her cheeks.
“Y-yes, my lord,” Priscilla said. “I will.”
“See that you do.” Papa turned sharply on his heel and left the two of them alone.
A single tear fell from Cammie’s eye and dripped upon the floor. A worn handkerchief appeared in her line of sight. “Thank you,” she whispered, dabbing at her eye.
“Do not feel badly,” Priscilla said. “You are not the first woman whose husband has chastised her over something that happened here. You should have seen the row last week when a new bride told her husband to mind his business. He took her outside, leaned her over the hitching post and spanked her bottom. Right there. In broad daylight.”
Priscilla’s tale distracted Cammie sufficiently from her own misery and she looked up at her new friend. “Even I know better than to do something like that.”
The two girls giggled softly for a moment.
“Was that the delivery man you told me about?” Cammie asked.
Priscilla blushed. “Yes. His name is Robert.”
Cammie’s pulse pounded in her ears, but she forced herself to remain calm. “How often does he make deliveries here?”
“He told me he would return at this time on Friday,” Priscilla said, a smile spreading across her mouth.
Friday. Just three days away.
