Grayson could wait, but not for long. She started toward the dining room and pulled up short the moment she entered the room. Her mother, uncle and Beryl sat at the table; Lionel stood near his wife, his hand rested on her shoulder. Everyone looked entirely too grim for Christmas Day.

“Whatever is the matter?”

“We have something to tell you,” Mother said, and looked at Uncle Basil. “It’s about your father.”

Uncle Basil rose to his feet. “Camille.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Of course I should have known.”

“Known what?” Mother said.

“I wondered if we would ever see you again.” She met her father’s gaze directly. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Is it?” The question lingered in his eyes.

“We have missed you.” The moment she said the words, she realized they were true.

Beryl’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve known since I was twelve or thirteen, I think. I heard Mother and Uncle Basil arguing about it. And I’ve heard that argument continue through the years.”

Mother studied her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Annoyance sounded in Beryl’s voice.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” Camille shrugged. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. And I thought it would be too difficult for you. I suppose I was protecting you.”

“Me?” Beryl stared. “But I’ve always been the strong one.”

Camille shook her head. “Not about this sort of thing. I knew you would never be able to forgive either of them.”

“And you have?” Beryl said sharply. “Aren’t you angry?”

“I was for a long time.” She looked at her mother. “At both of you. Until I realized you told us he was dead because you thought it was better to have a dead father than one who was too selfish to live up to his obligations. It was hard to fault you for wishing to protect us.” She turned to her father. “And I was angry at you for being selfish, until I understood that even the best of men can feel trapped in a life they didn’t choose.” She looked at her twin. “As for forgiveness, I can’t really say, because I don’t really know. I do know he did not leave us impoverished. I know he wrote to Mother every few months. I know he asked to come home. I know Mother refused to allow that. And I know he saw Uncle Basil fairly regularly.

“Forgiveness has to be earned. I think Mother has earned ours through the years. As for Father, he may well have paid for his mistake.” She met her father’s gaze. “My forgiveness is not as important as hers. Hers is the heart you broke.”

“I am sorry,” Mother said softly.

“I know you are.”