Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground

by Catherine Bowness

  Conscious of her regard, he turned his head and returned her stare with what she read as the same open hostility with which he had first looked upon her. The beautiful mouth curled mockingly, revealing the tips of even white teeth that had once made her heart leap when he laughed. “Do you find me changed?”

  “For the worse,” she replied. “You were a handsome boy; you have become an odious man and your character is etched into your features. I am glad I did not marry you.”

  As she spoke, she knew that she lied. She did not think that she had ever uttered such an incontrovertible untruth. She wanted to kiss that sneering mouth, she wanted to beg his forgiveness, to tell him that not a day had passed without her regretting her hasty rejection of him. What he had done was only what she now knew every well-bred man did – and many not so well-bred too.

  “Am I to believe that you are happy with your lot as a governess? That you judge it preferable to that of a duchess? You must be deranged.”

  “A duchess married to you? I would rather be dead.”

  “Just so.”

  She drew in her breath and tore her hand from his arm. Once more she wanted to hit him but could not because they were in the middle of Bond Street. Instead, she took a step towards him and, before he had properly read her intention, deliberately trod upon his foot. He lifted her off, set her down and stepped back so sharply out of her reach that she lost her balance and fell upon her knees on the pavement.

  People rushed to help her. He, standing slightly to one side, said, “I think she must be inebriated. She suddenly flung herself at me and fell down when I tried to evade her clutches.”

  A man who had been walking in the other direction hurried forward, lifted her to her feet and flagged down a hackney, but, when he tried to put her into it, she struggled and cried, “No, I cannot go. My charge, the girl I am chaperoning, is a few hundred yards down the road. I cannot leave her.”

  “But will you be able to walk? Have you not hurt your knees?” her rescuer asked. He was a man probably in his late forties. “Rother, help me to persuade this lady to be carried home. Do you know who the girl is? Can you go after her and bring her back? They can travel home together.”

  “She is Miss Sullington and she has disappeared in the direction of Gunter’s with your protégé. They were so fascinated by each other’s conversation that I daresay they have not noticed Miss Holmdale’s absence.”

  The man smiled. “No, very likely not. They seemed to have been struck by a coup de foudre when they met in the Park yesterday, did they not? I will go after them if you will bear Miss Holmdale company.”

  “Oh, pray do not leave me with him,” Sylvia begged. “As soon as you are out of sight he will push me under the wheels of the hackney.”

  “Oh, surely not! I must suppose you to be funning. You will be quite safe with Rother. Do you know each other?”

  “Yes,” one answered at the same moment as the other replied decisively, “No.”

  The gentleman looked from one mutinous face to the other and said, “I perceive there to be some history between you which, clearly, did not end to the satisfaction of either. Rother knows me but seems reluctant to introduce us, so I shall do the honours myself. My name is Furzeby.”

  “Ah,” Sylvia exclaimed, enlightened, “You are the other member of the party which met in the Park yesterday afternoon. Miss Sullington told me all about you.”

  “Did she now? I daresay I only got a very brief mention; I feel my presence was probably quite unremarkable compared to our illustrious companion here and the stimulating one of my nephew.”

  She laughed. “I own you were dismissed, along with his grace here, as being ‘quite old’.”

  Lord Furzeby put back his head and laughed loudly. “Rother’s not old, although I suppose he must have seemed so beside my nephew, who can give him ten years or so. Gone to Gunter’s have they? Let us all repair there at once and form a mature chaperoning party. Miss Holmdale, can I persuade you to be conveyed there in this hackney?”

  “No, my lord, I am perfectly able to walk if you will give me your arm.”

  “I shall be honoured, and Rother can pay off the hackney which we have not used.” Lord Furzeby cast a teasing glance at the Duke, whose face still wore an expression of extreme malevolence.

  “What has he got against you, Miss Holmdale?” his lordship asked as Sylvia tucked her hand into his arm and began to walk. Her knees hurt abominably and she knew that both were bleeding but did not think this the moment to inspect the damage. If Lord Furzeby were not to be overtaken with another fit of chivalry and feel inspired to carry her all the way to Gunter’s, she must strive to walk with ease.

  “We were acquainted a long time ago and he has not forgiven me for something which I said then,” she replied lightly.

  “How very ungallant of him! Why, you must have been quite a child! Has he really been nursing his anger all this time?”

  “I was seventeen, the age my charge is now. Girls of that age frequently say and do things which they live to regret; that is why I feel it so important that we do not leave Miss Sullington alone with your nephew for too long.”

  “Oh, she’ll come to no harm with him. He’s a good lad; quite innocent and unsophisticated, but he has a warm heart and, if his subject of conversation last night is anything to go by, is entirely smitten with your charge. Are you a relative of Miss Sullington?”

  “No, I am her governess although she is no longer in need of one; now, I think I am by way of being a duenna and seem to leave a good deal to be desired in such a guise for I have allowed her to run on in the company of a young man.”

  “While you stood arguing with Rother? Well, I am sure there is a tale to be told there. I have never seen him look so angry.”

  “I daresay he had reason, my lord. I stood upon his toe with all my weight and, when he stepped back, I fell over; so, whatever damage I have done to my knees was only my just desserts.”

  He roared with laughter at this. “It will not be the injury to his toes that he will rue but the damage to his boot, I should imagine.” He turned round to where the Duke was walking behind them with a face like thunder.

  “Come, man, whatever injury this lady did you in the past is long gone and should be forgotten. Will you not take her other arm and assist her down the road? She injured her knees when you allowed her to fall upon the pavement.”

  “Serves her right,” the Duke muttered but so low that only Sylvia heard it. He stepped forward obediently and, taking her hand in an ungentle grasp, inserted it once more into the crook of his arm. “There will no doubt be another occasion when a hackney cab or some other, perhaps faster and heavier vehicle, is passing,” he added in her ear.

  “I wonder if your boot will be better able to recover than its owner,” she said, her voice quivering.

  “I should imagine that it is ruined. I would send you the bill for another pair if I considered you to be able to pay for the damage.”

  “I daresay you will make me pay in some other way,” she retorted.

  “You may be certain of it.”

  They proceeded down the pavement, three abreast, with Lord Furzeby engaging Sylvia in lively conversation all the way. Other people walking in the opposite direction were obliged to steer around them as his lordship was determined not to let go of her. He held her hand firmly in place on his arm and set the pace at a crawl, presumably in order not to cause her pain as she stumbled along with her knees smarting. The Duke, on her other side, walked as though in a slow march, each foot hovering in an irritating manner before he put it to the ground. His face and arm were both immobile. The contrast between his limb, which seemed to be fashioned from marble, and Lord Furzeby’s, which was warm and mobile beneath her fingers, could not have been more stark.

  Chapter 9

  When they arrived at Gunter’s, they found their quarry comfortably seated at a table in the window. Mr Harbury stood up at once and pulled out a chair for Sylvia. “Why, Uncle,
where did you come from?” he asked his lordship.

  “I had just been to Fribourg & Treyer to order some more of my special mixture and was making my way up Bond Street when I came upon this poor lady on her knees before the Duke. I did not then know that she had any connexion with you, Miss Sullington, but, when I called a hackney to take her home, she told me that she must get to Gunter’s as soon as possible because she had allowed a young man to bear off her charge.”

  This explanation caused Melissa to lean over the table and enquire solicitously of her governess, “Are you hurt, dear Miss Holmdale?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Sylvia replied mendaciously. “It quite serves me right for I had stood upon his grace’s toe and overbalanced when he removed it.”

  “But what in the world can he have been doing that he failed to prevent your fall?” Lord Furzeby asked.

  “Oh, he performed a neat piece of footwork in order to achieve precisely that,” she replied lightly.

  “He cannot have meant you to hurt yourself.”

  Sylvia directed her gaze at the Duke’s impassive face and said, “Did you not?” with an assumed air of innocence.

  But he was not to be trapped so easily at a table where everyone could hear his answer. “Do you suppose that likely?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow with a supercilious look.

  “It is not a question of supposing,” she answered sharply.

  Lord Furzeby, perceiving – as who could not – the tension between them and, as the most senior person present, no doubt feeling it to be his duty to abort what looked likely to turn into a deeply unpleasant scene, observed mildly, “From the look of things you parted on bad terms. I am not, of course, privy to the ins and outs of it but it seems to be that it’s time you put your differences aside and made up.”

  Neither of the combatants replied to this. Melissa, looking from one to the other, said, “I think you should forgive each other. Miss Holmdale is the most agreeable person I know and I love her dearly. You will make me very unhappy if you are unkind to her, Duke.”

  “I have helped to support her stumbling steps all the way down Bond Street. What more can I do?” Rother responded.

  “You can tell her that whatever it is that rankles so badly is forgiven and forgotten.”

  “It can never be forgotten,” he said simply, “but, for you, Miss Sullington, I will try at least to appear to forgive. Miss Holmdale, I beg pardon for my unkind manner and my cruel words earlier.”

  They were sitting side by side and she turned to look him full in the face as he spoke. She saw the colour rise in his cheeks and pressed home her advantage. “And I beg forgiveness for any injury I may ever have done you,” she said softly and watched the effect of her words with interest.

  Melissa nodded and said, “Now you must shake hands to seal the bargain.”

  The Duke extended his and Sylvia put hers into it. He did not shake it, she assumed because he was not prepared to agree to any kind of a bargain, but raised it almost as far as his lips; they did not touch it although she could feel his breath upon her fingers. Her hand trembled and he laid it down upon the table, saying, “You had better eat your ice before it melts.”

  Now her lips trembled too, uncontrollably. Try as she might to fold them together firmly, they would keep quivering. She said nothing, picked up her spoon and inserted it into the mound of ice cream that had been laid in front of her but, when she raised it to her lips, the spoon rattled against her teeth.

  Melissa, satisfied, had turned back to Mr Harbury and Sylvia watched her bright, laughing face and his smiling, happy one. She was certain that Lady Sullington would feel she was neglecting her duty in allowing the girl to chatter to the young man whilst ignoring the Duke. But then, who could speak to him at the moment? He appeared to have been struck dumb and made not the smallest attempt either to eat his ice or engage in idle chat.

  Lord Furzeby, who sat on Sylvia’s other side, began to tell her about all the things there were to see and do in London and ended by inviting her to join a party he was getting up to visit Vauxhall Gardens.

  “Oh, I am not sure that I am permitted to leave the house in the evening,” she said, awkwardly. She was not like these other people: free to go where she pleased.

  “But you will surely be encouraged to accompany Miss Sullington on such an outing,” his lordship said. “It is not particularly warm outside in the evening as yet and I should not think her ladyship would want to come.”

  She smiled. “Is that why you have invited me?”

  “Yes, at least that is why I chose Vauxhall Gardens: because I knew you would say you could not come to a ball. Do you like music?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “Then I hope you will come to the next concert at the Hanover Square Rooms. They play a variety of pieces: works for solo pianoforte, string quartets, even symphonies. Do you play, Miss Holmdale?”

  “Yes, but not very well. Of course I did not admit that to Lady Sullington when she interviewed me for the position.”

  “Have you been working for her for long?”

  “Seven years. Melissa was quite a little girl when I was first engaged.”

  He nodded and said, in a quiet voice so as not to be overheard by the daughter, “Have you found her an easy employer?”

  “Oh no, not at all. At least, it is my first position so I am unable to compare it with any others, but her ladyship is quite exacting. My pupil, though, has never been the least trouble.”

  “I suppose you will be looking for another situation soon,” he went on.

  “I daresay I shall; Melissa has no sisters, only brothers, and they are all now at school. Why do you ask? Are you looking for a governess?”

  “No; my daughters are both grown up and married, but I have a clutch of grandchildren. I own I hardly like to suggest it because it has not escaped my notice that you are still very young; you cannot have been much more than a child yourself when you first took up the position. Now that you have come to London and are no longer tied to the schoolroom all the time, I see no reason why you should not find yourself a husband and set up your own nursery.”

  “I did not know you were thinking of marrying again,” the Duke interrupted.

  Lord Furzeby laughed. “I am not and, in any event, even if I were, I judge Miss Holmdale to be a great deal too young for me.”

  “I have no intention of marrying at all,” Sylvia declared so loudly that Melissa’s attention was momentarily diverted from Mr Harbury.

  “Why ever not? Although, I own I had been hoping that you would come to me when I am married.” She blushed furiously as she realised the implications of this remark.

  “I do not think you can be certain that your husband would be agreeable to such an arrangement,” Sylvia said. “And, unless he were a widower and had children already, it would be a long time before I could be of any use.”

  “It would certainly not be agreeable to me,” the Duke said into her ear.

  “Just so!” she answered, darting him a look brimful of mischief. He seemed to have grown to be not only disagreeable but exceedingly easy to provoke and it was with surprise that she saw, before he drew the shutters down, an answering gleam in his eyes. Her spirits soared briefly. He might hate her – she was certain that he did – but he was not indifferent.

  Mr Harbury was eager to convey the ladies home in his curricle. He explained that his man had been walking the horses up and down for some time now and he believed it would be good for everyone, including his cattle, if they were to be put to proper use.

  Sylvia declined his offer on the grounds that it would be difficult to squeeze three people on to a curricle’s seat. They were, she pointed out, perfectly designed for two. Her real reason – for neither she nor Melissa was large – was that, if Lady Sullington should observe them fetching up at the front door in Mr Harbury’s charge, she, Sylvia, would be in for a scold.

  Lord Furzeby, perfectly understanding, said, “I do not have a vehicle w
ith me. I was on foot when I saw you, but I will ask the waiter to call a hackney, unless you have a carriage of some sort at your immediate disposal, Rother?”

  “No, I was also on foot.”

  “We can perfectly well walk,” Sylvia said, “and will not require an escort as we are together.”

  “I would much rather you did not walk,” Lord Furzeby said. “I am sure you have walked quite far enough and must still be in pain from that heavy fall which you took when I first saw you.”

  “It will do me no harm to walk,” she replied, “but, since we have been out very much longer than we planned, I believe that a hackney might be a good idea.”

  She found, when she rose from her seat, that her knees had stiffened while she sat and she stumbled slightly as she moved away from the table. His lordship put his hand under her elbow, saying, “There, what did I tell you? I hope you will bathe them in warm water to which you have added a little boracic when you get home.”

  “Yes, indeed I shall,” she answered, rewarding him for his care with a warm smile.

  He led her out to the hackney and put her carefully inside. Melissa jumped in after her and, rather to her surprise, Lord Furzeby followed. “I shall see you to your doorstep,” he said. “I should not like any further mishap to befall you.”

  “You are too kind,” she answered, smiling again.

  Adieux were made to the other two gentlemen, Mr Harbury expressing a fervent wish to see both ladies again as soon as possible, but certainly within the next twenty-four hours, the Duke contenting himself with a kiss on Melissa’s hand and a curt nod to Sylvia.

  They were soon deposited on the doorstep and, every courtesy having been completed, went inside the house, leaving Lord Furzeby to drive away in the hackney.

  Melissa was already running up the stairs, with Sylvia following more sedately, when the door of the small saloon opened to reveal Lady Sullington.