by Rita Boucher
“Would that it were that simple,” Will groaned, sitting on a nearby bench, his head in his hands. “I have lost five-hundred and fifty pounds tonight, Syl.”
Five-hundred and fifty pounds. Aunt Ruby would never agree to pay that enormous sum to tow her nephew from the River Tick. As it was she begrudged every groat she spent on the lad above what Uncle Miles had provided.
“How?” she asked, sitting down beside him.
“Cards. Don’t ask anymore,” Will said, ashamed to reveal who held his vowels.
“You must ask for some time,” Sylvia said, her mind racing frantically for a solution. “In the meanwhile, Aunt Ruby must not find you like this. Your old room is still unoccupied, doss yourself there tonight and I will have a talk with Boniface.”
“What shall I do?” Will groaned.
A number of bitter retorts flew through Sylvia’s head, but she held her peace. Recriminations would do little good now. “Get some sleep,” she advised. “It will look better in the morning,” she repeated, trying to convince herself as much as her brother.
“I doubt it,” Will said.
So do I, Sylvia thought to herself as she mounted the stair.
* * * *
Luckily, the house on Berkeley Square was all a-dither with preparations for Caroline’s ball. William’s sudden presence was scarcely remarked as Mrs. Gabriel bustled about in a frenzy of fuss, bringing half the staff to the brink of resignation. It was left to Sylvia to console the cook and mollify the maids as well as organize the bulk of the arrangements. Mrs. Gabriel’s constant carping was almost welcome, nearly taking Sylvia’s mind off William’s revelation; but any distractions were temporary at best. William moved about the house like a shadow, offering his help with the backbreaking task of moving the furnishings that cluttered the small ballroom after Mrs. Gabriel’s fit of refurbishing.
When the last stick of furniture was removed to the attic, Mrs. Gabriel stood at the door surveying the empty room. “No!” she proclaimed, at last, it shall not do. It is far too old-fashioned.”
“But Aunt Ruby,” Will protested weakly, gazing at the exquisite tiled black and white marble floor. “Uncle Miles completely re-did this room scarcely two years ago just before we came to London to launch Sylvia. Hired a gang of Italians to do the stone-work. I recall him saying that it cost him a fortune.”
“Wasted!” Mrs. Gabriel pronounced. “This room is certainly not the mode. We shall use the large gallery for the supper room instead. It is more convenient to the kitchen in any case. We must clear that room.”
Sylvia sighed at the wasted effort. She had made the same suggestion previously, but Aunt Ruby had ignored her. William looked at his sister with a martyred expression. Poor Will. Unfortunately, it was unlikely that his labors of contrition would do any good, once Aunt Ruby found the true extent of his sins. Undoubtedly, she would demand that the boy pay his debt from the funds Uncle Miles had set aside for his education and that would mean no less than the destruction of Will’s future. Aunt Ruby swept off with Will trailing behind her. Sylvia leaned against the jamb, trying to find some way out of the predicament, but there was no clear move. Damn Uncle Miles. She could forgive him for hiding her father’s fortune in hoping to protect her from Hugo, but it was unfair that Will should suffer for her stupidity.
“Sylvia.”
It was as if he had been conjured up by a thought. Sylvia turned in surprise to find Hugo standing behind her, regarding her with a look that made her feel decidedly strange. “It is rather early for callers,” she said, her discomfort growing as he continued to stare.
“The door was open,” Highslip said at last. “I have come to talk to you, Sylvia.”
“I cannot think what we have to say to each other, milord,” Sylvia said, attempting to sweep past him, but he grabbed hold of her arm.
“Do not be foolish, my girl,” Highslip said, enjoying her struggle. “You would not wish your aunt to find out about your brother.”
His tones of soft menace caused her to cease her effort to get away. “What do you know of Will’s situation?” she asked warily.
“Shall we discuss this matter privately?” Highslip asked gesturing toward the empty small ballroom.
* * * *
David arrived at the house on Berkeley Square to find things at sixes and sevens. No one was attending the door, yet servants were everywhere, polishing and cleaning. David clutched the dragon kite in his hand, wondering if he ought to return at another time when young Miles came down the stairs in a rush.
“I saw you from the window in the nursery,” he said breathlessly. “What a wonderful kite! Will you fly it? Can I come?”
“Actually,” David said, holding out the fantastic construction of wood and paper, “this is for you. The children of the Orient fly kites like these and I had this made.” The delight on the boy’s face was well worth the price, David decided.
Miles took the red and gold dragon reverently in hand. “Wait till I show Cousin Will this!” he declared.
“Your cousin William is here?” David asked, glad that the lad had responded to his letter at last. “When did he arrive?”
“Oh t’other night,” Miles said vaguely. “Mama has him moving furniture in the ballroom, I think.” A servant brushed by, nearly causing a rip in the paper. “I shall put this in the nursery now, 'fore it gets broke. Thank you, Lord Donhill.” He flashed a smile before running upstairs with the kite flying behind him.
David decided to seek William Gabriel out. With his outstanding chess skills, surely the two of them could solve Sir Miles’ chess puzzle.
* * * *
“The terrace is so lovely this time of year,” Highslip said, throwing open the french door. “Shall we sit outside here, in the sunshine? You are looking a bit peaked. That harridan aunt of yours is running you to rags.”
“You obviously did not come here to discuss my health, milord,” Sylvia said, watching his face with growing uneasiness. There was a cat in the creampot expression there that she could not like.
“Oh, but I did, my love, I did and you ought not to call me ‘milord,” Highslip said.
“And you ought not to call me ‘my love,’” she retorted. “You gave up any right to that more than a year ago.”
Highslip plucked a lilac from a nearby bush, crushing the delicate blossoms in his fingers. “You always wore lilacs, Sylvia,” he said. “Every time I smell that scent it haunts me, as you do. I have never forgotten you. Never. I knew that someday you would be mine.”
Sylvia looked around in growing dismay. It had been unwise to come out here with him alone. “What do you wish to tell me about Will?” Sylvia asked, rising to put the chair between herself and Hugo.
“You still love me, Sylvia. I know you do,” Highslip whispered, almost to himself.
In her childhood in India, Sylvia had seen a mongoose confront a cobra, that rising hooded head glaring at the furry creature with a mesmerizing evil. Now she understood the paralyzing terror of a cobra’s glare.
“You see, I hold your brother’s notes, my love. Five-hundred and fifty pounds of his vowels and I know exactly what your dear aunt would do were she to find out about his little peccadillo.”
He spoke conversationally, as if he were talking about the weather. “You are a true friend, Hugo,” Sylvia said, holding her voice steady. “How like you to protect dear Will.”
“Oh, I shall protect him, Sylvia,” Highslip said. “As long as it is in my interest to do so. I want only one thing in return. You.”
“I cannot marry you, Hugo,” Sylvia said, the scent of crushed lilacs rose in her nostrils as he drew closer. She willed herself not to flinch as his hand touched her shoulder.
“Marriage? I had not mentioned marriage,” Highslip said, throwing back his head in laughter.
The sibilant hiss of the sound caused Sylvia to shiver in the sunlight.
“You wish to protect your brother from the terrible fate that befell your two suitors, do you not
? Dreadful things happen to those who do not pay their debts of honor. Thanks to your damned uncle, you have nothing,” Highslip said. “Nonetheless, I want you Sylvia.”
“You are offering me carte blanche,” Sylvia said, trying to contain her revulsion. Beyond the fact of Will’s debt, she had little doubt that Hugo would do her brother harm, if she tried to thwart him. The earl was mad.
* * * *
The small ballroom was empty, but the sound of laughter guided David to the open terrace door.
“I love you, Sylvia. I own a delightful house on Marylebone Lane which shall be yours and once I marry, you shall have jewels clothes, everything that you would ever need to adorn your beauty.”
David stopped in his tracks. It was Highslip’s voice, he would swear it.
“Tell me that you love me, Sylvia,” Highslip demanded. “Tell me that you will come away with me; be my mistress.”
David knew that he ought to leave, but he stayed beside the drapery, listening.
“I need time to consider, Hugo,” Sylvia’s voice came drifting through the door. “This is a serious move.”
“Do you wish to be your aunt’s dogbody for the rest of your days?” Highslip asked, his voice petulant. “Fetching and carrying like a servant? You could have everything for the asking Sylvia; everything, if you would just be mine. You loved me. Tell me how you loved me.”
“I loved you, Hugo.” The soft words seemed to be wrung from her, but David heard them clearly, his heart sinking. The little fool was actually considering Highslip’s offer. It was all David could do to keep from bursting upon them and venting his disgust.
“I knew it,” Highslip declared his voice triumphant.
It needed little imagination for David to envision what happened in the long silence that followed. Highslip was holding Sylvia in his arms, kissing her. David waited in agony for the quiet to end.
“I shall await your answer, my love. Meet me here the night of Caroline’s ball,” Highslip said.
David quickly hid himself behind the draperies until the sound of Highslip's footsteps faded from the room.
* * * *
Sylvia held her breath, waiting until she could be sure that Hugo was gone. His embrace had left her feeling soiled, as if she had been touched by something unspeakably filthy. A wave of nausea nearly overcame her; her legs felt near to buckling as she sat down upon the stone bench. A madman’s mistress, with five-hundred-fifty pounds to be the price for her soul. The sound of approaching footsteps at her back set her to trembling. Hugo was returning; she could not let him see her fear for there was no telling what he would do if he realized just how much she loathed him. It is a game of chess, she told herself; do not let the opponent see your weakness. Thus, Sylvia was able to rise steadily, turn with a semblance of a smile, but the false expression vanished when she saw David. His face was like a thunderstorm, ready to break.
“A delightful garden,” he said, coming to stand beside her, “perfect for a private talk.”
“You heard,” Sylvia stated flatly, searching his eyes, flinching inwardly at the contempt she saw there. “You do not understand.”
“I heard enough,” David said. “Enough to know that Highslip has offered to make you his paramour and that you are a fair way to accepting. Do you seriously think that he would marry you once your cousin Caroline refuses him? For you know that she intends to have Petrov. You would be a fool to think that Highslip would wed you for love.” He made the word into a sneer. “However, if you are seriously considering entering the realms of the demi-monde I think you would be foolish to consider the post until you have entertained all bidders.”
“All bidders?” Sylvia repeated, a sour taste rising in her throat.
“Myself, for instance,” David declared, the idea coming to him suddenly. “You would do far better for yourself under my protection. I would double Highslip’s offer, a house in St. John’s Wood with the title in your name, a pair and carriage and of course the usual clothing and jewelry.”
“I see,” Sylvia said, the anger rising through her like a ramrod. The moment of weakness had passed. How dared he? How could he believe that she would act so infamously. “But we are speaking of twice the usual, are we not?” she said stiffly. “What would that be in pounds and pence, milord, for being new to this game, I would know the stakes.”
He named a sum that made her gasp involuntarily.
“I can well afford it, Sylvia. Consider that Highslip might leave you high and dry,” he said. Her face had become a block of marble set with glittering emeralds that pierced him to the marrow. She would be, by far, the most expensive mistress that he had ever mounted, yet, he felt that it was well worth the price to save her from Highslip. There was something in her calm, steady gaze that made him uneasy. It was as if she had retreated to some distant place within herself and he was hearing her voice from afar.
“Indeed, one cannot be too careful. Used goods are cheap,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.
It was as if she was discussing the price of tea or rubber or some other commodity, not herself. David squirmed uncomfortably as the silence lengthened.
“I care for you, Sylvia,” David said. “I think we would deal well together.”
“How interesting,” Sylvia observed, her head cocking to one side as she spoke. “You claim to care for me, yet you would make me your whore.”
“You cannot be such a fool as to think Highslip loves you?” David asked. “Highslip loves only himself. You have no hope of an honorable offer from him.”
“I know,” Sylvia said her lips rising wryly. “I know Hugo far better than you think, milord. As for love, do they not say ‘far better the devil you do know than the devil you don’t.’ I have suddenly found that I do not know you at all.”
“I think that this would be the better move.”
“Do you?” she asked, rising to her feet. “Damn you, I am tired of being forced into moves by men who think to manipulate me like a pawn. I must needs pay for their stupid plays; my uncle, Hugo, Will and now you, milord. I have no hope of an honorable offer, so you make me a dishonorable one.”
“Indeed, I am not the first,” David pointed out.
“Truly, I am in alt,” Sylvia said, her voice touched with sarcasm “I am transported! Two slips on the shoulder in less than ten minutes. I vow, even the would-be beaus of White’s would hesitate to wager that such would occur. Now, which should I select, milord the nabob, or milord the earl? I shall have to consider most carefully whose bed I choose to warm.”
Somehow the thought of her in Highslip's bed acted as a goad. “You might add this to your calculations,” David said. He pulled her into his arms, covering her lips with his. His tongue parted her teeth, probing the depths of her mouth as his fingers gathered the silk of her hair, twining its strands into a shimmering rope that held her in thrall
Sylvia moaned softly as she felt his questing hands, her eyes stinging behind closed lids while the bile rose in her throat. All restraint was gone, replaced by a burning desire that seared her very soul. He frightened her, but not as Hugo had. What she feared was her own flaring passion. How was it possible to be divided into two separate people? One half of herself stood apart, an observer that commented coldly in her mind as other half yielded to be swept away on a tide of sensation.
But the knowledge that she loved him gave rise to a growing bitterness. She was not even to be left with an illusion, a memory of a sweet moment in a moonlit garden. Instead, there would be only harsh sunlight and the smell of dying lilacs. The cold observer commented on the betrayal of her body as her arms went around his neck of their own volition drawing him closer to her. Her dearest dream had become a nightmare and suddenly, she was whole once more, whole and angry. Her fingers reached to his hair grasping it and pulling it with a force that made him cry out, knocking his spectacles from his nose. Disoriented, he loosed his hold upon her and she took the opportunity to move away.
“Sylvia,” he spu
ttered, “what the devil are you about?”
“I had decided that I had enough of a sample upon which to base my decision, milord. You, sir, are the superior lover. Having determined that, I have decided that I have given enough of my wares for free.”
David could see her, but her features were somewhat unclear and for a moment he felt as if he had been transported to the world of his recurring nightmare, where all was blurred with distortion. He sought to reason with her. “I had thought that we were friends, Sylvia. Surely, that would be a good beginning.”
“I too, had thought that there was friendship between us, David,” she said her anger waning to sadness. “But now I see that I was wrong. Friends do not believe the worst of each other. I am sorry, but I am afraid I cannot oblige you, milord.”
“And you will go to Highslip?” he asked, bending to search the ground for his glasses.
“Perhaps,” some devil within prompted her to say. “I owe you my thanks, in a way. For I am now aware of the value of the only commodity I truly own - myself. And I begin to think that you cannot afford me.”
David felt at a total disadvantage. There was something in her voice that mocked him, yet he could not discern her expression. He felt about the ground.
Somehow, Sylvia could not bear to see him scrabbling about so. “I fear your trousers will be quite ruined, milord,” she said, picking up the glasses. “Here are your spectacles.”
He got up and reached out. The frames were slightly bent, but the lenses were intact. “It is a lucky thing that the glass is not broken,” he said, a trifle petulantly. He slid them back on his nose bringing the world back into focus. “I cannot see a thing without them.” He looked at Sylvia and saw the trail of tears streaming down her face.
“It seems to me, milord, that you do not see a great deal even with their aid,” Sylvia commented, softly.
He took a step forward.
“No,” she said. “Do not touch me again.”
“I only wish to help you,” he said.
“Help yourself, you mean,” Sylvia said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Is that what you wanted all along, milord. Was all this nonsense about solving my uncle’s riddle a pretense, so that you might insinuate yourself into my family? My father used that strategy often, infiltrating his opponent’s ranks gradually, then wreaking havoc. And you have brought chaos to my life. ‘Tis your interference that has brought me to this pass and now you present yourself as the solution to my difficulties. A rather neat gambit, I would say; but I refuse your offer David Rutherford. I do not want your help.”
