by Jo Goodman
“But I thought you were in the schoolroom?”
“I was.”
“Then how…?”
“In the oddest manner possible. The scoundrels told me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cybelline chose an upholstered bench in the corner of the gallery farthest from the doors. The distance was quite purposeful. Although she hoped no one would intrude upon her, she nevertheless prepared for it. The few moments it would take for a visitor to find her would give her some small opportunity to compose herself. It was not her own pride that dictated that she should do so, but concern for Ferrin and Sherry. She understood they were moving toward a course of action with unforeseen consequences; she did not want to hasten them toward that end.
The gallery at Granville was much larger than the one she’d toured in Ferrin’s London home. There were no pirates in the Grantham family tree, though she thought the bloodline might be improved for it. Portraits of her own parents flanked one of the great fireplaces. Her father’s parents also were here, and the Viscount Sheridan before him. Sherry’s portrait was not yet finished, but then he was not a patient subject. The oil he’d commissioned of Lily hung in the music room where he could look at her while he played the pianoforte.
Cybelline’s gaze drifted to the opposite end of the gallery, where her experienced eyes found the panel in the wainscoting and wall that could be turned aside to reveal a passageway. She and Sherry had discovered three such hidden staircases at Granville Hall. The scoundrels located another. The passages were a necessity in a time when those who found favor with their sovereign also could lose it at a whim. The intrigues at court meant that sanctuary needed to be established in the country.
Cybelline wondered how long it had been since anyone had used the gallery passage. She was almost certain the scoundrels hid in it now and again. It was the sort of dark, secret place that Sherry’s wards could not possibly avoid, regardless of how often they’d been admonished to do so. It was hardly fair to scold them when she and Sherry had not been able to resist the lure, either.
This passage led to the wine cellar below, to the adjoining music room, and to a bedchamber and drawing room on the upper floors of the hall. It did not provide a route out of the manor, but it led to areas where exits were accessible, and Cybelline could admit to herself it was a temptation to find one of them now.
Her eyes strayed to the letters in her hand. She held them steadily and separated them to judge their weight and thickness, then chose the heavier one—the one she knew Nicholas would have written.
Unfolding it carefully, she smoothed it open in her lap. The date immediately captured her attention, and she sharply sucked in a breath. Here was proof at last that Nicholas had been involved with another woman well in advance of their betrothal. She had always suspected it was so, but the confirmation still stung.
15 January 1812
My dearest,
I am a coward. I do not make this admission lightly, and certainly not to excuse my behavior. You have asked many times of late what manner of thoughts troubled me, and I have always dismissed your concern. You cannot know how deeply I regret that. So often it came to my mind to tell you, and I most selfishly allowed each opportunity to pass. Thus, my cowardice. I could not bear witness to your despair.
There is no manner in which I might put this before you that will ease my conscience or your pain. It must be communicated forthrightly: I have met the young woman I hope to marry.
It does not follow that this must significantly alter what exists between us. That is not at all my desire, though I will understand if you do not agree. You have avoided just this end, but I find I cannot. You have always known that my advancement at law is dependent on the observation of certain social conventions. Perhaps you will think me without feeling for admitting this, but I can state unequivocally that the opposite is true.
My passion for the law is no greater than my passion for you, yet you might suspect that I am making a choice that does not favor you. That is also not true. My marriage will change our circumstances only if you permit it to come between us. I believe it will grant us opportunities that were denied to us before. Pray, do not think me naive. I have thought of little else for months, and trust that I have considered all of the consequences of my decision.
I do not hold out hope that you will find much to recommend Miss Grantham. She is wholly unexceptional, though from my perspective it makes her quite perfect. Her bloodlines are blue enough to suit (her brother is the Viscount Sheridan), and she is modestly pretty.
She is an independent thinker and holds remarkably firm opinions. She is perhaps too free sharing them, but I can forgive her outspoken manner as I am often entertained by her enthusiasm. An important personage in her life is Lady Rivendale, a dreadful woman with more means than social graces, but she is popular with the ton for her eccentricities.
Miss Grantham has a clever mind and does not chatter. As is not often seen in one so young, she is surprisingly restful company, which I desire. She is sensible in her concerns and does not indulge in whims and fancies. I believe she will have me if I am earnest, but not desperate, in my attentions. I am one of several gentlemen expressing interest, and I may not win her hand, but it remains my hope to do so.
I pray that you will not cut me from your life, though you have every right. You must see that Miss Grantham, though pleasant and suitably accomplished, does not engage my passion. My heart is still yours.
Always
The letter slipped through Cybelline’s nerveless fingers and drifted to the floor. She sat there quietly for several long minutes, and when the numbness passed, the odd emotion that came to the forefront was relief.
Nicholas’s mistress was not Webb. Cybelline could acknowledge at last just how much she had feared having that suspicion confirmed, and guilt that she had ever entertained the thought quickly followed. She knew the measure of peace she’d finally made with Nicholas’s faithlessness would have vanished in the face of learning of Webb’s betrayal. Now she had cause to wonder which would have been more deeply felt at this juncture, the perfidy of her husband or her maid.
Sighing, Cybelline bent and picked up Nicholas’s letter to exchange it for the one that was sure to be from his mistress. She doubted she could adequately prepare herself. Still, she took a deep breath and released it slowly before opening the letter. She read it in a single glance.
My dear Mrs. Caldwell,
You do not deserve to be happy.
Always
Cybelline did not hear her own gasp for the blood pounding in her ears. Fainting might well have been a blessing, but she learned that willing that end did not bring the thing about. She simply sat with her hands folded tightly around the crumpled letter and waited for the searing pain in her chest to pass so she could draw another breath.
When she knew she could stand without faltering, she drew on her resolve to exit the gallery.
Sherry tapped the tip of the letter opener against the edge of his desk. For a few moments the rhythmic drumming was all that could be heard in the library. Neither man looked at the other. Sherry watched the blur of motion that his tapping created. Ferrin stood much as Cybelline had earlier, staring out the window with his arms folded across his chest.
“It’s a fantastic notion,” Sherry said finally.
Ferrin simply nodded.
Sherry sat up and tossed the letter opener aside. “What are your thoughts on telling Cybelline?”
Turning slowly away from the window, Ferrin regarded Sherry with a slight frown. “What do you mean?”
“Should she be told or not?”
“It never occurred to me that she should not be told. You have some doubts, I collect.”
“Not as many as you might think; I simply would like to consider the consequences.”
“I understand, but from my perspective there is only one consequence of import: keeping my promise to your sister to deal honestly with her. Even if she never discov
ered the truth on her own, I would know that I’d held it from her.”
“You don’t know that you’ve discovered any truth at all,” Sherry said. “It is at best a theory.”
Ferrin nodded. “Still, I would remind you that I did not formulate the theory to fit the facts, rather the facts fit my theory. How does Cybelline benefit by not being told?”
“She will not be hurt more deeply than she’s already been.”
“Can you not imagine that she might experience some measure of relief?”
“Relief? I don’t see how that can be her reaction.”
“It is as I said yesterday: I know your sister differently than you do. I think she will be relieved to learn not all of her judgments have been without foundation. Cybelline has had certain knowledge at her fingertips that she simply could not make sense of because of a single mistaken premise. In her place, I’d want to know that.”
Sherry’s brow furrowed. “You can appreciate that I want to protect her.”
“I want that also. Knowledge can do that; ignorance cannot.”
“My wife would say the same.” He rose from his chair. “I do not even disagree, it’s only because Cybelline will always be my younger sister that I find this so bloody difficult. As you wish, we will tell her your suspicions and allow her to decide her own feelings about them.”
“Not both of us,” Ferrin said. “I will tell her.”
Sherry started to protest, then caught himself. After a moment, he inclined his head and agreed to this also.
Ferrin understood the concession that was being made. Sherry was relinquishing the role of protector. Ferrin did not make the mistake of supposing that Sherry would not take it up again if the outcome was not to his liking, but that he was willing to surrender it, even briefly, was an act of profound trust.
“She is in the gallery?” asked Ferrin.
“Yes.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I thought she would have returned by now.”
“It’s just as well that I go to her.”
“Of course.” Sherry joined Ferrin at the doors and parted them. “You will seek me out afterward?”
“As soon as she gives me leave to do so.” Ferrin observed this seemed to satisfy Sherry. He laid his hand firmly on Sherry’s shoulder, squeezed once, then he slipped through the doors and crossed the hall to the gallery.
Pinch sourly regarded the cards he was dealt. “I don’t like the looks o’ this,” he said, casting a suspicious glance in Midge’s direction. “Did you deal from the bottom, Midge?”
“I say, Pinch, that’s unkind of you.”
“I say, Midge, you ain’t answered the question.”
Dash looked up, his eyes darting right, then left. “Is it to be a row or cards? If it’s to be a row, I’m leaving.”
“Bad hand, eh?” Pinch said.
Dash shrugged, unwilling to be provoked into taking sides. “I promised Anna I’d let her play with my soldiers.”
“She won’t remember,” Midge told him. “And she’ll just put them in ’er mouth. That’s what she does.”
“Doesn’t matter. I promised.” He started to study his hand again when a movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He swiveled in his chair to face the wall on his left and immediately observed the widening of a vertical crack in the wainscoting. “We have a guest, lads,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the hidden panel. “Just see if we don’t.”
Pinch and Midge turned to observe what was toward just as Cybelline slipped between the wall and the panel. Their astonishment mirrored hers.
Dash set down his cards and jumped to his feet to help her close the door. “You gave us a start, Mrs. Caldwell. It’s been a spell since anyone used this passage.” He stopped, considered his words, and amended them. “Well, since anyone was allowed to use this passage.”
Cybelline brushed off her shawl and muslin day dress. A few cobwebs clung stubbornly to her bare forearms. Dash gallantly offered her a handkerchief. Cybelline took it and thanked him, then gave him a wry look when she saw the embroidered initials. “I’ll return this to Lord Ferrin.” She tucked one corner under the satin belt that defined her bodice. “Do you have another?”
“No.” Dash had the grace to look sheepish. “Pinch’s got it.”
Cybelline held out her hand. Pinch dutifully came forward and gave it over. “And Midge? What did you take?”
“Had a compass but I thought it might cause a stir if I was to keep it. I put it back.”
“In his pocket, I hope.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Right away.”
Cybelline merely shook her head. It required considerable effort to be stern with them. “I thought you boys were in the schoolroom.”
“We were,” Dash said. “His lordship showed us how to build a voltic pile.”
“Voltaic,” Cybelline corrected absently.
“And magnets,” Pinch added. “Don’t forget about the magnets.”
“That’s right,” Dash told her. “We were stacking magnets. Great fun, that. Midge and me pretended to be magnets. Repelling, don’t you know. Cause we’re alike. Interesting, I’m thinking, but then his lordship left suddenly, so Lady Sherry gave us leave to do the same.”
“I see.” Cybelline didn’t see at all, but she felt compelled to murmur something, as Dash clearly expected a reply. She wished she had said more because the brief silence that followed was the opportunity the scoundrels were seeking to pose some questions of their own.
“Why’d you use the passage?” Midge asked. “Something wrong with the main staircase?”
“Ain’t precisely safe, Mrs. Caldwell.” Pinch shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That’s why we’re not allowed to use it, you know.”
Dash went directly to the heart of the matter. “Who are you trying to hide from?”
Cybelline forced a short laugh. “Goodness, aren’t you all curious? I hope you show Lord Ferrin this aspect of your character, as he’s certain to appreciate it ever so much more than I am.”
The scoundrels exchanged uncertain glances. Pinch was the first to look guilty. “She means we overstepped ourselves,” he said. “At least I think that’s what she means.” He lifted his eyes to Cybelline, looking for confirmation.
“That’s right, Master Pinch.” Her smile communicated forgiveness. “If you will excuse me, lads, I am all for a brisk walk this afternoon.” She saw their hopeful faces and shook her head ruefully. “Later,” she promised. “I’ll take you with me when I go out with Anna. The princess always likes to have her knights around her.”
“But the queen wishes to be alone,” Dash said in lofty accents.
“Very much alone,” Cybelline said. Her look encompassed all three of the scoundrels. “I am depending upon you to make it so.”
The afternoon sky was becoming overcast, a circumstance that suited Cybelline’s mood perfectly. The white winter sun was not able to find a break in the clouds, and a blue-gray shadow flickered on the horizon. Cybelline glanced over her shoulder once on her way to the lake. Granville Hall looked bleak to her of a sudden, not welcoming. When she arrived, she’d had the familiar sense of returning home, of being embraced by the house in much the same way she’d been embraced by her brother. That perception of the hall as a sanctuary had vanished—worse, she was gripped by the notion that her presence within its walls made it unsafe for others.
You do not deserve to be happy. Those words cut her to the quick. She had found happiness, not only with Ferrin and her daughter, but also with herself. There was no mistaking the intent was to steal it away from her, and it was not difficult to imagine the surest way to do it would be to strike out at those she loved. She could bear it if she was the target, but not if she was made to stand by and watch injury done to others.
Cybelline lowered her head against the chill wind off the lake and tugged on the sleeves of her pelisse. She followed the path along the bank, noting how worn it had become since the arrival of t
he scoundrels two years ago. The boys and Sherry spent a great deal of time fishing and racing sailboats under halcyon summer skies, and in the winter they skated on the frozen lake.
Somewhere behind her she heard the playful shouting and laughter of the scoundrels. She smiled to herself. It had been too much to hope that they would not follow. Turning, she looked for them and was surprised to see the distance she had traveled from the hall. She could just make out the figures of the boys hurrying down the path through the terraced garden. All three of them were carrying kites almost as tall they were, while they dragged each kite’s absurdly long rag tail behind them.
So they weren’t intent on following her, she realized, but had come out on their own for a bit of fun. On the rise behind them she saw Lily appear with a bundle in her arms that had to be Rose, then a moment later Becky came into view with Anna tugging on her hand. Cybelline was tempted to join them. The echo of their laughter was like the seductive call of the sirens. She resisted only because her own dark mood would not serve them well.
She quickly removed herself from the path and slipped into a stand of trees where she could not easily be seen. She stayed there to watch the scoundrels launch their kites, then moved through the trees toward the road on the opposite side. The trio of colorfully decorated kites eventually rose high enough to clear the treetops, and she could mark their flight from the road.
Cybelline walked with no particular destination in mind. The Granville estate extended for miles, and the nearest village was beyond that. There was an inn on the outskirts of the village run by a friendly hosteler, but Cybelline did not think she wanted to go so far without a companion. In the end, she simply placed one foot in front of the other, content to press on without design.
Lost in thought—or the absence of it—Cybelline heard the hoofbeats approaching her from behind only as she felt their vibration. She stopped but did not turn.
