“Today?” She shook her head as she counted off the days. Being so wrapped up in her own concerns, she might have been mistaken. As she realized she was not wrong, she stated, “But, Marshall, he wasn’t to leave for three more days.”
His easy expression slowly vanished as he heard her distress. “Surely he told you that Lord Foxbridge needed him to go to London.”
“Yes, but he was not to leave until Friday. This is only Tuesday.”
“About that I do not know. He was gone by the time I rose this morning.” Seeing the sorrow in her eloquent eyes, he put his hand on her shoulder. A paternal longing to bring back her smile surged through him. “Miss Sybill, perhaps he left an explanation on his desk. I’m sure something important called him away.”
She looked up into his eyes of warm gray. Marshall meant well, but he could not guess at her pain. That Trevor would leave for London without telling her farewell, she found unbelievable. He had been distracted yesterday when they parted, but he had not mentioned they would not be meeting today as they did each day. “I will look. Thank you,” she added with a smile she did not feel.
As she walked slowly along the long hallway to the library, she accepted the facts. Trevor would be gone for at least three weeks. The changeable weather of winter might keep him away past Christmastide and Twelfth Night. She sighed. By the time he came back, she would have no choice but to tell him immediately of the impending arrival of their child. Time would prove to be her greatest enemy. She was as slim as ever, but by then she would be changing shape visibly. To everyone else, it would be invisible for more than another month beneath her heavy gowns. Even longer if she wore loose wraps about the Cloister.
There was no one in the library. The dim light from the storm-darkened sky did not seep far across the room. She lit a candle and placed it in the sconce behind the desk. Its feeble light pooled on the work area but did not spread farther toward the shelves and silent books. The top of the desk waited for Trevor to return. His normally neat array of writing materials and paperwork were stacked along the sides, leaving the center clear. Feeling like a violator, she searched for anything that would give her a clue to his sudden change in plans.
She found what she was seeking. Too soon. It was a plain page written in a hand she did not recognize. Simply it was an invitation for Trevor to call upon one Priscilla Wegner and her father at the beginning of the following week at their home in London. The statement of important business eased her wounded heart.
Laughing shakily, she finished the note which spoke of the business interests of Mr. Wegner and how well things were going for them in London. Replacing it among the other papers, she told herself she was being silly. That this woman wrote a note urging Trevor to call on her and her father had nothing to do with her. If it arrived late yesterday, that would explain why he left with the rising of the sun. She had gone to bed early, and he would not have wanted to draw unwanted attention by going to her suite to tell her farewell.
“Ah, here you are!”
Guiltily she glanced up to see Owen in the doorway. “Good morning,” she said as she stepped forward to stand between him and the desk. Although she knew the signs of her meddling were invisible, she feared he would discover her reason for coming here.
“My dear, I have been looking for you. I wanted to introduce you to a friend who just arrived at the Cloister. Come in, Mallory.”
Sybill regained her serenity as Owen introduced her to the stooped man named Leonard Mallory. “Welcome to Foxbridge Cloister, Mr. Mallory. I trust you had a pleasant journey.”
He smiled as he bowed over her fingers. His sparkling blue eyes seemed incongruous above his scholarly dark clothes. “’Twas as good as can be expected this time of year, Miss Hampton. My horse made excellent time, although I daresay we saw a score of wagons mired on the route from London to here.”
“London?” she squeaked involuntarily.
“Oh, is there a problem?” he asked with sudden concern.
“No, no. I didn’t think anyone would leave the comfort of the hearth to travel from London at the advent of winter.”
Owen chuckled heartily, and she looked at him to try to guess what was so amusing. He had recovered well from his affliction and seemed more hale than during the summer. She suspected the heat of the long days had sapped him, but hoped the damp chill of winter would not bring its own problems. “Mallory was as averse as you to leave the city, but such is the lot of a barrister who accepts clients on the far edges of the island.”
Instantly she understood. She knew the attorney had been ordered to come to Foxbridge Cloister on Owen’s request. She was seeking mysteries where there were none. Recalling her role as hostess, she smiled at the short man. “I trust you will enjoy the western wilds as much as I have come to, Mr. Mallory. I must admit I miss the glory of London, but there is a special magnificence about this untamed land.”
“You sound as if you truly love the Cloister.”
It was not difficult to speak the words engraved in her heart. “I do love it here.” She grinned mischievously. “Not that I expected to. There is something about this place which reaches inside you and demands that you grant it the respect it deserves. You have no choice but to loveit.”
“No one could doubt your adoration of your adopted home,” murmured Mr. Mallory.
Owen crossed the room to place his arm around Sybill’s shoulders. Her smile did not falter as he squeezed them gently. “It’s a true delight to hear you are so pleased with the Cloister. I must ask you to excuse us. As soon as Trevor arrives, we must deal with some business.”
“Trevor?” she gasped. She could feel the color drain from her face.
“Sybill, what’s wrong? Are you feeling ill?”
“He isn’t here. He left for London this morning.” She whispered, “Didn’t you know?”
A scowl settled on his lips as she stared through the window which gave them a view of the winding road leading to the gate. “Damn! I should have known.”
“Known what?” A sinking feeling tormented her.
Her sharp question seemed to pull him back from his internal explosion. With a completely false smile, he patted her cheek. “Nothing you need worry about, my dear. Just go about your day as normal. Please inform Mrs. Dailey that Mallory is here, and I expect her usual sumptuous feast to tempt him to fill out those bones of his.”
“Yes, Owen,” she said automatically. She was dismissed, but there were questions she needed answered. More than when she had come to the library to assure herself that what Marshall had said was not the truth.
As she closed the door, she heard Owen ask loudly, “Why did he choose now to take off? The ungrateful bastard! One time I don’t accept his suggestions, and he threatens to resign. I guess he was serious. This complicates things, Mallory. You would think after three years of—”
She wanted to negate his words, but her stomach was choosing the worst times to revolt. Without a word, she fled up the stairs to seek the privacy of her own rooms before she was sick. She could not believe what her ears had told her. Surely she misunderstood. Trevor was not gone forever. He only had left to do business for Owen. Standing in the middle of her room, she shook with the fear within her. Over and over, she told herself she should have shown Owen the note which would explain Trevor’s sudden leave-taking.
All thoughts of the problems beyond her own body faded as she lost the struggle to keep her stomach quiet. The harsh sound of her retching brought no assistance, which did not surprise her. Kate had shown she wished to do nothing to help.
After she regained control, Sybill reeled to her bed and stretched out across it. She did not have the strength to undo her shoes or move to rest on the pillows. Instead she clutched the coverlet and panted into the satin. It was as if she had run for an hour with Goldenrod. Once or twice she thought about rising, but even the idea of moving sent images of illness racing through her head. She did not bother to look up when Kate bustled into the room. When the smell of breakf
ast wafted to her, she waved her hand weakly in its direction. “Take it out of here, Kate. Now!”
The maid placed the tray on a table in the sitting room and came to the bed. A damp palm pressed against her charge’s forehead as she asked, “Are you sick again, Miss Sybill?”
“I don’t feel like eating.” She glanced up to see none of Kate’s normal impertinence.
“Come out in the sitting room. You can read or do some work. It will make you feel better.”
She nodded. Pressing against the mattress, she pushed herself up with a groan. She held her dizzy head until the room righted itself. With her eyes on the floor, she could ignore Kate’s questioning glance. She did accept her maid’s hand under her elbow to steer her across the room and through the door.
The settee was a welcome sight. She sank onto it and rested her head against the back. A sigh of satisfaction drifted from her lips. The nausea slowly ebbed. She wondered how much longer she must endure this sickness. With a tremble that raced along her spine, she asked herself how long it would be before someone guessed the truth.
Trevor would come back to the Cloister. Once he was with her again and she had a chance to tell him about the baby, she would know if he wanted to be a part of her life in the future. That was a topic she had been careful to avoid and he never mentioned. While she reclined in his arms, she had not wanted to tarnish the joy of the moment with uneasy thoughts of what could come. If he chose to be with her forever, they had to make plans to approach Owen with the truth. If not … She did not want to think of that alternative.
The slap of Kate’s unheeled slippers announced her movements. When they approached the settee, Sybill looked up reluctantly. She wanted to be by herself.
“Here, Miss Sybill. This is from Mr. Breton.”
“From Trevor?” She held her hand out for the sealed paper.
Eagerly, she examined it. This must be the letter of explanation she had looked for on his desk. She smiled as she saw it was sealed with the Foxbridge crest. It made the note seem very official, but the message inside would be very personal. Her smile softened as she imagined the phrases of love it would contain. She opened it to read the words written on the cream-colored paper decorated with the same crest as on the wax seal:
My dearest Sybill,
Forgive me for what I must do. My love for you has not changed, but I cannot continue to hurt you by hiding the truth. You know how much I love you. That is why I chose this way to tell you what I must. I am not strong enough to see tears in your lustrous blue eyes when I tell you good-bye.
The letters blurred as she tried to refute what she was reading. Only yesterday, Trevor was saying that he would miss her while on this journey for Owen. The pain deepened as she recalled how he had held her during that discussion. With his mouth close to her ear and his hand stroking her so enticingly, she had known only joy as he whispered of the love they would share for the next few days and how sweet it would be when he returned.
Sure she had misunderstood what he was trying to tell her, she wiped her eyes and forced herself to finish the letter. The ache blossomed into horror as she read the rest.
Last year while I was in London, I met a lass named Priscilla. Her father is a furniture maker and has been commissioned to do many works for Lord Foxbridge. She is charming, and I, fool that I am, believed myself in love. Learning of love with you, I know how wrong I was, but that does not change what happened last year.
I received a letter yesterday telling me to come to London. I knew the import of that message. The child she bears for me has been born. It behooves me to make my child legitimate, for I can not let my son bear the title of bastard.
Sybill, we had such wonderful times together, and I will never forget them, but you must. I am leaving the Cloister so you can have the life you should and I the life I must. If you think of me, do so fondly, for we had much happiness together.
Good-bye.
I remain
Your ardent admirer,
Trevor Breton
She reread the letter, but the message did not change. Trevor had left her to marry a woman he had loved before her. He would marry this Priscilla to legitimatize one child while guaranteeing that the one within her would be nameless. A sob escaped her closely clamped lips at the ruin of their lives.
“Miss Sybill?”
“Go away, Kate!” she snapped. “Just go away and leave me alone.”
The maid refused to follow her orders. “Miss Sybill, you are upset. Is it the letter from Mr. Breton? What has that fool written? Do you want to talk to me about it?”
“No! I don’t want to talk to anyone!”
Wadding the note, she hurled it at the fireplace. When it ricocheted off the stones to bounce across the floor, she ran to recapture it. As Kate watched, wide-eyed, she methodically shredded the paper into small pieces. Those she tossed onto the logs. Before the maid could speak, the young woman ran into her room and slammed the door closed.
Kate looked from the ornately carved door to the fireplace. She did not need to read the note to know what it contained. It fit exactly with her impressions of what was going to happen at Foxbridge Cloister. Picking up the tray, she went out of the suite. There was no sense remonstrating with Miss Sybill when she was this upset. Giving her some time to get herself under control might be best.
Sybill stood by her window, gazing out at the sea. The sound of its crashing waves once had been a succulent reminder of love unleashed. Its echoes rumbling across the marshlands would bring her joy no longer. The rhythm underscored the pain-filled beat of her heart as she fought to accept that Trevor had proven unfaithful. If only he had told her. She would have been honest about the life within her. Somehow they would have found a solution. Now there was nothing but years of emptiness that she would suffer alone.
She turned from the window as a knock sounded at the door again. Although she had ignored it earlier, it was clear the one on the other side was determined to speak to her. “Kate, I said I don’t want to talk. Leave me alone.”
“Sybill?”
She gasped, “Owen?” She had not expected he would come to her door. Running to the mirror over the washstand, she pushed her messed hair into place. Cool water on her face made all her skin as red as beneath her eyes. Opening the door, she smiled weakly. It was the best she could do. “Good evening, Owen.”
As his eyes examined her face closely, she knew she had not fooled him. Only because she had hidden her love for Trevor so carefully would no one be able to guess why she mourned tonight. When his hand cupped her chin, she did not hesitate to look up at him. Sadly, he murmured, “You have been hiding. I made your apologies to Mallory at dinner. Can you tell me, my dear? I don’t like to think of you being so hurt.”
“How—?” She answered her own question with a short laugh. “Kate must have told you.”
“Yes, she came to me. She knew I would want to know.”
She sighed. “Yes, Kate would think that. Owen, there is nothing wrong.” Quickly she thought of an excuse. “It is not easy sometimes when the memories are strong.” Tears blurred her vision as she realized that was the truth. How many lifetimes would it take to forget her love for Trevor?
Owen placed his long fingers under her elbow and brought her to the bench. Gratefully, she sat. Not until he held out his handkerchief did she realize she was sobbing once more. Placing it over her face to muffle the sounds of her weeping, she leaned against the rich satin of his doublet. His murmurs of consolation barely intruded on her grief.
Gently he smoothed the tangled web of hair from her wet cheeks. Even if Kate had not told him, he would have guessed pretty Sybill had been crying most of the day. He tilted her face and kissed the salt-flavored softness of her cheek. As he felt her supple form quivering, his lips explored her face. Eagerly he captured her mouth beneath his.
Sybill was shaken from her sorrow instantly. Only one man had kissed her so intimately, and he was the only man she wanted kissing her. Befo
re she could put up her hands to escape Owen’s embrace, he released her. “Owen!” Her voice echoed the recriminations raging through her heart.
His smile vanished to be replaced by a supplicating expression. Taking her hands between his, he raised them to his lips and kissed them with no more passion than etiquette allowed.
“My dear Sybill, forgive me. I didn’t mean to take advantage of your grief.” The tilt of his graying mustache gave an oddly boyish wistfulness to his face. “You are so beautiful, and I long to have you for my own so much.” When she started to rise, for she did not want to discuss this subject, his grip tightened on her hands to keep her from escaping. While one hand continued to hold her fingers, the other slipped around her waist to bring her closer. “Sybill, I think it is time for you to answer me.”
“Tonight?” Her voice came out in a squeak. Forcing her anguish back into her heart, she added in a more normal tone, “Tonight isn’t the best time. I’m too upset.”
“By bad memories.” He smiled gently but did not release her. “I know, my dear. All the more reason for you to consider giving me an answer tonight. You need someone to take care of you.”
Biting her lip, she thought of lying, but she had to speak the truth she had told him each time. “I don’t love you, Owen, as I should love the man I marry.”
“That I know also, my dear.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “You’re young. You dream the dreams of the young. Of a hero who would charm your heart from you and travel with you through Hell and beyond, never wavering in his devotion.”
“Yes.” Her normal resiliency glimmered in her dull eyes. “That is what I wanted.” And thought I had, she added silently.
“Most of my adventures are past, but I can promise you fidelity, devotion, and Foxbridge Cloister as a home forever for you and your children.”
Her face paled. Through the darkest hours of this day, she had been unable to forget that one thing. His grip on her fingers kept them from dropping to the spot beneath her petticoats where the result of her unwise love for Trevor even now was growing. Trevor was gone. Perhaps he never had loved her as she loved him, for she could not imagine leaving him for any reason. She was still innocent in the ways of men. She must be. Otherwise how could she have seen what she thought was love in his eyes yesterday afternoon when he planned to desert her once another woman beckoned?
Sybill Page 20
