A Lady's Virture

by A. S. Fenichel

  “Just a little tired.” Her shoulders ached.

  “I will take you back.”

  “No. You stay with your guests. I will be fine.” Without waiting for a reply, Sylvia ran toward the carriage. “Jonas, please take me back to the house.”

  The driver helped her in then jumped up and did as she asked.

  Once inside, she dragged herself up to her room. Her head pounded, and she collapsed onto her bed.

  “Wake up, Sylvie,” Serena commanded in a whisper.

  Groggy and confused, Sylvia did as she was told and blinked herself to a sitting position. A full march of a thousand troops trudged through her head. “I have the most terrible headache, Serena.”

  “Yes, his lordship said you weren’t feeling well. Mrs. Horthorn and I followed you back. It took me scolding him for Anthony to stay with his guests by the lake. He is very worried about you.”

  The room spun but then settled into position. “I shouldn’t have drank that wine.”

  Standing beside the bed, Serena placed her fists on her hips. “When was the last time you ate something?”

  “We just came from a picnic.” Sylvia wasn’t used to her sister reprimanding her. She had always been the twin who took charge.

  “Where you ate nothing and fell ill. Yes, I know. When was the last time you actually ate a meal? You put coddled eggs on your plate this morning, took one bite of toast and a sip of coffee. Then you excused yourself and disappeared into the garden for hours. I did not sit near you at dinner last night, but I suspect you neglected your meal then as well.”

  Trying to remember the last full meal she had eaten took her back to the night before they had arrived at Riverdale. Since then, she had eaten a bite or two, but her appetite had flagged. “I suppose I have neglected my meals.”

  “You suppose.” Serena shook her head. “Mrs. Horthorn has gone to the kitchen to fetch some soup. I am going to sit here until you have finished an entire bowl and some bread as well.”

  “Oh, Serena, I don’t know if I can manage an entire bowl.”

  A scratch sounded at the door before Jenny and Mrs. Horthorn walked in. Jenny carried a tray with a steaming bowl that filled the room with the aroma of herbs and chicken.

  Sylvia’s stomach lurched.

  “I should have been paying better attention.” Mrs. Horthorn came to the edge of the bed and brushed Sylvia’s hair out of her face. “Had I realized you were neglecting yourself, I would have insisted you eat something sooner.”

  “I am fine.” If only the racket thrashing around in her head would ease, she would be all right.

  Serena stomped her slippered foot. “You are not. Jenny, you may leave the tray. Will you help me get Sylvie into a nightdress?”

  “Oh no, I’m not staying in bed. I have work to do.” She pushed her hands into the mattress, but the room spun, and she collapsed.

  Jenny reached out and steadied her. “Miss Sylvia, your sister is right. You need to take care of yourself.”

  Pulling herself to her full height, Mrs. Horthorn stuck out her chin and pulled back her shoulders. “I can handle your responsibilities this evening. Rest and eat. You have already taken care of everything to the last detail. No one will want for anything, and by tomorrow, you will be back on your feet.”

  “I cannot ask you to do that.” Failure washed over her. She was an Everton lady. She had to do her job.

  “You did not ask. I am an Everton dowager, and it is my duty to help when you are in need.” She softened her tone. “Don’t worry. It will all be fine. I have run many a dinner party in my time, and this one is ordered down to the last detail.” With a pat on the cheek, Mrs. Horthorn strode from the room and closed the door behind her.

  Jenny helped her out of her dress and into a nightgown.

  Too weak to get up from the bed without help, she allowed them to prop her up with pillows. “This is ridiculous. I am not an invalid.”

  “Do not be a bad patient, Sylvie. Eat and drink, and I will tell you all about my day.” With Jenny’s help, she moved a chair near the edge of the bed and sat.

  Once she checked to see that there was nothing else to do, Jenny excused herself, leaving the twins alone.

  Sylvia spooned a sip of soup into her mouth. Her stomach roiled, but the soup was light and flavorful. “I’m not sure I can eat this, Serena.”

  “Go slow, but you will eat it.”

  “And if I am sick?” she challenged.

  Serena leaned down and revealed a pan. “Then you will be sick, I will call Jenny back, and you will still eat tonight. I suggest you try to keep your food down.”

  “When did you become so bossy?”

  Serena put the pan back on the floor and leaned forward with an intensity in her eyes that Sylvia had never seen before. “When my sister, who I love more than anyone in the world, stopped taking care of herself. I don’t know why you torture yourself like this.”

  “I merely became distracted. I will eat.” She took another spoon of soup as proof.

  “You may lie to me if you wish, Sylvie, but lying to yourself is not healthy.”

  The world loomed off kilter with Serena being the reasonable voice. Sylvia didn’t like it. She took several more sips of the soup, which was more palatable. “Tell me about your time with Lord Stansfield.”

  A warm smile eased the worry in Serena’s eyes. “He has a large farm in the northwest and is very keen on preserving the land. I like that he is passionate about things. Nothing about him is superficial, as he cares deeply for everything he involves himself in.”

  Half the soup was gone. “Including you?”

  Serena blushed. “Perhaps. He is attentive and solicitous. I want to believe he likes me, maybe even loves me.”

  Tearing off a bit of bread, she asked, “And do you love him?”

  “What does it feel like to be in love, Sylvie? I miss him when he’s gone, but not in a lonely way. It’s more like if something happens, I want to tell him about it. I long to know what his day is like and if he is happy.”

  Sylvia’s body tingled with all those same desires whenever she thought of Anthony. Her headache had calmed to a dull ache as she finished her soup. “I think you must love him.”

  “He kissed me yesterday.” Serena blushed bright red.

  Joy for her sister washed through Sylvia. “Did you kiss him back?”

  Nearly purple with embarrassment, Serena nodded. “It was more wonderful than I could have imagined. Mother said all men are brutes, but Rutledge is kind, thoughtful and tender. Do you think Mother intentionally lied to keep us from liking our husbands?”

  Feeling much more herself, Sylvia popped a morsel of bread in her mouth. “I think Mother’s advice is colored by her own experiences and fear. Father is not brutal, but he is stern, and I see no love in their marriage. Perhaps she wanted to protect us the way she protects herself.”

  “Well, I am glad it didn’t work. I quite enjoy being in love.” Serena folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. Her expression filled with warmth and delight.

  “I’m happy for you.” Sylvia wasn’t certain her mother hadn’t been at least partially successful. The idea of love made her sick and might have been what caused her current condition. “I think I will rest now, Serena.”

  Inspecting her empty bowl and half-eaten bread, Serena nodded and took the tray away to the table near the window. “Get some sleep. I’ll dress in another room then go down to dinner.”

  Alone, she couldn’t get Anthony out of her mind. Not that he had left her for a moment in the last few months. His kisses fueled her soul and haunted her nights. She wanted more of them and him, but he would break her in two when he betrayed her, and she couldn’t risk it. No. It was for the best to go their separate ways.

  Still the dread of a lifetime on her own nagged at her. She didn’t love Mi
les Hallsmith, but he was nice, she liked him, and he seemed to like her. Perhaps what started as a way to dissuade Anthony might be a viable option.

  She would think about it in the morning. Weighted eyelids kept her from continuing her internal debate. Snuggling into the mattress, she let sleep take her.

  * * * *

  When she woke, it was dark outside. The room was no longer empty, but it wasn’t Serena come to bed as Sylvia would have expected.

  Anthony’s woodsy scent warmed her from the inside out.

  “Tony?”

  “I was worried about you, Sylvie.” He sat next to the bed, his hands on the coverlet and his forehead on his hands.

  She ran her fingers through his thick, soft hair. “I’m fine.”

  Capturing the hand, he pulled it into his and kissed each finger. “You must promise you will always take care of yourself and never do such a stupid thing again.”

  The kisses shot desire from her fingers through her body and settled deliciously between her legs. “I promise. I never meant to harm myself. I’m sorry to have worried everyone.”

  He gazed at her with hooded eyes filled with pain and anxiety. “I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you. And if it was my fault, I could not live with myself.”

  Moving herself down the bed until she was face-to-face with him, she cupped his cheeks. “You were not to blame. I just got distracted and missed a few meals, then the wine today went to my head. It was not your fault, and you’re right, it was stupid of me.”

  His lips pressed to hers, soft and long.

  The weight of the kiss filled her to the brim with love and longing. It might be wrong, and it would certainly not last, but it was too wonderful to force an end. She would never know passion like it again, so she drank it in by the gallons and let it overtake her every bone and muscle. Even her eyelids tingled with his touch.

  Easing out of the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Sylvie. I shall always love you. I know you don’t want me, and I respect your decision. But it will not change my love for you and my need to see you safe.”

  It should have been a perfect moment, but Sylvia heard her mother’s warning about men with high titles using girls and tossing them out like bad water. Felicia’s voice rang in her head about how men of worth, or any man, thought of their wives as property, nothing more. Difficult as it was to place Anthony in the bin with men in general, it was impossible to ignore that voice in her head. Besides, he had told her he wanted other things, and she allowed his secret to play over in her head and rattle around with Mother’s tenacious noise. “You should not say such things.”

  “I cannot lie.” His breath mingled with hers in the dark bedroom.

  “My sister will find us. You must go now, Tony.”

  Sighing, he lifted his head, kissed her nose then her forehead. “I would not object to being found and having you marry me as a result.”

  “And come to resent me in a year or two for trapping you into marriage and keeping you from your dreams.” It came out more harshly than she’d intended.

  He shook his head. “My dreams have changed, and no matter where they take me, you will always be in the center of them. You have very little faith in me. I will endeavor to change that. You should rest now. The guests are playing cards and think I have gone to write a letter. I should rejoin the party. I will see you in the morning, my sweet Everton lady.”

  Watching the door long after he’d gone, she cried herself back to sleep. Coward was the last thing she thought about herself.

  * * * *

  Usually up with the dawn, it was strange for Sylvia to be blinded by the sun coursing through the window. She shielded her eyes. “Good Lord, what time is it?”

  “Nearly ten, miss. I’m sorry to wake you, but I think you need to eat something.” Jenny fussed with a breakfast tray at the table, placing a plate, cup, and saucer out for Sylvia.

  “You should not have gone to the trouble for me, Jenny. I could have gone down to break my fast.” Stretching the long, still hours from her muscles was at once delight and agony. Her stomach growled at the scent of fresh bread and coddled eggs. “But I’m starved, so I thank you.”

  Jenny chuckled. “I’m glad to see your appetite has returned. You were always a good eater as a baby. Far better than your sister. At least from what I remember.”

  Jenny was only a few years older than she and Serena, but her mother had been their nanny from the cradle until she passed a year earlier.

  Sylvia sat and breathed deep the wonderful scents. She tore a piece of bread and smeared it with jam before popping it in her mouth and washing it down with the best sip of coffee. She closed her eyes. “Was your mother with our family long before we were born?”

  “Oh, yes.” Jenny straightened Serena’s empty bed. “She was your mother’s lady’s maid, but when your mother married, she took a lower position to stay with her. When you girls were born, your mother promoted her.”

  Stopping her trouncing of the poor eggs, Sylvia asked, “Are you saying your mother followed mine from her childhood home?”

  “She was her lady’s maid, but your father didn’t find her high-minded enough for his wife’s lady’s maid, so he hired another.” She fluffed the pillows and folded the coverlet.

  Food pushed aside, she focused on Jenny. “Jenny, did your mother ever say why mine is so adamantly against men? I mean to say, why she thinks them all bad?”

  Jenny frowned. “I don’t know if it’s right me telling you such a thing, miss.”

  “I need to know if she’s right.”

  There must have been enough desperation in Sylvia’s voice. Jenny sat on the other chair at the table. “Before your father proposed, there was a great love, a duke if the story is to be believed, who proposed to your mother. They were engaged in secret.”

  “Why would it be a secret?” Such matches were usually very public affairs.

  Jenny’s brown eyes tightened, and her hands fisted. “He was only playing a young girl, and once he had what he wanted, he left her flat. Terrified she would be found out and ruined for all society, she married the first man she danced with at her next ball, your father. She didn’t even wait to find out if she liked him.”

  “She doesn’t. Oh, Jenny, I am a fool. My entire life is clouded over by the act of one terrible man, well two.”

  Jenny stood and walked to Sylvia’s bed. She tugged the covers into place. “You are far better off not married to that Lord March. I think he might have been of the same cloth as your mother’s duke.”

  “Perhaps, but I was not as foolish.” Panicked, Sylvia pushed the food aside and rose. “Can you help me get dressed, Jenny? I need to speak to his lordship right away.”

  “Of course, but he’s not here, Miss Sylvia.”

  “What? Where is he?”

  She shrugged. “London by now. I heard the groom say there was an emergency at the dock and he left before dawn.”

  “What of the rest of the party?”

  “They are still here. Her ladyship is playing hostess until you wake. Pall-mall is set up on the lawn, and they all sounded excited about it this morning. They all raved about the picnic yesterday…”

  Jenny kept talking while straightening the room, but Sylvia stopped listening. She had ruined everything with her fears, and now Anthony was gone before she could tell him what a fool she was.

  Chapter 16

  London might not be burning, but Anthony’s ship was smoldering and sinking. Thousands of dollars’ worth of textiles in her hull, and he could save them before she went down. He’d found a way through to the hold despite an explosion that partially collapsed the deck. He’d dragged six armloads of his cargo out and handed each over to his captain and crew.

  Captain Blake McCormick grabbed an armload. His ruddy skin was black with dirt and soot. “It’s
enough, milord. No sense risking your neck for some bits of cloth.”

  “I can get one more load out, and that will be the bulk of it.”

  McCormick shook his head. “We got the men and much of the cargo, milord. Let her go before we’re burying you at sea.”

  “One more load.” Anthony ran back across the buckled deck to where it had collapsed. He climbed under the mast and through a hole and into the hold. It was a maze of wood, and he was calf-deep in water.

  The ship creaked with strain, and the acrid stench of tarred wood burning filled his lungs, forcing painful coughing. He reached the bundled bolts of cloth that had only arrived in London hours before. Lavender cloth from India. He’d written a letter to his friend and supplier in India asking for as much fabric in lavender as he could find. He longed to gift it to Sylvia when she agreed to be his bride. It seemed that would never be, but he couldn’t let the cloth go down as tragically as his love for one stubborn Everton lady.

  A loud pop and crack jerked the ship starboard. The mast dropped through the deck, and wood crashed around Anthony. Half the crow’s nest smacked against his body between his neck and shoulder. Pain shot through him as his body cracked in half. Unable to lift his right arm, he abandoned the cloth and dragged himself agonizingly toward the surface. He used the same object that had nearly crushed him to haul himself forward, dragging his body up the main mast.

  Agony rocked him from his collarbone, which he was sure was broken. Daylight shone just above him. If he could get to what was left of the deck, he’d be able to ask for help.

  Sylvia’s sweet face burned into his mind, he defied the pain and pushed upward.

  “Milord, grab my hand!” McCormick called, but Anthony saw no hand.

  He reached into the smoky darkness, and meaty fingers closed around his.

  The mast snapped and tossed him to the side. Pain shot up his leg.

  Captain McCormick hauled him to the light. His body scraped against the ragged edge of the destroyed deck, tearing shirt and flesh as he went.

  “Fetch a surgeon,” someone yelled.

  McCormick and two other men carried him to a cargo carriage and laid him in the back. Pain was all that stood between him and oblivion. Staying alive to see Sylvia again was his only salvation. Every rut on the ride to his townhouse brought a new level of misery.