The Earl's Daughter

by Lyons, Cassie

  “I am no one of importance,” Peter assured her.

  “Aww. And why would you say such a thing?”

  “Peter is the carriage driver who accompanied Miss Stafford to Nottingham,” Robert explained. “He will be joining us for supper, at Sylvie's request.”

  Clarissa looked surprised, to say the least, and very unimpressed. “Oh.”

  “Speaking of which, I should speak to Cook and tell her we are expecting two more guests this evening.” Robert bowed to the ladies as he left their company. “If you will excuse me... I will rejoin you shortly.”

  When Robert was gone, the ladies exchanged awkward smiles. An interminable moment of silence ensued; it was so long, in fact, that even Peter was desperate to end it. Finally, it was Sylvie who spoke. “Do you visit Robert often?”

  “On occasion,” Clarissa replied. “But not nearly as often as I would like. He is, after all, my very favorite cousin.”

  “I don't believe he has mentioned you before,” Sylvie confessed. “I can't imagine why he would fail to speak of a favored cousin.”

  “Nor I.” When Clarissa flicked her head, it looked as if she was tossing a river of fire over her shoulder. The vibrant color of her hair was truly something to be envied. “Perhaps he does not favor me quite as much as I favor him.”

  “Were you together often as children?”

  “He is nearly a decade older than me, so... no.”

  Which would mean the young woman was no older than nineteen or twenty. In spite of the fact that she was Robert's cousin, and likely not a threat, Sylvie could feel her jealousy mounting. “Well, it is nice to think you have grown closer.”

  “Indeed,” Clarissa agreed. “Much closer.”

  Sylvie sent a hopeless glance in Peter's direction, but if she was hoping for guidance from him, she would need to look elsewhere. He simply shrugged and turned his attention to the mural on the wall.

  When Robert returned, he took both ladies, each on one arm, and led them to a drawing room. Peter was unsure if he was supposed to follow, so he wandered to the servants' quarters belowstairs, where he would stay until supper. Sylvie never even noticed he was gone, nor did she question his absence.

  In the drawing room, Sylvie and Clarissa took turns trying to impress Robert with their vocal talent. Sylvie had considerable skill with the pianoforte, and her fingers masterfully swept across the keys. However, her voice cracked in the middle of her song, which had her feeling a bit sheepish. When it was Clarissa's turn, Sylvie was secretly hoping she would fail, and she hated herself for feeling so vindictive. As it happened, Clarissa had the voice of an angel, but her skill on the pianoforte was a bit rudimentary. Neither woman could claim victory over the other.

  After they both took a turn, Robert offered to play while both of them sang, but Sylvie politely declined. She sat on the settee and watched Robert and Clarissa perform a duet, which had her heart sinking. Cousin or not, Clarissa was an undeniably beautiful girl, and her copper hair was enveloped in a halo of sunlight that poured through the window. She was so statuesque and beautiful, it was almost unfair. Her chiseled features and powdery skin were downright enviable.

  When they grew tired of their impromptu concert, they retreated to the dining room, where Sylvie finally noticed the absence of her companion.

  “Where is Hughes?”

  “I believe he is with the servants,” Robert said. As they surrounded the table, he pulled out a chair for Sylvie first, and then Clarissa. “I will send a footman to fetch him.”

  “It is a bit uncommon, is it not?” Clarissa began, “to dine with one's carriage driver?”

  Sylvie nodded. “Indeed. You both must think I am very peculiar; however, Hughes was an invaluable companion when we were traveling. If not for his willingness to accompany me, my whereabouts would have surely been discovered by my father and I would have been forced into an unhappy marriage.”

  “Robert has told me something of your circumstances,” Clarissa confessed. “You were nearly married to a much older man?”

  “I was.” In the corner of her eye, Sylvie saw Peter enter the dining room, so she cast a brief smile in his direction. “Mr. Tonbridge is a friend of my father, and he is more than thirty years older than I am.”

  “Heavens!” Clarissa gasped. “That would be a very... undesirable fate.”

  As Sylvie nodded, the first course arrived. As the food was delivered, Sylvie reached for Robert's hand beneath the table, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Needless to say, I am very glad that fate did not befall my Sylvie.” When Robert turned toward his beloved, his lips unexpectedly dropped into a frown.

  “What is the matter, Robert? You look a bit blue-deviled,” Sylvie observed.

  “I should have been there for you...” Robert sorrowfully reflected. “I should have been the one to rescue you from your unwanted fate.”

  “Do not berate yourself, Robert. All is well.” Sylvie sipped her soup and smiled at her beau. “Besides, I cannot blame you for being fearful of my father. If you had acted against his wishes, I am quite certain he would have called you out! If anyone was going to defy him, it had to be me.”

  “I'm so happy you're here, Sylvie,” Robert said. “Unbelievably so.”

  “And I am very happy to be at your side again.” When Sylvie looked across the table at her other companions, she caught Clarissa staring at Peter. And Sylvie, to her surprise, was relieved to see that Peter was only interested in his food. “You have such beautiful hair, Miss Overton,” she attempted to converse with the other woman in the room.

  “Do you think so?” As Clarissa's fingers toiled in her copper locks, her eyes never strayed from Peter. “But I look so disheveled!”

  “You look lovely.” Sylvie could feel herself getting strangely frustrated by Clarissa's interest in Peter, so she asked, “What color are your eyes?”

  The question was effective, as Clarissa turned in Sylvie's direction to let her see them. “A rather boring brown, I am afraid.”

  Sylvie shook her head. “There is nothing boring about brown eyes. Hughes has brown eyes, and they are lovely.”

  Peter looked up from his bowl and muttered, “Huh?”

  “But I see a bit of green in them as well,” Clarissa countered. “His eyes are much prettier than mine. And your blue eyes, Miss Stafford, are beyond beautiful.”

  Robert was smiling as he gave his opinion. “You both have exceptionally lovely eyes, and I am sure Mr. Hughes would agree with me.”

  Peter briefly made eye contact with Sylvie, and after a brief pause, he gave her a slight affirmative nod.

  The rest of their food arrived, but Sylvie found she had little appetite. She felt as if she was competing with Clarissa for the attention of the men in the room, and it was a nauseating thought. Her excessive jealousy toward the girl was unconscionable.

  Her lack of desire for her food did not evade Robert's notice. “My dear, are you not hungry?”

  “I'm feeling a bit unwell, truth be told. Perhaps I am a bit exhausted from the journey?”

  “You do look somewhat pale. Do you need to lie down? I should show you to a bed.”

  “I hope you don't mean your bed, Robert, you cad!” Clarissa boldly exclaimed, which earned her matching sneers from Robert and Sylvie. “Was that inappropriate? Oh, I do apologize!”

  “I... would like to lie down. For a bit,” Sylvie said. As she rose from her chair, she said, “Hughes, please do not leave until you've said farewell. If you left without saying goodbye, I would be gutted.”

  Peter gave her a tiny nod, but did not utter a word. He had never been a noisy sort, but she suspected his silence had something to do with the fact that he was uncomfortable. His present company was hardly the sort of company he would usually keep.

  Robert took Sylvie's arm and led her from the dining room. As Clarissa and Peter finished their food, the only noise in the room was the sound of clinking forks against plates.

  After a few minutes pa
ssed, Clarissa set her fork aside and asked, “Would you escort me back to the drawing room, Hughes?”

  “Of course, my lady.” Peter swiped his hand across the back of his mouth, unaware that it was a very ungentlemanly thing to do. He rose from his chair and offered her an arm.

  When she stood, Clarissa did not take Peter's arm. She did something else entirely.

  Her fingers coiled through his hair, and she kissed him.

  V

  When Clarissa's lips departed, Peter was understandably dazed. It took him a few seconds to gather his wits and speak. “My lady... that was... unexpected.”

  Her tongue flitted out to lick her lower lip. Grinning, she said, “I am sure it was. You're a very handsome man. It is such a shame you are not wealthy, or I might consider trading him for you.”

  Peter narrowed his eyes. “My lady...”

  “You seem a clever man, Peter... for someone who isn't a gentleman. I have always thought that intelligence was not always synonymous with education. You have figured it out, haven't you?” Clarissa threw back her head and chuckled, a bit snidely. “I am not Robert's cousin. Not even close.”

  “I... see.”

  “Robert bores me.” Clarissa narrowed the gap between herself and Peter, until her chest was practically touching his. “I suspect you could provide me with some... amusement?”

  Peter did not know what to say to avoid offending the girl, so he simply muttered, “Hm.”

  “You look surprised, to say the least. What is the most shocking part? The fact that I am Robert's mistress, or the fact that I have an interest in you?” When Clarissa boldly caressed his cheek, and then his lips, he did not budge. “Robert does not appreciate me enough. He makes no secret of his love for Sylvie, and yet he carries on with me. Can you not pity me, even if it is just a bit?”

  “I pity Sylvie more.”

  “Of course you do. Of course you do!” Clarissa threw up her hands in disgust. “No one takes pity on the discarded mistress, do they?”

  “I don't know.”

  “You're a man of few words. I like that.” Clarissa gently stroked the lapel of his coat. “And yet... despite being quiet, will you run off and tell Miss Stafford what I have just told you? In a way, I hope you do. Robert's secret deserves to be shared. It is quite cruel of him to carry on with both of us, wouldn't you agree?”

  Peter answered with a firm nod. “I would.”

  “May I speak plainly with you, Peter Hughes?”

  “You have been speaking plainly with me,” Peter pointed out. “I see no reason why you should stop now.”

  “Very well.” Clarissa raised her chin and asked, “Would you not consider joining me in my bed?”

  Peter's eyes widened at the proposition, and he blinked several times. After a brief pause, he answered, “I... cannot.”

  “Do you have a wife?”

  He shook his head.

  “Is it because you have some misplaced loyalty to Miss Stafford?”

  This time, he simply shrugged.

  “Could another kiss change your mind?” Her tongue flitted out, licking her lips, as if to tease and tempt him.

  Peter paused for several seconds, as if he was considering it, but then he finally said, “I don't believe it would.”

  “Very well. I shall force myself to be content in Robert's arms, I suppose,” Clarissa said with a sigh. “Good day, Peter. Enjoy your lonely bed tonight.”

  Peter watched her leave, then he stared at the wall in stunned silence. Peter had always been a man who knew his place, and he never overstepped his bounds, but he felt honor-bound to say something to Sylvie. With a deep breath, he left the dining room and went searching for her. It took him quite a bit of time to locate her room, as the servants seemed reluctant to reveal her whereabouts to him. Finally, he knocked on her door and waited.

  When Sylvie answered, her eyes were narrowed. “A man,” she began, “should never visit a lady in her bedchamber.”

  “You did ask me to say farewell,” he reminded her.

  “Ah. Indeed.” Sylvie stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. “Does this mean you are leaving, then?”

  “I am.”

  “Are you going to tell me it was a pleasure to escort me?” She simultaneously raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Because if you say that, I am not going to believe you.”

  “I wasn't going say that,” Peter said with a wink.

  “You are a very honest man, Hughes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “They have. And because I'm honest, I should tell you something about your Robert... er... Mr. Lytton,” Peter corrected himself. “He might not be quite as devoted as you believe he is.”

  Her arms were crossed: an immediate defensive posture. “What would make you say such a thing?”

  “I don't believe Miss Overton is his cousin...” Peter spoke softly, as if hushed words would somehow soften the blow. “I believe she might be his mistress.”

  “That's preposterous!” Sylvie squealed. “And these are the words you wish to part on? Do you want to make me hate you before you leave?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You take me all the way to Nottingham... and then you try to put doubt in my head?” Tears wavered in the rims of Sylvie's eyes as she glowered at the man standing in front of her. And to think—she had actually liked him! He was not even worthy of the tiniest fond feeling. He was just a carriage driver. A working man. Far below her notice. Why did she ever feel indebted to him or drawn to him? “I am rather disgusted with you right now.”

  “I'm sorry, my lady.” Peter's eyes dropped to the floor. He wanted to tell her about his conversation with Miss Overton, but he doubted she would believe him anyway. She seemed determined to believe the best about her beau. “I suppose I should excuse myself now.”

  “Yes! Yes, you should.” Her arms stayed crossed, and her eyes looked thunderous. “Good day to you, Peter. Regardless of our poor parting, I will always reflect fondly of our journey together.”

  “Will you?” He cracked a rare smile. “You called me Peter.”

  “Did I?” Sylvie opened the door to her bedchamber and turned away from him. “Well then, Hughes, you should take your leave.”

  “Farewell...” Peter swept his raggedly brown cap from his head, took a step back, and bowed to her, “...my lady.”

  As Sylvie closed the door, she was surprised at how rapidly her heart was racing. What was the reason for her elevated heart rate, she wondered. Perhaps she felt there was some truth in Peter's words—had Robert been unfaithful to her? Or was there another reason for her drumming pulse? Was it the fact that—to her great surprise—she would actually miss Peter Hughes? When he was gone, it was quite obvious she would never see him again.

  Sylvie raced to the window and peeled back the curtain. In a moment's time, she saw Peter appear below her. It was raining again, so hard that he was soaked within seconds. He had tugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and for whatever reason, there was something alluring about a man in drenched shirtsleeves. Sylvie was careful to stay behind the curtain, as she did not want him to catch her staring at him. She saw him rush into the stables, presumably to ready his carriage. Once he reappeared, he would be leaving her life forever.

  “Foolish Sylvie,” she whispered to herself. “Why do you care so much about the departure of such an... unworthy man? He's not even a gentleman. He's not even that handsome.”

  Her last sentence had her shaking her head. There was something largely appealing about Peter's darkest black hair, and his smoldering dark eyes would likely haunt her dreams forever.

  Sylvie decided to focus her attention elsewhere: namely, on Robert. He was, after all, the man she loved. Robert Lytton was the man for whom she had risked everything.

  Sylvie forced herself away from the window and left her bedchamber. As she traveled down the hall toward Robert's room, she tried to imagine what would happen when she appeared at her love's door. Would he kiss he
r? Would he do more than that? Her unladylike musings had her heart racing yet again.

  When she arrived at Robert's door, she was surprised to find it ajar. As her lips parted to announce her arrival, curiosity took hold of her. Rather than speak up, Sylvie tiptoed closer and peered into the open door, and when she did, she swore she could feel her heart crashing against her stomach.

  Robert and Clarissa were lying on his bed. Their lips were locked, their tongues were entwined, and Robert's hand was buried in the depths of her dress. Sylvie wanted to scream, but she didn't. She wanted to kick open the door and confront them, but she was too much of a lady to force a confrontation. There was nothing she could say. In the briefest instant, the Robert she knew and loved was lost to her.

  As her world came crashing down around her, Sylvie had only one goal in mind: to catch Peter before he left. With tears in her eyes, she ran outside, into the rain. She rushed to the stables as quickly as she could and prayed she was not too late. Sylvie was grateful for the raindrops, as they would effectively disguise the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

  At the moment, she felt as if her life was over.

  She had no one.

  Nothing.

  When she saw Peter emerge from behind the stables with his carriage, she felt a crescendo of relief in her chest. “Peter!” Sylvie swiped a hand across her tear-stained cheeks as she cried his name. “Peter, please! Let me come with you!”

  He slicked back his wet, dark hair and stared at her for a moment, puzzled. “You want to come with me?”

  “Take me back to my father. Please.” Sylvie's lips were trembling terribly as she made her plea. “You were right about Robert... and I cannot stay here.”

  “You saw them...?” Peter guessed, “together?”

  Sylvie nodded pitifully. “I did. Can you believe it? I'm such a fool.” Her gaze fell to the ground in shame. “Such a fool.”

  “You want me to take you back to your father?”

  “Yes... please!” Sylvie's plea was desperate. As the rain slowed, it was easier to spot the difference between the rain and Sylvie's tears. “I will likely be ruined and thoroughly admonished, but I cannot stay here. Not with Robert. Not with her.”