Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin 1)

Humphry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But she’d have been standing there with exactly the same intentions had it been her cousin Edgar. We both know that.”

Was that admiration? Sybil tilted her head. “Are you suggesting that Araminta’s ambition is greater than her discernment?”

Humphry chuckled. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. I say ‘good on her’ for exercising all her wiles if that avenue will bring her happiness. Life would be a misery if we simply accepted our lot.”

Sybil nearly spilled her drink. With a suspicious look at her husband’s empty glass, which the footman was currently refilling, she murmured, “You sometimes surprise me, Humphry, with your profound comments.”

“Do I, my dear?” He glanced at Sybil, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth. A spasm of some tiny fondness for him jerk to life deep within her.

Sharply truncated when he said, still kindly, “As a boy my pater thought I’d surely grow out of my adolescent mooning and accept that duty was the only mantra. I was young, lacking experience of myself and of life. I knew no better. If that’s what pater believed, then surely it was true.” He sipped his drink, both philosophical and melancholic. “Sadly for both of us, I accepted the pater’s edict.” He patted his chest. “For this loyal heart was not made with room for you, Sybil, and for that I’ve always felt a trifle guilty.”

Oh Lord, was she going to cry?

She’d give her all right now to be able to respond, to pour out her desire for a love she was powerless to grasp and perhaps get something in return. Any love. Even an apologetic gesture of friendship. How dried-up, stale and superfluous she’d become. Here was not the place and no doubt Humphry had chosen to speak here for that reason.

So she was relieved when he broke the mood by saying in an uncharacteristically complimentary tone, “You look mighty fetching, Sybil. I don’t know what it is but you’re looking finer than I’ve seen you in a while. What have you done to yourself?”

It certainly wasn’t happiness that had improved her appearance. Her spirits were lower than they’d ever been but she realized she was favoring bolder colors and styling. Why? Purely because Stephen Cranbourne had complimented her?

She fanned herself at the memory of their encounter that first day. No man other than Humphry had ever seen her without her clothes.

Stephen should have recoiled

with horror from the sight of an old woman’s decaying body yet he’d been the opposite of either embarrassed or dismissive. He’d been positively charming.

Recalling this, she raised her eyes just as Stephen glanced over at them. He looked young and very self-assured as he offered a half bow in acknowledgement, his eyes creasing into a smile, and Sybil, to her astonishment, blushed and was even more embarrassed when Humphry remarked, “I see you have won the admiration of our guest. He certainly speaks well of you while I, to my shame, just nod my head and agree. I take for granted the good works you do and the excellence with which you run the household, Sybil. I was surprised when Stephen himself observed you were quietly competent and efficient while asking nothing of those around you, as we took a walk the other day.”

Pleasure made her sit straighter.

Humphry put down his drink. “Of course, he has only his dissolute mama with which to compare you. Now, shall we retire and leave the young ones to while away a few more minutes without censorious eyes?” Sybil rose with him as he added, “You must call Hetty away too. I believe Stephen has something of importance to say to Araminta.”

“But it’s only been a week.” How could Humphry know more than she? Besides, it was much too early. The furious beating of her heart and the cocktail of shock, surprise and...yes, resentment, took her by surprise. Her hand was shaking as she put down her glass.

Humphry looked knowing. “I spoke to Araminta this morning and said she had two choices: to throw herself into her next season and try to snare a duke, which I told her she surely would with her looks and dowry. That would mean she’d be going to London in another month but that if she was prepared to remain a lowly viscountess at the Grange, she’d have to forgo London revels.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Porter, the butler, stood half in the doorway. Sybil raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to go on, wondering what might have happened at such a late hour.

“Well, what is it?” Humphry sounded suddenly tired and grumpy. He was like that when he’d had enough of Sybil’s company.

“There is a visitor...”

“What do you mean a visitor? At this hour?”

Porter cleared his throat. He shifted his feet and seemed reluctant to speak until Humphry said even more testily, “We’re not receiving callers at this hour, Porter.”

“My lord—” Porter’s Adam’s apple leapt up his throat. “It’s Master Edgar, my lord. Shall I tell him you’ll see him?”

Sybil’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp that threatened to bring all attention upon this side of the room. “Oh, my dear Lord,” she whispered, her head reeling, while Humphry choked on his own response.

Any decisiveness, however, was rendered unnecessary as Edgar appeared beside Porter, pushing his way in with the careless familiarity of youth, saying cheerily, “Uncle, Aunt...” Rising from his bow, Edgar’s myopic blue eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “You thought I’d copped a bullet and slipped off this mortal coil, didn’t you, eh, wot?” His vacuous grin—at least, that’s how Sybil had always thought of it— was twisted with pleasure at having “gammoned” them—his favorite term—as he sauntered forward with the unconscious confidence that everyone must be delighted to see him.

“Edgar!” cried Hetty, bursting off the sofa in a cloud of muslin skirts, the ends of her pink silk sash flying behind her as she threw herself into his arms. “We thought you were dead! Why, what a marvelous dream come true to see that you’re not!”

Sybil and Humphry exchanged glances and in that rare moment it was clear that both were of one mind.

Never had such a disastrous day befallen the Grange and its inhabitants.

Chapter Five