She dropped her knife and fork abruptly. “Why, Humphry, I don’t think you’ve ever said anything so nice to me in your whole life.”
Emotions she’d be unable to articulate roiled in her stomach. Somehow it seemed wrong to be confronted with the first suggestion of admiration from her husband after her night spent with another man.
Immediately he raised his newspaper so she couldn’t see him, muttering something incomprehensible about how she must be losing her me
mory for that could not possibly be true.
After a moment of contemplative silence, he sighed, put down the news sheet and faced her across the table. “Edgar came to see me last night.”
“Oh, Humphry.” The sigh took all her energy with her. She hadn’t expected this so soon.
He nodded, corroborating though she’d said nothing to indicate her feelings on the matter. They were both very much in accord with regard to an alliance between Edgar and Araminta, she was glad to note by the gloominess of his expression.
“I tried to put the boy off. After all, that’s all he is. A boy. What’s more, I’ve heard a few disturbing whispers about his conduct on and off the battlefield.” He cleared his throat. “More than whispers, in fact. Sybil, I’m ashamed to call him my nephew. He was not distinguished by bravery. He disappeared, seemingly having died a hero, but he did not. No, Sybil, he did not.”
Sybil’s mouth dropped open. Humphry’s eyes bored into hers. He waited for the maid to refresh the tea then said in a low voice, “Apparently the matter has been hushed up—seemingly for my benefit, or so it’s been suggested.”
When he was unable to go on, Sybil prompted in a whisper, “You mean...he deserted? Was that the reason for his disappearance? Is that how he was lost in battle?”
The horror of it was stark in Humphry’s bleak expression. He gave the smallest nod of acknowledgement and his eyes shifted to the doorway before returning gravely to her. “There was talk about a court martial. Indeed, that may have come to pass had not an old friend of mine been on the committee deciding Edgar’s fate.” His shoulders slumped and he muttered with curled lip, “I would to God that justice had been done, for I take no pleasure in seeing the Grange go to a coward. A coward that, it would seem, has all the credentials for winning my daughter.”
“We can’t let it happen, Humphry.” Sybil had never been more fired with the rightness of her decision to secure the succession with someone other than Edgar.
His look was hopeless. “What choice do we have?”
Later that morning, when he declined Hetty’s suggestion of a walk with the excuse that he had an important appointment he could not put off, Sybil did not experience the usual jab of pain. The fact that he was going to see his “other family” seemed unimportant. No, Sybil had at last found a diversion that meant her lonely heart no longer relied on Humphry.
* * * * *
With the weather so glorious a picnic was planned in the small rotunda perched on a hill surrounded by a small lake about half a mile away. On a clear day, from the bedroom windows of the south wing, the lake could be spied invitingly in the distance, just beyond the beech wood.
Servants were sent ahead while the picnic party had arranged to walk.
Araminta and Edgar led the way. Araminta carried herself proudly, as if aware of her magnetism. Edgar, from the rear, looked at pains to engage her in what, doubtless, he considered light and sophisticated banter.
Sybil, who’d hung back so she could observe the young people, watched with a surge of warmth as Stephen offered Hetty his arm, telling her brightly that she was “looking charming”. Poor Hetty. Even Sybil knew her daughter was going through her least charming phase although she had every hope that once Hetty had lost some of the generous flesh that coated her young body and gained in confidence she might yet be considered charming.
I must teach her how to graciously accept a compliment, Sybil thought, listening to her daughter’s stammered response, before realizing that she was, in fact, watching a younger version of herself.
They had been following a well-worn bridle path when the road came into view for a short while. In the distance a carriage approached, on its way toward the village. It was a hired post chaise therefore excited little interest until Hetty cried, “Why, isn’t that Papa?”
Sybil glanced up in time to see two occupants. The older male was indistinct as he turned his face in the opposite direction as they passed. The young lady she recognized from church though she’d never met Lizzy Hazlett’s daughter and it had been some time since she’d seen her this close.
She looked remarkably like Araminta and Sybil held her breath in case someone else remarked upon it. The girl’s eyes were large and luminous like Araminta’s, but more serious. Sad eyes, thought Sybil before remembering that this girl had nothing like as much to be sad about as Sybil’s daughters, whose father neglected them in favor of his base-born brood.
“Don’t let him break your heart, Lady Partington.”
Stephen’s warm breath on her neck sent her heartbeat skittering. He’d dropped back and his head was bent to her ear. The others were ahead, sauntering with careless abandon, Edgar expounding upon some theory that had the attention of his cousins.
Sybil turned and intercepted Stephen’s interested gaze. His mouth curved suggestively. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, eh?” When she didn’t reply, he sobered and touched her arm. It was the briefest of caresses for he was obviously careful not to excite attention but it was enough to make Sybil conscious of the power he had over her.
“You’re very lovely when you don’t know what to say.” He grinned, matching his pace with hers and staring straight ahead at the backs of the young people some distance ahead of them as he went on conversationally, “You were certainly very lovely last night. I enjoyed myself immensely and if it helps you solve your problems I’m more than happy to offer myself up on the altar of your need any time.” His voice gentled. “No, I’m not mocking you, my lady. I understand more than you think. Your husband has never given you the love and attention you deserve. It was Lord Partington in that carriage, wasn’t it?”
Sybil nodded. She blinked back tears while her throat ached from the effort of keeping a check on her feelings. “I enjoyed last night too,” she said. “But you’ll be gone in a week. It’s too dangerous to repeat—”
“Hush.”
She caught her breath once more at the light touch of his hand upon her lower back. Sensation speared through her belly as he slid it lower to lightly cup her bottom.