Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin 1)

“I know.” He smiled, angling his body so he could reach her lips with his. Lingeringly, he kissed her.

She gave a little sob, drew a breath and said more calmly, “Tomorrow we must say goodbye. Perhaps forever. You have given me more joy in these past few days than I’ve experienced in a lifetime.”

He acknowledged this, his eyes dark and solemn as he added, “It may not be the last time, Sybil. I can’t leave you, believing it is.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You will go to your new life in

London. Humphry has already shown his support for you. He’s made it clear you will benefit from his patronage. You are young, handsome. You will find love again. You will marry. I must accept that.”

“No, Sybil. Not when I love you.”

Sybil smiled. Suddenly he was the ardent young man, showing his immaturity. Or his kindness? “It is what happens. What will happen. It is the way of the world.”

Through clenched teeth he muttered, “I would marry you, if I could.”

How world-weary and old she felt when she said, still smiling, “But you cannot. We’ve had our moment. Do not feel guilty when time and distance has muted your memories of me and your heart is engaged by a candidate suitable in years, good nature and rank. I shall always think of you and I shall support your endeavors to the best of my ability— What was that?”

Tensing, they listened. Silence. Then the sound came again. Beech leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, which carried something else: an intense keening, rising in crescendo.

“Lady Julia’s love cry?” Stephen grinned but it was not convincing. There’d been something unsettling about the sound. Stephen stiffened, rising quickly as he helped Sybil to her feet. “Someone’s in trouble.” He brushed the leaves from her night rail then took her hand and together they retraced their footsteps toward the lake as the sound grew louder. A shrill cry. Piercing in its pain. It didn’t sound anything like Lady Julia.

More like a wounded animal. Or a young girl, crying from fear and grief.

They reached the edge of the lake, gilded with moonlight as it basked in the glow of the full moon.

“Where is he? I can’t find him. Where is he?”

Sybil reached her daughter first. “Hetty! What are you doing here? What’s happened?”

Hetty was staring across the lake. Not at the rotunda where Sybil’s gaze immediately gravitated but at the dark waters between. Then she saw the hull of the rowing boat upturned in the inky depths, illuminated by the moonlight.

Another shrill cry—not Hetty’s—punctuated the silence, broken by the hoot of an owl and the gentle lapping of the water against the shoreline.

“Help me!”

Lady Julia’s wail was drowned by Hetty’s more urgent, “Where is he?” as she stepped forward, up to her knees in water, still dressed in her evening clothes, her hair and eyes wild.

Stephen had cast off his boots and was already striding in, pushing Hetty gently back toward her mother as he launched in, making for the boat.

“Edgar’s in the water! Someone’s got to find him!”

Sybil had to hold Hetty back from diving in after Stephen, soothing her as she noted her wildly shaking body. “He’ll find Edgar.”

“Save me! I can’t swim!” came Lady Julia’s anguished cry as Stephen reached her.

Yet there was no triumph in his delivery of her thrashing body back to shore before he turned back. Edgar was missing still.

Sybil forced her attention to the water-logged young woman at her feet while Hetty kept vigil.

Instead of comfort she could only mutter, “Quiet, Lady Julia! You are the one who’s been saved!”

For in the next moment Stephen dragged Edgar’s body from the reeds and placed it, ominously still and pale, beside the thrashing, hysterical Lady Julia.

Chapter Fifteen

It was Hetty’s sobbing that wakened the house. That and her cries for a stable boy to be roused to fetch Dr. Marsh.

As if he would be able to do anything.