by Kate Archer
She did not wish to see him, and yet she did. Would it not be better to hear the news and be done with it? Naturally, he would speak of his good fortune. Miss Mapleton had been secured.
That Poppy herself did not come had seemed strange, until Sybil remembered that she had a sick houseguest to contend with. However much Poppy might wish to stay by Lord Lockwood’s side, she could not very well abandon Sir John’s care to the servants. For his part, Lord Lockwood could not fail to appear for the regatta. Not with a wager riding on it. The lovers must be parted for a time, and she supposed she would find Lord Lockwood very glum over it.
The carriage took a sedate pace as they made their way down the well-worn track toward the lake. Various streams fed into that body of water and the path wound alongside and crossed over them by way of stone bridges. Tall weeping willows grew by the brooks, their long branches brushing the ground. Between the willows were views of gently rolling hills in the distance, peppered with cows out to pasture. It was an idyllic scene, the softness of the Yorkshire countryside ever charming. That Sybil could not fully enjoy her surroundings, that they seemed veiled in a gray mist by her disturbed thoughts, was endlessly aggravating.
“Sybil?” her mother asked, tapping her arm. “Lady Niemore asks how you enjoyed your first season.”
Sybil turned her head with a start. She had not heard a thing anybody had said. “Oh! Very much, ma’am,” she said hurriedly.
Lady Niemore smiled kindly at Sybil. “I recall my own daughter just as distracted after she was out, and shortly before we understood that Lord Maydon meant to declare himself. Perhaps it will not be long before we hear welcome news?”
Sybil stared straight ahead, not daring to answer such a speculation. The only news Lady Niemore was likely to hear was that Lady Sybil Hayworth had been passed over.
“Ah, here we are,” Lady Hugh said, as the carriage rolled out from under the trees. The carriage descended the slope leading to the lake and halted on the flat, grassy surface that bordered the water.
The scene was already a hive of activity. Men were at their boats, while the ladies and the gentleman who would not venture out to sea had gathered near the pier to view the whole operation.
Sybil was helped out of the carriage. Lady Blanding whispered to her, “Never mind Lady Niemore’s teasing. Now, it will be a tedious hour or two, but your father always feels very heartened to have me here. He will be even more pleased to have you here too, cheering him on.”
Sybil nodded and became determined to be encouraging. Her father was the dearest man alive and she knew how much the contest on the water meant to him. If he could not win it, and she was afraid that was the case if history told any tales, then he should at least be cheered on as he readied his boat. This day could be one of hope, though the morrow might bring defeat.
As she looked along the line of dinghies, she saw Lord Hugh on his boat with the union jack on the side. Her father’s boat was in the next slip. Lord Niemore came next, then another boat being readied by gentleman she did not know. The very last in the line was Lord Lockwood.
Sybil took in a breath. His coat was off and his sleeves rolled up—even from this distance she could see his powerful forearms. How often she had wondered about them…
No matter, those arms would belong to Poppy by now.
She squinted, attempting to see if the lord were particularly morose at having to leave his intended behind at her father’s house. Lord Lockwood leaned down toward the young boy on the boat with him, apparently listening to what the boy would say.
Sybil presumed this was same boy who had caused the lord such acclaim among the servants for his generosity. Charlie was his name, if she recalled rightly. Whatever the boy said, Lord Lockwood laughed, while his valet hit the lad over the head.
She should have known Lord Lockwood would hide his sadness over being parted with Poppy. Had he not cleverly hidden his interest all along? He did not wear his heart on his sleeve, however much that heart was affected just now.
It was a skill she would need to perfect for herself. Nobody must ever discover her disappointment.
Lord Burke startled her, suddenly appearing by her side. “Lady Sybil,” he said. “I hope I find you well this morning?”
“Very well, thank you,” Sybil said. “I have come to cheer my father.”
“Ah,” Lord Burke said. “Yes, Lord Blanding is very keen. Always very keen.”
“Do you mean to say,” Sybil said, “that he is all enthusiasm, but perhaps less gifted in skill?”
“I judge nobody at this sport,” Lord Burke said, laughing. “As you see, I am not one of the competitors. I tip my hat to anybody who dares it.”
Sybil nodded.
Lord Burke said, “It will be Lockwood’s first time on the water, I think. He cannot be very good.”
Sybil pressed her lips together.
“I reckon he’ll be lucky to make it round the buoys without drowning himself.”
“That is entirely his problem,” Sybil said curtly. “He had better hope to accomplish more than that, as there is a wager between the lord and my father for a hundred pounds.”
“Yes,” Lord Burke said. “The wagers. I have heard there have been quite a few, though I had not known they had run so high.”
“Some are small and some are large,” Sybil said. “It is not for me to guess at how they arrive at the figures.”
“Of course not, but do you not wonder why there are so many wagers between them?”
“As a matter of fact, I do not wonder at it,” Sybil said, her patience even for Lord Burke coming to an end. “It is well-known by my family that Lord Lockwood had some early wager with the other gentlemen of the pact to win my father over. They were very amused to hear of my father’s directive that I no longer allow the lord to claim a dance. Naturally, my father seeks revenge for the insult. He shall send Lord Lockwood off penniless and we will see how he likes it. Though, I suppose he will have Miss Mapleton’s dowry soon enough and the sting will not be what we would have wished.”
Lord Burke stared at Sybil. “Lady Sybil, I fear you are mistaken on a remarkable variety of fronts.”
Sybil could not imagine what Lord Burke thought she was mistaken over. It was she who was privy to the facts of the case, not the lord.
Before Lord Burke could elaborate on where he supposed Sybil had gone wrong, Lady Blanding touched her arm and said, “My dear, your father calls us over.”
Sybil allowed herself to be led to the dock where her father’s boat was tied up. Lord Blanding looked exceedingly jolly.
“You see here,” he said, hoisting the sail so it flapped in the wind. “The sails are all numbered so the people on shore who view the race can keep track of it all. I’ve got number one; it’s bound to be lucky.”
“I am sure it will be, papa,” Sybil said. Though she was determined to keep her attention squarely on her father, Sybil could not help but glance down the pier at the row of boats.
Lord Lockwood caught her eye and waved cheerily. Then he called, “Lady Sybil, I can already see your father’s skill with watercraft.”
Lord Blanding appeared highly annoyed at the compliment and called back, “I’ll thank you not to observe me, sir!”
And so it went on for the next hour, Lord Lockwood calling over some approbation of whatever Lord Blanding was doing at that moment, and Lord Blanding hurling the comment back with a slight. It was a game of lawn tennis played with compliments flying over the net and insults lobbed back.
One would think, since Lord Lockwood had found his ultimate happiness, that he would not expend so much effort in harassing her father. One would think he’d have better things to do than to go on with some ridiculous wager he did not have the smallest chance of winning.
*
Richard’s bedchamber glowed a soft yellow in the fading afternoon light. Kingston brushed his clothes for dinner and Charlie polished his shoes.
“That Lord Blanding fellow don’t like
to be observed, as he pointed out more than once,” Charlie said. “How come you went on observing him and then tellin’ him you were doin’ it?”
Kingston glared at his young charge and his incorrigible audacity. Richard said, “Oh, the old fellow kicks up a fuss over it, but I’m slowly wearing him down.”
“Seems like a roundabout way of going on,” Charlie said, shaking his head.
“In the case of Lord Blanding, yes,” Richard admitted. “Though in general the technique is sound. You’ve done it yourself with Kingston. Only days ago, your insolence just now would have sent him chasing you round the room. Now, you’ve worn the fellow down to a glare.”
Kingston threw up his hands.
Charlie nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose I have worn the old boy down.”
“Not entirely!” Kinston said, throwing a brush at his head.
Charlie handily caught it and set it aside next to the other items Kingston had recently thrown.
“I was particularly dogged about the whole thing today, as I need to grease the wheels for tomorrow,” Richard said. “It’s a delicate operation, I must win the wager without the man feeling too sore over it.”
“I don’t see why you need that fellow’s approval at all,” Charlie said.
“Not your business,” Kingston said curtly.
Richard nodded. “It certainly is not. Though, I wonder if our young friend’s nosiness might come in handy. He might do a bit of reconnaissance. Certain of my friends that I am not eager to encounter just now stay at a neighbor’s house. I would like to know what they do there.”
Charlie jumped to his feet. “There ain’t nothin’ I do better than slinkin’ around, gathering up the what’s what. Where do the rascals stay?”
“Lady Montague’s house, I believe it is too far to walk. Can you ride a horse?”
Charlie rubbed his chin. “I reckon so, I seen it done enough times.”
Richard looked toward Kingston, who only shook his head. “No,” he said, “seeing it done will not suffice. Kingston, I’ll write you a note for the stablemaster. One of Lord Hugh’s bays will be able to carry you both. I can dress myself.”
Kingston, if his expression revealed his thoughts accurately, was at once alarmed, dismayed, disapproving, and resigned.
*
Sybil had heard often through the years of the special dinner to be had on the eve of the Yorkshire Cup. There would be far too many people arriving to accommodate them all in the dining room. Instead, tables of every size and description would be set up on the lawn. Some would come as far as York itself, with those revelers either being fit into a spare bedchamber at Dartsfell Hall or staying with those neighbors who were nearby. It was said the environs became so crowded that a single gentleman not graced with a title might find himself in the servant’s quarters and his valet might find himself in a hayloft.
Lady Montague was one of those close-by neighbors and had tried to push in, but somehow Lady Hugh had fended her off. Sybil was grateful for it, she did not look forward to encountering the lady, or Lord Dalton, or any of them for that matter. They would appear at the regatta and the ball and there had been nothing Lady Hugh could do about that. Sybil could only be satisfied that they were soon to discover that they would not be successful in separating Lord Lockwood from Poppy. If the circumstance were to be painful to herself, then she could only be glad that it was also to be painful to the gentlemen of the pact.
She came down the stairs with Lord and Lady Blanding and they exited the house to the lawn. It was a fine night, the air cool enough for comfort and the sky clear. The multitude of tables sported white tablecloths and good wax candles. They seemed to stretch on for a mile, and the flickering lights of the oil lamps that had been lit to guide the guests looked as faeries alighting in a forest.
People milled about everywhere, led by footmen searching for place cards. When Lord Blanding was spotted as one of the competitors, a loud cheer went up for him. Her father was pleased as Punch over it, though he waved his hands as if to say the adulation was too much.
As one of the families to put forth a competitor, they were led to the top of the lawn to a long, raised dais in a place of honor. As Jiminy led them to their seats, Sybil noted the place cards. Lord Lockwood’s was next to her own.
She grasped her mother’s hand and said, “Mama, do change places with me. Oh, do.”
Lady Blanding’s brow wrinkled, until she saw the name placards. “Ah, I see. You have no stomach for taking on Lord Lockwood this night. Never fear, my dear, you will not have to.”
Without bothering to ask the butler, though doing it in his view, Lady Blanding took Sybil’s card away and switched it with her own.
A few yards away, Richard looked on. Lord Burke appeared next to him and whispered, “I came out early and switched those cards myself to put Lady Sybil next to you, she was meant to be next to Lord Niemore. I see it will not do, Lady Blanding will not have it.”
“Of course she will not,” Richard said. “Not yet.”
“Listen here, Lockwood, you really had better straighten out Lady Sybil in regard to Miss Mapleton. I am afraid she believes—”
“Never mind that, my good fellow,” Richard said, slapping Lord Burke on the back, “I’ve got my work cut out for me this evening winning over Lady Blanding.”
Before Lord Burke could respond, his friend charged toward the dais.
Chapter Fifteen
Kingston and Charlie bounced down the road like a couple of babes in a runaway pram. Kingston knew how to ride a horse, at least, he had once known, but it had been quite some time since he’d found himself on horseback rather than comfortably ensconced in a carriage. Even in the war, he generally stayed by the tent and then hopped into a cart with the trunks and cases when it was time to move on.
He had presumed, upon mounting the animal, that his previous skill would come rushing back upon him, but so far it had been slow to arrive.
“I rather think I could’a managed this amount of skill on my own, havin’ never done it,” Charlie said.
Had Kingston possessed a free hand he most certainly would have used it against the ill-mannered boy who bobbed behind him. As it was, he whispered, “Stop your tongue, hold the lamp up so I can see where we are going, and pay attention to the map!”
The stablemaster had not bothered to inquire why exactly the two servants were to set off at night to a neighbor’s house and had helpfully drawn them a map to Lady Montague’s estate. From the man’s attitude, it seemed he’d seen enough strange comings and goings in his career, and none more likely than on the eve of a regatta.
Jacks had, perhaps, appeared to find it odd that the two servants could barely manage to get on the horse. After watching that particular operation, he’d said, “No worries, I’ve put you on Belfour, he’s a plodding sort of animal not likely to cause harm to you two… fellas.”
Kingston had been sure the man had stopped himself from calling them rubes or bumpkins or something equally offensive. That conjecture was rather confirmed by the laughter from the stables after they’d set off.
“It’s as easy as can be to follow the map,” Charlie said. “We already passed the first turn off, we just look for the second.”
“Then look!” Kingston said, full of aggravation. How on earth had he ended up on horseback with a little criminal behind him, wandering through the dark so they might spy upon a lady? It was the most untoward situation imaginable and not a predicament he would have anticipated when he’d considered a career as a valet.
“Cool your heels, mate, there it is,” Charlie said.
Kingston would have replied, viciously, but he was far too busy carefully turning the horse into the drive and then straightening it out again.
The house loomed ahead, the lights bright in every window.
“You ought to wait here,” Charlie said, sliding off the back of the horse and hitting the ground with a thump. “Take yourself under that tree so nobody notes you, while I c
reep up to the house all stealthy-like.”
Kingston very much wished to reassert his authority; he was not at all used to taking direction from anybody but his master. But the truth was, the pint-sized villain had worn him out and, in any case, he did not have the first idea how one went about spying.
He pointed the horse toward the aforementioned tree and then ducked under its branches until he got hold of one to halt the beast. He dared not dismount as he did not see how he would get back on again.
He chewed the fingernails on his free hand as he watched Charlie disappear into the shadows.
*
Charlie dashed from tree to tree, getting ever closer to the house. Once he was near enough, he crept along the windows, peering in to see what was inside. Though all the rooms were lit like blazes, most of them were empty. He was surprised to see a cavernous room full of books. He’d thought Dartsfell Hall had been eccentric in that regard—now he wondered if all the well-heeled took to piling up literature. Who would’ve had time to read them all, he did not know. Who’d want to even attempt it, he really did not know.
Finally, he heard voices. A window was helpfully cracked open to admit the cooler air of evening. Charlie raised his head over the window frame just high enough for his eyes to see.
A lady swimming in satin held court in front of four men. Judging the cut of the gentlemen’s coats and the cleanliness of their neckerchiefs, they were bound to be great muckety-mucks. Charlie was certain who he viewed—Lady Montague and the Lords Dalton, Ashworth, Cabot, and Grayson.
“I have heard from my boy in Lady Hugh’s house that Lord Lockwood has returned,” Lady Montague said. “Even more worrying, he knows of your presence here and he suspects he was lured to York. I do not believe he has the idea entirely confirmed, but he may soon—as it turns out, Lord Burke’s mother and father just now visit the duke and duchess in Norfolk.”
“Dash it,” Lord Dalton said, “if Burke mentions it, Lockwood will know for certain and we’ll be sunk.”