by Kate Archer
“Can you fathom it? The man puts a hole in Lord Lockwood’s boat and then has the temerity to take the trophy from him! Brazenly shameless!”
“Bad form. Very bad form.”
Sybil glanced up and down the table, as if by viewing the faces before her she might divine what they spoke of when she was not nearby. She could not detect any hint of animosity or staring. Lord Lockwood, himself, sitting in a place of honor beside Lady Hugh, appeared as carefree as he always did. She could not be certain if the rumor repeated by Lord Dalton had taken hold.
Cornwall. She must just think of Cornwall. They would be there soon.
Her thoughts of home were stopped as she saw Poppy and Sir John hurry past the dining room door, still in their traveling clothes. They had come, after all. She supposed they had been delayed on the road.
Lord Lockwood had not noted their passing, his back being toward the door. Though, her earlier assumption that he’d got word that Poppy would not come must fall to pieces. He could not have received any such word.
To think! His betrothed was late in arriving, missing somewhere, and he did not appear to give a fig about it!
A half hour of bland conversation with Mr. Michaels later, Poppy and Sir John entered, having hurriedly changed into clothes more suitable.
Of course, Poppy was magnificent. The lady had no need of the hour another lady might take for fussing and primping. She wore a deep green silk that was kindling to her hair of fire, her eyes as bright and compelling as ever. Many at table appeared nearly transfixed by the sight of her.
Lord Lockwood glanced at her, smiled, and then went back to his dinner.
Sir John and Poppy took places at the far side of the table, they both appearing flushed and animated. A lively conversation took place around them, and Sybil assumed Sir John explained what had caused their delay.
Lord Lockwood did not even look in their direction. Sybil was dumbfounded. She was well aware that the lord was a master at hiding his feelings, but this was extraordinary.
The dinner was blessedly over, and the guests had begun to depart. Sybil knew that those staying in the house would gather in the drawing room for the special Champagne punch that was served after every Yorkshire Regatta Ball. She had no intention of staying for it, and instead would slip quietly up the stairs.
She was halfway up when Poppy called from behind her. “Dearest Sybil,” she said, picking up her skirts and running lightly up the stairs. “Goodness, you do look tired. May I prevail upon you to follow you for a moment—I have news.”
Sybil’s heart dropped. Of course Poppy had news. And, she did not look the least perturbed that her fiancé had not seemed to pay any attention to her arrival.
They had reached the top of the stairs. Poppy took her arm and leaned in confidentially. “You shall never guess!” she whispered. “I am engaged to be married.”
There. It was said. Though Sybil had known for days that Lord Lockwood had engaged himself to Poppy Mapleton, this was the first time she’d heard it directly from one of the party’s lips. There was no going back, no hope that there had been a confusion, no hope that the couple might suddenly think better of it. The news was out in the world now and would never go back.
Sybil forced herself to smile, though she felt a sort of rage toward Poppy. Everything was easy for Poppy Mapleton. She swanned through life with nary a care. She captured Lord Lockwood without the smallest effort. The world was dastardly unfair.
“I congratulate you, Poppy,” Sybil said, working hard to keep the anger from her voice.
“I am really such a ninny,” Poppy said, laughing. “I only realized I loved him when I thought I might lose him.”
Lose him? What could she mean? Sybil did not believe Poppy was ever in danger of losing Lord Lockwood. He came, he asked, and that was that.
“Ah,” Poppy said, “I see you were not apprised of the extent of it. He was severely ill. It seems almost miraculous that he recovered so quickly.”
“Ill?” Sybil said in some confusion.
“It was entirely his fault, of course. I scolded him terribly for the foolishness of riding beside my carriage in the rain. Though, really, I was touched when I looked out the window and saw the water pouring over the brim of his hat. He was so very stoic about it.”
“Sir John?” Sybil asked, attempting to understand what Poppy was saying.
“Of course, Sir John,” Poppy said, looking at her quizzically. “Do you know, he proposed in the solarium. The doctor allowed him to sit in there for an hour a day when his recovery seemed certain. I would come and we would look over his arrangements for his house. You cannot imagine how happy I was to see him planning for the future again. When I thought he was near death, I was overcome with grief.”
“You are engaged to Sir John?” Sybil repeated.
Chapter Nineteen
“Yes, you goose! Who else but Sir John?” Poppy asked.
Sybil clutched the balustrade, staring at her friend.
“Can you imagine, he wondered if he were good enough for me,” Poppy went on. “Dear Sir John wondering such a thing, it was the most nonsensical notion I’ve ever heard. Then, you cannot think how many plans we’ve made and we are in absolute agreement about what would be most pleasant. We are both homebodies, you know, and very keen on horses, and like to make little improvements to a house, and then he is the kindest, dearest person in all the world. I loved him in my girlish way all my life, but then he went away to war. And, well, when he came back, I knew my feelings had changed. I just could not see them clearly until he was nearly taken. Oh, Sybil, you cannot imagine my happiness.”
Sybil’s mind tried very hard to follow Poppy’s run of thoughts, though they came so fast and furious. She could barely understand it, as the one idea that continued to dominate was that Poppy was engaged to Sir John. Not Lord Lockwood. It was impossible.
“We were delayed in arriving this evening when two of the carriage horses threw a shoe, one after the other, can you fathom such a thing? You would have liked to see how Sir John took charge of the operation—sending a footman one way and the coachman another and ensuring that my maid and I were comfortable. He is ever so kind to Martha, by the by, which I find a mark of good manners.”
“Yes, kind,” Sybil said softly.
“In any case, I see you are tired, but I simply had to tell you my news. We are to announce it over the Champagne toast and I would wish you to know it before anybody else. I count you as quite the confidential friend and I hope I will not bore you with all the little details on the morrow.”
With that, Poppy kissed Sybil’s cheek and tripped back down the stairs to join Sir John in the drawing room.
Sybil fairly staggered to her room. It was as if somebody had taken the world, shaken it up, and thrown it down again to land in an entirely new pattern. Poppy Mapleton was engaged to Sir John. It seemed a fact that only an hour ago could absolutely not be a fact.
But there had been Poppy, claiming it was so. She had not even mentioned Lord Lockwood.
In Sybil’s bedchamber, Betty was fussing with the clothes she had worn earlier in the day. She asked if her mistress would like to be abed, but Sybil only shooed her from the room and told her to go to bed herself.
She had no need for sleep. How could she possibly sleep?
“Lord Burke,” she said softly, suddenly remembering his words. He’d said that Lord Lockwood had followed her here, and then been lured to York. And then she’d not allowed him to say more.
“Why did I not allow him to speak?” Sybil said to herself. “What more might he have said?”
The Lord had also warned her against Lord Dalton, and now it seemed as if Lord Dalton and Lady Montague had been the persons luring Lord Lockwood away. They had lured him away, not Poppy. And then, it had been Lord Dalton who had claimed to know of the engagement.
Sybil paced the room, she must think. What to think, though?
Her first idea, born of the travails of the last few days, was that she
must not allow her hopes to rise too high. Just because Lord Lockwood did not engage himself to Poppy did not mean anything at all regarding herself.
Then, there was also her father to think of. If Lord Lockwood did have any regard for her, why would he allow it to be said that her father had sabotaged his boat?
Of course, Lord Blanding had done just that, but if the lord had any feelings for her, no matter how slight, he would not allow such a shameful thing to be known.
It was likely that he had come to the house with some regard for her, but that regard had petered out like an ill-tended fire. Why should it not? It had been exceedingly ill-tended.
Sybil heard the distant cheers from below and presumed Sir John had just announced his engagement to Poppy. She sat herself down and stared at her empty bedchamber. She must think, and yet her thoughts grew more and more incoherent. It would be a very long and sleepless night and she could not say what the morning would bring.
*
Richard leaned back in his chair and put his foot on a stool so Charlie could pull his boot off. The hour was late—after the toasts of Champagne punch, the engagement announcement between Miss Mapleton and Sir John, and various high-flown speeches, the family and their guests had finally retired. Restless, Richard had gone for a walk to clear his head. After strolling down to the stables and back, he’d quietly slipped though the servant’s entrance and up the stairs, having no wish to explain himself to anybody. He had just needed time to think.
At the ball, Dalton had suddenly turned cheerful with him, which made him sure his friend was up to something, though he did not know what. Then, after supper, Lady Sybil had retired early.
He hadn’t bothered to attempt to claim a dance from Lady Sybil, as he knew he would be refused. Though, he had counted on capturing her in conversation in the drawing room. Especially since Dalton had taken her into supper. He could not know if his friend had said anything that must be undone, but he could not rule it out either.
Instead, Lady Sybil had disappeared before he could converse with her.
The visit was coming to an end and he’d got absolutely nowhere with Lord Blanding or his daughter. He could not remember a campaign of his that had gone worse.
“I gave the fellow the trophy,” he said. “What more could he want?”
“That I couldn’t say,” Charlie said, wrestling with the boot. “Though I found a little hidey-hole in the very corner of the balcony and watched the whole thing through the glass. The gent looked as if you handed him a live viper.”
“Now the boy is spying,” Kingston said softly. “Where will it end?”
“After he handed it over to a footman as quick as you like,” Charlie went on, “the family all reconvened on the balcony for a meeting of minds.”
Richard put his other boot on the stool and leaned forward. “Am I to understand you listened in on their conversation?”
“Of course he did,” Kingston muttered. “If there is a right way to go, be assured the boy will turn left.”
“I could hardly help it, trapped as I was in my corner,” Charlie said to Kingston. He turned back to Richard and said, “They didn’t chew over much except the Lord was to be cool as a cucumber and he’s taking the trophy home with him because he should have defeated you. Oh, and he was gonna practice something with candles so he could trounce you over it after breakfast.”
Richard sighed. “He’s challenged me to bet on which candle will burn down first—ridiculous notion. After that, there is the card game he is to have me laid waste over, in some sort of revenge against my father.”
“It’s looking pretty grim on the romance front,” Charlie said, shaking his head.
Richard was inclined to agree. He had harbored some hopes that this house party might smooth over any little difficulties between himself and the Hayworths, but this was shaping up to be a Hundred Years’ War.
“At least Miss Mapleton and Sir John have found happiness,” he said. “Their engagement was announced over the Champagne toast.”
“They never!” Charlie said. “He’s a dark horse, that one. I’d a never thought he’d have a chance in that direction. Betty said Miss Mapleton was ready to slay all of London. Sir John don’t look like he’d slay nothing. Though, he does seem a good sort and he can ride a horse better than some I know.”
“Stop,” Kingston said. “For the love of God, just stop.”
Richard, in the habit of always listening for distant sounds since his time in the war, heard a far-off pounding of feet. He sat up and laid his forefinger against his lips.
The pounding grew closer, and then from near the top of the stairs, a banging on a door.
“Fire!” a man shouted.
Richard grabbed his boots and wrestled them on, his instincts telling him what to do, just as they had always done in battle. “Kingston, take Charlie to the lawn and discover if there is a water engine on the premises. Then, help with a bucket line.”
As he raced from the room, he saw footmen running down both wings, pounding on doors. He could smell the smoke from below, but he could feel no heat yet.
Richard grabbed a footman by his coat. “Where do the Hayworths stay? Lord and Lady Blanding and Lady Sybil?”
The footman, looking near-terrified to find himself in the midst of an emergency, stuttered, “The other wing, last two doors on the left.”
Richard sprinted past footmen pounding on doors and shouting “Fire!”
Just as he would pound on the first of the Hayworth’s doors, it opened and Lady Sybil peered out.
“Fire. We must go quickly,” he said and then pounded on Lord and Lady Blanding’s door.
Lady Blanding opened her door. “Good heavens, what—”
“Fire, Lady Blanding. Where is Lord Blanding?”
“He has not yet come up,” Lady Blanding said, pulling her dressing gown close around her.
“Excellent, he will be outside by now. Let us go.”
“Goodness, I will dress, oh where is my maid?” Lady Blanding said in a fretful voice.
“There is no time,” Richard said, unceremoniously pulling her into the hall by her arm.
He took Lady Sybil’s arm in his other hand and marched them to the landing. Various other guests in nightcaps hurried down the stairs. The smoke had grown thicker. The fire had not been put out.
Lady Sybil jerked on his arm. “Mama! Your jewels! You did not bring them!”
“Heavens, I cannot leave them behind,” Lady Blanding said.
“There is no time,” Richard said.
“But my emeralds!” Lady Blanding cried.
Richard might have been confounded by the two ladies thinking it would be prudent to go back for jewelry, but he had seen enough nonsensical behavior in the heat of battle. In the middle of it, men made all sorts of irrational decisions. The one thing he knew was there was no talking round an individual in the grips of near panic. He must muscle them out.
“Sorry, very sorry,” he said, as he threw Lady Blanding over one shoulder and Lady Sybil over the other.
He ignored their screams as he jogged down the stairs. Lady Blanding was the usual-sized sort of person and he had no trouble carrying her. Lady Sybil, on the other hand, was light as a faerie. He might be satisfied to carry her all his life and never tire.
He raced out the doors with the two ladies and set them down on the lawn. Lady Blanding was shouting all sorts of insults at him, but he paid no heed. He scanned the scene to determine what was being done to put out the fire.
The flames came from the drawing room. Some servant or other had likely left a candle burning near the curtains. The windows had already been broken out with an ax, Jiminy and the footmen had situated a water engine in front of one of the windows and every servant in the house, including Kingston and Charlie, ran with buckets to fill it.
He raced to the pump and pushed Jiminy aside. If there were any chance of containing the fire, it would require copious amounts of water pumped fast.
&
nbsp; Richard threw off his coat and began working the pump. “Move faster with the buckets!” he shouted as the water sprayed through the broken window. “Lord Hugh! Account for everybody, then get every man on the bucket brigade with no regard for station!”
Lord Hugh shouted his affirmative. Richard pumped ever faster. If there were one thing in their favor, it was the fountain nearby the house. Sir John was directing the brigade to move ever faster and even Lord Niemore and Sir Jeffrey took his orders. Buckets were returned in speed and allowed for a steady stream of water. Richard had too often seen a fire in London that burned a structure to the ground, simply because the buckets did not come fast enough.
“Where is Blanding?” he heard Lord Hugh shout.
“Papa?” Lady Sybil called.
“I do not see him!” Lady Blanding exclaimed. “Where is he?”
“I have not seen him since the last toast,” Poppy said. “He was in the drawing room when I retired.”
Richard surveyed the lawn as he pumped water. Blast. Where was Lord Blanding? Lady Blanding had said he’d not yet gone up. Richard had been certain he would have been one of the first out of the house. Had he tried to make his way up the stairs, unaware that his family was already out?
Richard put Jiminy back on the pump, with a footman standing by to take over when Jiminy tired.
He scanned the lawn. There was no sight of Lord Blanding.
Suddenly, Charlie shouted, “He’s still in the drawing room! He must be! He planned to light some candles! Remember? The bet!”
“Oh, my dear God,” Lady Blanding said.
Time, as it sometimes did in an emergency, seemed to slow. It dawned on all standing on the lawn that Lord Blanding was in the very room the fire now consumed.
“He’ll be gone by now,” a man said quietly behind Richard.
“Poor Lady Blanding,” his wife answered.
Richard swept up his coat from the ground, dunked it in the water and wrapped it round his face. He dashed into the house.
*
Sybil watched the flames in horror. There was no doubt now that her father was in there somewhere. Nobody could survive it. She clutched at her mother’s hand.