by Dawn Brower
“I should go.” Even before the words had left her mouth, she was inching down the wall toward the door that would return her to the ballroom. “We cannot be seen here…together.”
“May I call on you tomorrow?” He knew as well as she the power and destruction that could be caused if they were discovered alone in a dark corridor—the gossip sheets would not allow the indiscretion to go unnoted.
“You can do as you please, Gideon, but I must return to the festivities before anyone questions my absence.” She stared up at him, her eyes begging him to make her stay; however, good sense won out for both of them. “Goodbye, Gideon.”
“Goodbye, Sybil.” He took her gloved hand and pressed his lips to it in farewell.
She pulled her hand from his hold, grabbed her skirts, and hurried toward the ballroom.
“Farewell, my love.”
His words floated on the stale air, a crushing reminder of the last time Gideon had uttered that exact phrase. This time, she prayed it would not be so long until they met again.
Chapter 3
It is with the utmost curiosity that I must share with you all that was seen on the night of Lady Lichfield’s birthday celebration. Namely, Lord Galway and Lady Sybil in an embrace most intimate and scandalous in the darkened halls of Lord Lichfield’s townhouse. I must say that this sighting comes rather unexpectedly, as this author was preparing to announce the long-awaited betrothal of Lady Sybil to the Duke of Garwood. Is this pair—Galway and Lady Sybil—fated to be, or will the viscount disappear once more, as quickly as he returned?
~Whispers from Lady X
Gideon glanced up from the drying wax on the folded paper before him, long enough to nod at the servant standing at the edge of his desk, before turning his focus back to the note. Another moment, and the black wax with the Galway crest prominently displayed would be hardened and the missive ready for delivery. A large part of him was surprised that it had come to this, while a nagging thought remained that it was exactly as he deserved.
Holding the note out to the servant, Gideon instructed, “Deliver this to Oliver’s Bookshoppe off Bond Street. Hand it directly to Mr. Oliver and no one else. Understood?”
His servant collected the note and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “Of course, my lord.”
When the servant fled the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him, Gideon reclined in his seat, rubbing his face with both hands.
Two days.
Two bloody long days.
He’d promised to call on Sybil the day following Lady Lichfield’s birthday celebration.
What Gideon hadn’t counted on was Lord Lichfield, Sybil’s brother, turning him away.
And now, he was forced to send a note by way of Sybil’s favorite bookseller. Gideon wasn’t even certain the man would remember what to do when the servant arrived at his shop.
Gideon had failed Sybil. Again. At least this time, it wasn’t his fault, though that made it no less reprehensible. Perhaps he should have appeared on Lichfield’s stoop and pounded on the door instead of sending word requesting an audience with the earl.
Scanning his desk, he grabbed Lady X’s gossip sheet and skimmed down the page until he spotted the vile woman’s latest on dit. Someone had indeed taken note of his and Sybil’s meeting two nights prior, and they’d been kind enough to report it directly to London’s most notorious scandalmonger. It wasn’t the story on his and Sybil’s intimate moments in the hall that angered him most, however, it was the fact that Lady X knew something Gideon didn’t…something he never would have guessed.
Sybil was all but betrothed to another man.
A bloody duke, no less.
She hadn’t breathed a word of it the other night. Not that he’d given her a chance to tell him. He read the name again, the Duke of Garwood. Gideon didn’t know the lord, had never made his acquaintance and knew naught of him in general. Yet, he already disliked the man.
Perhaps he was unfairly judging the duke.
He certainly had superb taste in women if he’d set his sights on Lady Sybil.
He pushed to his feet, the chair beneath him groaning in protest as Gideon walked to the hearth and tossed the scandal sheet into the flames. Satisfaction filled him as he watched the words disappear as the paper burned, the edges curling in as the cream parchment turned black and then gray as it dissolved to ash. The words were not so easily forgotten, however, nor would the duke be banished just because Gideon threw the paper into the fire.
Everything had become clear once Gideon read the scandal sheet.
Lord Lichfield had no reason and, as a matter of fact, had a very good motive for turning Gideon away and denying him an audience. Sybil was all but betrothed to another. And Lichfield was likely quite pleased with his sister’s ability to secure the notice of a duke as opposed to a mere viscount. Gideon had been foolish enough to think it had something to do with his disappearance before the contracts were signed for his and Sybil’s betrothal.
Did Sybil love the duke?
If she did, Gideon would not stand in the way of what she wanted for her future or her happiness.
Yet, neither would he end his pursuit to gain back her affection so easily.
He’d slept in the hull of a pirated merchant vessel, eaten table scraps collected on the streets of Dover, and barely escaped before the hunters overtook him, Giles, and Charles in a tavern on the outskirts of Manchester. He had never been one to give up easily without a fight.
And Lady Sybil Anson was worth a thousand battles.
She was the one thing that had kept him going all those months as they pushed from one place to the next. Outrunning the men who searched for them had been paramount, and he’d like to believe he did it to keep Charles safe, but the truth was, he kept going each day, knowing the time would come when he’d be able to return to London…and Sybil.
That day had come, but was he too late?
If their brief time together at the ball was any indication, he wasn’t too late.
After he’d left the ball, he developed a plan. He would speak privately with Lichfield and tell him as much as he could without putting the earl in danger, and then he’d spend the rest of his life making amends for his disappearance.
Was it too much to hope that Lady X’s latest gossip sheet would put an end to the Duke of Garwood’s courtship?
Gideon hoped it would; however, he would only blame himself if it were at the expense of Sybil’s reputation.
The shuffling of boots and the thump of a cane announced Charles’ arrival long before he made it down the hall to Gideon’s study with the help of a footman.
Turning from the fire, Gideon suppressed his own troubles as he called for his friend to enter.
“I hadn’t knocked yet,” Charles laughed as he walked across the threshold, assisted by only the cane. “How did you know it was I?”
In response, Gideon only lifted a single brow.
“Oh, this damned thing?” Charles lifted the cane and shook it. “If I weren’t a burden before, this cane certainly makes my infirmity all the more obvious.”
Gideon strode across the room and helped Charles to the large, overstuffed chair closest to the fire. If Gideon thought the last year was difficult, he could only imagine the horrors heaped upon his friend after being taken and forced into service nine years ago.
Gideon had given up one year of his life and returned whole. Charles, on the other hand, had forfeited nearly a decade and escaped, only to be crippled. Both in his mind and in his body.
“At least you no longer have to contend with the swell and dip of the ocean currents.” Gideon sat in the chair beside his friend, savoring the comfort of having Charles back in his life. “I think, all things considered, you are luckier than most men.”
Charles tossed his cane, and it skidded across the wooden floor until it hit the wall beside the hearth. “A damned inconvenience, I assure you. And a burden to you.”
“That couldn’t be further from the
truth,” Gideon said, staring into the flames. So many times, Gideon remembered that fateful night: two friends in London for the first time as men—drinking, carousing, and merriment. They’d been several ales in when the recruiter joined their conversation in the tavern. Gideon had known the area was unsafe, yet, he’d been convinced he was invincible in his youth. A turn about the docks had sounded like jolly fun. The man, a British naval recruiter, had tricked both Gideon and Charles that night. “You will remain here in London until I gain word from the Admiralty Court.”
“And after that?” Charles asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had become a habit for the man, and he’d told Gideon it was the only thing that could stave off the headaches that assaulted him day and night.
Gideon clasped his hands in his lap. “You are free to remain with me in London, or retire to our childhood home in Northumberland.” Neither of them would be traveling anywhere until Gideon had proof that no one searched for them. “Once I have word that there is no longer a bounty being offered for your return, it will be your choice what comes next.”
Charles chuckled. “My choice? I’m the son of a steward—a commoner—with not a shilling to my name and a damaged leg. My choices are limited, to say the least.”
“What is mine, is yours,” Gideon retorted. “Everything. My homes, my coffers, even my stables.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault, Giddy,” Charles said with a sigh. He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.
Gideon had always loathed the nickname his mother had bestowed on him during his infancy, and once he’d moved to London permanently, he’d thought the moniker forgotten. However, if it gave Charles some semblance of normalcy, then Gideon would gladly answer to Giddy for all his remaining days.
“We both know it was I who begged you to accompany me about town that night. And we also know that if I hadn’t gone on and on about my status as a viscount’s son, you would not have been targeted by the press gang because of your status as a steward’s progeny.” It was what he’d told himself all these years, and why Gideon had lost the need for boastful proclamation. His friend had been taken because the man at the docks discovered that Gideon was of noble birth, and therefore, out of reach. The British Navy needed sailors to fight in the colonies and against Napoleon, and they hadn’t been against taking their own countrymen to fill the vacant ships. “It was because I dragged you to the tavern by the docks. Because I was an arrogant man in my youth. Because I drank too much and therefore couldn’t fight off your captor.”
Gideon paused, pushing from his chair and heading to the sideboard.
“It is not too early for a drink, is it?” Gideon didn’t await Charles’ answer but poured two tumblers of scotch. “Do not think I don’t find the irony in this.”
Handing the glass to his friend, Gideon lowered himself back into his chair. They both swirled the spirits in their tumblers, but neither drank.
“Irony in what?” Charles asked, sniffing the scotch.
“If it weren’t for the scotch that night, you never would’ve been taken. Yet now, I drink to drown out the memories.”
“If we hadn’t been drunk, it is far more likely that they would have killed you, dumped your body in the port waters, and taken me anyway,” Charles refuted. “They are a debauched lot without morals or manners to speak of. Many would slay their own mothers if their country asked it of them. They were simply doing their jobs.”
“Doing their job?” Gideon scoffed. “They took you against your will. Your father was never the same after that. I think both our sires died of broken hearts—mine because my mother was gone, and yours because his only son disappeared.”
“Again, not your fault.” Charles downed his scotch in one long swallow.
It never ceased to amaze Gideon how compassionate and forgiving his friend was, especially following his years of forced servitude. He’d never blamed Gideon for his kidnapping. Truly, he didn’t even cast a negative light on the men charged to impress men into service.
“Now, far more important than languishing on and on about my sad, pathetic future—” Charles held up his hand to stop Gideon. “Bad choice of words, my apologies. But that is not the point. What of the fair Lady Sybil?”
Gideon took a sip from his tumbler. The scotch burned as it traveled down his throat and warmed his uneasy stomach. “Her brother, Lord Lichfield, has forbidden me from calling on her.”
“Forbidden you?” Charles chortled. “Impossible.”
“Yet true, and within his rights as her guardian.”
“And you are adhering to his edict?”
“Of course, not,” Gideon said, holding out his hand for Charles’ glass. “Another?”
“Certainly. You drink to forget the past, while I imbibe to help clear my mind and bring into focus the future.” Charles attempted to stand, but his leg was still too weak.
“No need to get up.” Gideon moved to the sideboard and removed the stopper from the decanter of scotch. “I have sent a note to Lady Sybil. If it is her wish to never speak to me again, she will ignore it; however, if I arrive at the place I bid her to meet me, and she is there…I know not all hope is lost.”
“If I were a betting man—which mayhap I am—I think she will be there.”
Gideon turned from the sideboard and rested his hip against the table. “You have more faith than I, my friend.”
“No, that is not it.” Charles’ expression turned severe, his mouth dipping into a frown, and his brow furrowing. “I listened to you speak of the woman for months. One cannot make up that sort of connection. She risked much to meet you the night you left London to find me. In my experience—“
“What experience have you?” Gideon asked, immediately regretting his words. “I mean to say…”
“Fear not. I am not offended.” Charles sat forward, his intense stare holding Gideon’s. “In my limited experience, it is not every lifetime a person comes to know someone as loyal, dedicated, and determined as you, Giddy. You searched for me long after I had stopped trying to free myself. If I am correct, you will not give up on your courtship of Lady Sybil any easier.”
Gideon had not been completely forthcoming with Charles. Perhaps he didn’t want to hear his friend’s advice about the situation. Yet, the time had come to tell him the whole of it. “Lady Sybil is nearly betrothed to the Duke of Garwood. It might have naught to do with my determination, and all to do with where Lady Sybil’s affection now lies.”
“A healthy dose of competition?” Charles teased, taking the replenished tumbler from Gideon. “Come now, do you think this lord loves Sybil more than you do? Do you think he will be a better husband and father than you could be? Do you think he will provide the affection and stability you promised her?”
“I don’t know the man from any other walking the streets of London,” Gideon admitted.
“Let us take your heart out of the equation,” Charles retorted, taking a sip of his scotch before continuing. “What does your gut tell you?”
His gut? Was it not only his heart that mattered in this type of decision?
“Rational thought, Giddy.”
“I know I will cherish Lady Sybil all her days. I would dedicate my entire existence to her happiness, just as I promised before I left London. As far as Garwood goes, and his intentions, I cannot speak to that.”
“Then I think it wise to speak of this with Lady Sybil when next you see her.”
“I have never withheld anything from Sybil.”
Charles raised one brow at Gideon’s proclamation.
“Well, aside from my search for you.”
“Perhaps she would have understood everything and not accepted Garwood’s courtship had she known the whole story.”
“I cannot tell her now,” Gideon said with a firm shake of his head. “It would be too dangerous. If the bounty hunters find us and learn my identity before I receive word from the Admiralty Court, they could learn of my past connection to Sybil
. They could hurt her to find us.”
Charles lowered his gaze to his glass. “I think we evaded the hunters near the Scottish border nearly three months ago. I am not fearful that they will come here—to your home—and attempt to return me to the ship. Besides, the Villa de Constance and the Victoria have long set sail for parts unknown.”
“Until I have the papers in my hands, officiated by my solicitor, I will not risk anything,” Gideon bit out. “I will not put either you or Lady Sybil in jeopardy.”
“Very well,” Charles sighed. “But know this, once Lady Sybil and Garwood announce their betrothal, you will be gentleman enough to concede defeat. That much I know of you. You are an honorable man. If you love her, which I have no doubt you do, you must fight for her…and quickly.”
Gideon had no need for Charles’ warning. The precarious position he found himself in was at the forefront of his thoughts.
Both men fell into silence as their thoughts meandered and navigated their own musings—Charles’ likely on his future, and Gideon’s on a way to resolve his past.
Chapter 4
The end of the Season is upon us, my kind readers, and many debutantes have yet to secure so much as a second dance from a gentleman—much to the dismay of their marriage-minded mothers. One such lady we are all aware of is Lady Sybil. For the sister of an earl, she certainly has a way of frightening off eligible men. Lord Galway has not so much as shown his face in London in many, many months, and it is rumored that he took to the sea to be away from Lady Sybil.
~Whispers from Lady X
Sybil paused, turning her face toward the sun as it crested its noonday spot and started the fall toward the horizon. Her hands, though gloved, could still feel the smooth texture of the paper clenched tightly between her fingers in her cloak pocket. A note from Gideon delivered by Mr. Oliver. Smiling to herself, she nodded to a passing couple, adorned in their finest walking attire. The breeze was mild for spring in London, and the beau monde had escaped their stifling homes to bask under the warmth of the clear blue sky above. Women had set aside their needlepoint, and men of every status had forgone time secluded in their studies to promenade in London’s fashionable Hyde Park.