It Started With a Whisper

by Dawn Brower

  On the surface, Sybil appeared like every other young woman enjoying her time outdoors with her parasol held high to keep the sun’s rays from tinting her complexion. She began strolling once more, tilting her sunshade to block the light, and her maid fell into step a few paces behind her. She nodded to those she knew as they passed, either on foot, in open carriages, or on horseback. Keeping her steps unhurried, she moved down the walk until she reached the very end and pivoted to start back again.

  Her maid leapt out of the way in response to Sybil’s unexpected movement.

  “My lady,” Esther breathed, glancing past Sybil to their waiting carriage. “You have taken three turns. Is it not time we return home?”

  “If your feet are sore, you may wait here.” Normally, Sybil would not embark on any more walking than was socially called for during her early afternoon strolls. “I think I will have one more turn and then return home.”

  “I shall accompany you.”

  Sybil’s hopes crashed at her maid’s compliance. For the last hour, she’d attempted to tire her companion, but to no avail. The need to find other means of escaping her maid’s watchful stare would be necessary. She’d brought a drawstring bag of tacks with her and was resigned to littering them on the ground if required; however, the thought of harming Esther just so she could slip away for a few moments seemed needless and cruel. It was not the girl’s fault that she’d been asked to accompany Sybil on her walk. It had been Sybil’s hope that Mallory, her sister-in-law, would come with her. The woman had a mind prone to distraction, and she’d likely not think much of anything if Sybil disappeared for a spell.

  Sybil nodded to the girl and offered a small smile. “If you insist.”

  Bollocks.

  Glancing up at the sun once more, Sybil noted that it was fast descending toward the tall buildings along the horizon. If she did not find a way to slip her maid’s notice, she would be too late.

  Once again, she passed the small trail that cut through a strand of overgrown bushes bordering the walking path. Consciously, she kept her eyes averted, not daring to glance down the almost hidden trail. It had been over a year since she had need to use it, following the path until the bushes receded and afforded a shielded spot if someone wished for a private moment in one of London’s most visited parks. Obviously, it was only she and Gideon who knew of the secret spot as the bushes had grown nearly tall enough to block off the trail completely.

  Sybil ran her gloved hand up and down her arm, her shoulders rounding slightly. Thankfully, she had no need to pretend more, producing goose pimples was beyond Sybil’s abilities.

  “Are you cold, my lady?” Esther asked, stepping to her side. “Perhaps we should return to the carriage before you fall ill.”

  Spotting a gathering of young debutantes not far ahead of her, their mothers gathered several paces away, Sybil waved to the group, slightly shocked that they, one after the other, waved back.

  “Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” Sybil cooed.

  “You are acquainted with them, my lady?” Esther asked.

  “Yes,” Sybil lied. Lying was far preferable to physical harm, at least that was what Sybil chanted silently. “We met at Lord Gunther’s musicale recital a few weeks ago. If you wouldn’t mind, I wish to stroll with them while you return to the carriage to collect my wrap.”

  Esther glanced from Sybil’s smiling face to the group of young women who’d returned to talking amongst themselves, Sybil forgotten. “Are you certain, Lady Sybil?”

  The maid was rightfully justified in her concern.

  “You’ll only be a few moments,” Sybil prodded.

  She knew the instant the maid gave in—her shoulders hunched, and her frown disappeared. “I will find your wrap and hurry back.”

  “Very good,” Sybil patted the maid’s arm. “I shan’t be far from this very spot.”

  She waved the maid off and turned to walk toward the women, but veered slightly after Esther was lost from sight. Certainly, she felt horrid about misleading the poor maid, but no injury would come to Sybil where she was headed; in fact, the area was safer than most places about London for the simple fact that only two people knew of its existence.

  Sybil and Gideon.

  They’d spent countless hours hidden from view as they spoke of their love, their future, and all they wanted from life.

  It was only fitting that after breaking yet another promise to her, Gideon would request she meet him in their secret spot.

  Glancing left and right, Sybil noted the young women had started off again, their backs to her. No one paid her any mind. She took a few steps back, making certain no one glanced in her direction as she made to adjust her glove before she ducked under the low-hanging branch and moved onto the narrow path.

  A stick pulled at her skirts when she paused to close her parasol. Another branch protruded and nearly scraped her cheek. The ground was thick with fallen leaves and webs cascaded across the path, woven by spiders she’d rather not think about. Sybil barely stopped herself from rubbing the base of her neck as she felt something crawling across her skin.

  Surely, she was imagining things. The topic of the human brain had been the focus of a scientific journal she’d found in her brother’s study not long ago. The mind excelled at playing tricks on a person—made possible because who could know a person better than their own mind?

  There was not a spider inching across her collarbone and slipping down the bodice of her gown.

  Sybil pushed through the web blocking her path, a nearly invisible, dense strand of intricately woven webs, and hurried down the trail. She kept her parasol at the ready—just in case something larger than an eight-legged critter stepped in her way.

  It only took a few moments—less than twenty paces—and she entered the small clearing, shielded by large bushes on all sides. The crunch of carriage wheels and light conversation floated on the spring breeze, but she could decipher none of the words. Just as if someone heard her speak, they would not be able to identify her voice or intuit what she said.

  Anticipation coursed through her as she spun in every direction. The area was not large, there was no place to hide. Unmistakably, the small clearing was empty except for Sybil.

  Pain gripped her chest at the same time sorrow shredded her insides.

  She was too late.

  The note had said noon. The midday hour had come and gone with Sybil attempting to outwit her trailing maid. She glanced up, but the shrubs stood so high they blocked the overhead sun. The time must be after one at least—an hour later than Gideon had bid her meet him.

  Did he think she did not wish to speak with him after he failed to call on her the day after Mallory’s birthday celebration? Certainly, Sybil had been angry and disappointed; however, that did not mean she would turn him down. There was still so much she didn’t understand about the last year: why he’d left her, why he’d returned, where he’d been, and, most importantly, where did they go from here.

  Had Gideon returned to renew their courtship, or only to give her a sense of closure?

  She needed to know before her brother forced her to make a decision about the Duke of Garwood. He’d come to meet with Silas and had made it known that he was willing to wed Sybil and make her a duchess.

  Willing to wed…yes, Silas had confirmed that was how the duke had phrased it.

  As if she were a woman who needed others’ pity.

  As if she had no other recourse for her future.

  He was willing to wed her.

  The duke did not love her. There was no affection or even tender feelings between them. He would provide her with a home, an adequate allowance befitting a duchess, and in the future, a family. Any other debutante would have gladly accepted Garwood’s offer of marriage.

  But Sybil was not a debutante…and she’d known true love.

  She’d tasted passion so strong her thighs quaked at the mere thought of it.

  She’d had a desire sparked so hotly within her tha
t the proposal of a loveless, passionless marriage of convenience held little appeal to her—less than little appeal. Absolutely, unequivocally no appeal.

  She hadn’t lied all those months ago. Even if Gideon were a blacksmith or a merchant’s younger son, she would still love him. She would willingly give up the life she knew as the sister of an earl to be with him. The notion of raising a family in Cheapside or moving closer to the port area did not frighten Sybil because Gideon would be with her. He would protect her, care for her, and make certain they had everything they needed to survive.

  That much she was certain of, if nothing else.

  Yet, her faith in Gideon did not diminish her irritation.

  Footfalls sounded on the path, leaves crunching under heavy boots as someone came toward her.

  Had she been spotted ducking down the narrow trail? Was someone coming to see about her well-being?

  The last thing Sybil needed, the very last thing her brother would endure, was another scandal.

  It seemed her name—and that of her brothers—was forever linked to one scandalous escapade after another. Sybil had been mentioned so many times in Lady X’s gossip column Silas had stopped berating her about it nearly three months prior. It might have had to do with his first mention in the sheet when he was turned away from Mr. Caruther’s Shop due to Slade’s mounting debts with the proprietor.

  “Hello?” Sybil called down the shadowy path. If it came to it, she would claim she’d stumbled upon the trail unknowingly and taken it, becoming quickly lost. Then she would beg the intruder to show her the way back to the walking path. She’d bat her eyelashes and flash her most genuine smile if need be. “Hello. Please announce yourself.”

  When the footfalls continued without slowing, Sybil backed farther into the clearing. Not that it would save her if the person were bent on harm or scandal.

  When Gideon stepped into view, she exhaled sharply.

  Twice in as many days, she’d thought the worst of a situation, and both times, it had been Gideon who appeared. Peculiar that in both instances she’d been expecting him but feared it would be someone else entirely.

  He took in her appearance from head to toe. “Were you expecting another?”

  “Of course, not,” she retorted. Her relief fled, and her ire returned. “It is only that I could not escape my maid for some time. I thought I was late, and you’d be gone already.”

  Gideon crossed the clearing, and Sybil waited for him to take her into his arms, pull her close, and gaze into her eyes. He’d done it so many times in the past that she could feel his strong arms around her. It had been a very long time since anyone held her—or made her feel loved and wanted. However, his hand did not reach to capture her. Instead, it tugged at her hair.

  “Ouch!” Sybil batted his hand aside. “Whatever are you doing, my lord?”

  When he raised his hand for her to see, he held a stick, complete with green leaves, between his fingers.

  Sybil’s face heated with embarrassment.

  “You also have dirt on your cheek, and your skirt has a snag.” A smug grin pulled at his lips, and he dropped the stick to the ground. “I suppose I should have surveyed the area before requesting that we meet here.”

  “Neither of us could have known,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, a year does not seem enough time for such growth.”

  Sybil would not admit that the time he’d been gone felt closer to ten lifetimes to her.

  “All the same, thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you’d get my note…or agree to meet.” He stumbled over the words as his stare darted about the clearing. Gideon had never been an arrogant lord, yet neither had his confidence ever been lacking. This uncertain man before her was not the Lord Galway who’d left her all those months ago. He was different—unburdened but far from lordly.

  How could a man raised in the upper crust of London society somehow lose his aristocratic air?

  He was Gideon, the man she’d pledged to love until her dying breath, but at the same time, he wasn’t.

  “What happened, Gideon?” Sybil asked, her stomach twisted when his expression drew serious. Any hint of a smile was now gone.

  “I requested an audience with your brother and attempted to call on you, but I was turned away,” he admitted.

  “Not now. I mean…what happened while you were gone?” Sybil watched him closely. If he wouldn’t speak of it, at least she could gauge his emotional responses. “Was it another woman?”

  She’d sworn never to verbalize her greatest fear, that Gideon had left for another woman. Briefly, there had been rumors that he’d cried off and fled London to be with another. Lady X’s scandal sheets had blamed Sybil for his disappearance and called into question her standing as a lady of impeccable decorum and morals. It had nearly been enough to have Sybil requesting to journey back to Paris to live with her mother.

  Gideon closed his eyes, turning sharply away from her. “Would it be easier to accept if it were?”

  “Yes.” No. If it were another woman who’d stolen him away, then it would only lead to Sybil doubting everything they’d ever shared—and the continued question of why he was back.

  “I wish I could give you that answer, but…” His words trailed off.

  It wasn’t about another woman. He hadn’t left her because someone else had captured his heart. There was a small measure of comfort in that, at least.

  “Do you plan to leave again?”

  “No, but not everything is within my control.”

  “What does that mean?” Sybil stamped her foot, and her knuckles turned white from her grip on the parasol. “I’ve grown tired of your riddles.”

  “I would offer you the world if I could. However, I do not seek to disappoint you again.” Gideon pivoted and walked back toward the overgrown path. For a brief moment, Sybil feared he was leaving her again, that she’d spoken out of turn, and he was walking away. Turning back, he stalked through the grass carpeting the ground. “I can speak with Lichfield again. Request an audience and plead for forgiveness.”

  “I’m not certain that is wise, Gideon.”

  “Because of Garwood?”

  Sybil shrank back at the name. Gideon knew of her courtship with the duke. She could see the hurt and betrayal in his stare.

  “You were gone for over a year without a word,” Sybil whispered. “There was gossip—“

  “Yes, that I’d taken up as a pirate or made off to Gretna Green with another woman.” He ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair, leaving it delightfully disheveled. “My favorite, I must say, was the report that I’d turned into nothing more than a common highwayman, terrorizing coaches from Dover all the way to Bath.”

  Sybil shook her head back and forth. “I never thought ill of you; however, I was also not certain you’d return. My brother, he—“

  “Wants the best for you.” Gideon halted before her, his eyes searching hers. “I have always wanted the best for you, as well. I thought it was I, but now…I cannot be so certain. Do you love Garwood?”

  A bitter, stilted laugh bubbled up from deep inside her, filling the space around them with a crude sort of irritation. “How can you even ask that?”

  “I must know, Sybil,” he demanded, grasping the parasol from her hand a bit too forcefully and tossing it to the ground. “I needs must know where your heart lies. With me, or with this duke. I will not harbor any ill will toward either of you if you’ve found love in my absence, but I must know the truth.”

  Sybil wasn’t prepared to speak on any matters of the heart, mainly because it was not only her thoughts that were confused and conflicted. Every inch of her knew she loved Gideon, yet why disclose it aloud if it led to further agony?

  Guarded. That was how Garwood knew Sybil; however, she hadn’t always been that way.

  Once, she’d loved openly and freely without fear.

  It was not so anymore.

  Gideon stared down at Sybil. His Sybil. Kind, compassionate, with a hellion streak
as long as the road to Edinburgh. His nights were filled with sweet dreams of her, held tightly in his arms. His days were unending hours of longing.

  The long months without her had been torturous.

  He’d never known her to do what was expected. And now was no different. He needed her to reassure him that things had not changed in his absence—that she loved him, and their affection for one another could flourish once more.

  Sybil was not cursed with a tendency for hesitation.

  It was what Gideon admired most about her. She knew what she wanted when he so often questioned his every decision.

  “Sybil?” Gideon despised the begging note in his tone.

  Leaving her as he had was wrong. He’d known it at the time; however, he’d thought the news was yet another wild goose chase, as all the ones before it had been. Two or three days away…that was how long he’d expected to be away from her. Enough time to journey to Dover, check on Giles’ information, and return to London.

  “The last year has been the hardest of my life,” he confessed. More difficult than even those first few months after Charles was taken and Gideon had returned home to admit to both his father and Charles’ sire what had taken place in London. Charles was gone—taken—and Gideon hadn’t any idea where. “I truly long to tell you where I’ve been, what I was doing, and why I needed to stay away. However, I cannot speak of it yet. Just know that I thought of you…survived every moment away because I knew that one day I would come home to you.”

  Gideon ran his finger along her cheek, reveling in the feeling of her soft, warm skin against his.

  For the briefest of moments, he thought himself too weak to keep his secrets from her. He could confess everything and know she would not breathe a word to anyone. Did they not hold many secrets between them?

  Just as quickly, though, doubt set in. If he told her of his race across the country to rescue Charles, the many months spent moving from place to place as they eluded the hunters who trailed them, he would be putting her in danger. He and Charles had only retuned to London once they were confident they’d shaken the men following them; however, they couldn’t hide forever. If the hunters learned of Gideon’s identity, they would come to town and stop at nothing to take Charles back in order to collect their bounty—and his friend would be lost. Forever.