From beneath her lowered eyelashes she regarded the man who continued to hold her. Owen adored her. She could not doubt that. For his penniless ward, he had spent hundreds of pounds to buy clothes and trinkets. Most men used the incomes of their orphaned wards to line their own pockets. Instead Owen had treated her as a beloved daughter and more recently as a treasure he wanted to have as his own.
Sybill Hampton Wythe. Lady Foxbridge. She had never aspired to such a title. A plethora of riches and a dearth of love was the legacy she would receive with the title. It was not her name she was concerned with. She must think of the child she loved. She could spend her whole life pretending she did not love Trevor, but she would never feign her devotion for the one within her. If she was unwed, her child would be labeled a bastard, the unwelcomed child of a licentious mother.
Trevor was gone. Owen wanted to marry her. She needed a father for her child. At that thought, she submerged the shiver of horror she felt about sleeping with a man she had considered a charming uncle. There was no alternative. Slowly she nodded. “Yes, Owen.”
“Yes?” He stared at her as if he could not believe his ears. “Just like that?”
“Just like that. I will try my best to be a good wife for you, Owen, although …”
He placed his vein-lined finger over her lips. “Do not say it. Here, my dear Sybill.” He slipped a slender band on her finger.
She raised her hand to look at the jeweled ring. Her eyes widened as she recognized the faultless stone in its center. The emerald had been in Owen’s favorite ring. He had had it reset to give to her to seal their betrothal. “It is lovely,” she whispered. “Thank you, Owen.”
“Let us hope it’s a sign that what you yearn for from our lives together will grow with time as the green grass does in the spring sun.”
“What I want?” Her dark eyebrows tilted together. “What do you mean?”
Owen laughed. His sweet Sybill was the child her father had determined she would be. Naive, kind, and unprepared to deal with the ways of the world. Because of this, she needed a husband to guide her. Bringing her face to his, he stroked her cheek lightly. “We must see that you find what you want, for tonight you have given me what I want, my dear.” He kissed her cheek in the fatherly way she had become accustomed to. “You have given me your charming self. We shall be married on Saturday evening.”
“Saturday? This Saturday?”
“Is that a problem?”
“We need time to prepare. Two or three weeks.” She choked on the words. Three weeks was the amount of time Trevor was to have been gone. Now it would be forever.
With a laugh, Owen caressed her cheek. “Mrs. Dailey can prepare a feast by Saturday.”
She rose and went to stare at the fireplace. On top of the unburnt logs were the tatters of the letter which had changed her life’s course. She bent and lit the fire. The bits of paper melted into the smoke. Like Trevor, the note informing her of his betrayal was gone. In a whisper, she said, “It is so soon, Owen. I need a dress, and …”
“I am an old man,” he argued. “I fear I have few years left to spend in the company of my darling wife. Understand that I do not wish to waste any of them.”
The warmth in his voice cut through her pain. She turned to look at him, and all the twinges of guilt formed into a massive ache. With a rustle of her satin gown, she dropped to her knees beside him. “Owen, I do not deserve a husband like you. So kind, so understanding. Maybe—”
“No!” he interrupted. Venom in his voice matched the viselike grip of his hand on her wrist. When she moaned in pain, he loosened it slightly. “Sybill, you will be my wife. If your father had lived, he would have told you that you would be stupid to reject my proposal.”
“I’m not like my father!”
He smiled. “That I have learned, my charming wife-to-be. I admit the knowledge has come as a shock and a wondrous pleasure.” He rose, bringing her to her feet. “Go to sleep, and dream of our wedding, which will bring us the answer to all our wishes.”
As Owen kissed her on the cheek one more time, she fought not to run away. With her fingers clasped tightly, she watched as he went out of the room. The lilt in his step reinforced his words of obtaining his heart’s desire tonight.
Spinning on her heel, in a flurry of petticoats, Sybill flew into her bedroom. She latched the door behind her. On weak legs, she staggered across the room to look at the mirror. Her fingers reached out to touch the face in the reflection. It was her own. Nothing had changed, although it should appear very different. The clear, blue eyes should not be hiding the secret that must never be known. Her finger outlined her lips, which had lied too often tonight and spoken the words that swept her away from the man she loved for all time.
Already she regretted her hasty decision to marry Owen, but there was no turning back. Trevor had deserted her. He had done what she would never have guessed he would do. If she waited, pining for his return, another life would be ruined. Without the man she loved, she could not imagine being happy again. She did not want to force her unborn child to pay for her sorrow.
Self-contempt filled her. She was treating Owen as cruelly as Trevor had treated her. Lying, she was accepting his name and his love. When he discovered her pregnancy, he would be proud to think he had fathered a child so quickly. She would not tell him the truth. She must protect the child she loved.
“Are you proud of yourself, Sybill Hampton?” she taunted her reflection. “You’re your father’s daughter after all. Your love proved to be for sale when the price was right.”
Her cruel, cutting laughter dissolved into tears as she wept for the love lost in her life. On the morrow she would portray the happy bride, eagerly awaiting her wedding. She owed Owen that much and more.
Chapter Fourteen
Kate smiled as she finished draping the train of Sybill’s gown. “How lovely you look.” She chuckled. “Should I say ‘my lady’ to become used to your new title?”
She tried to smile. Kate had been surprisingly helpful during the insanity of the past weeks of trying to plan a wedding. Mrs. Dailey and the seamstress had proved unshakable in their assertion that they needed more than two weeks to ready everything that Lord Foxbridge demanded must be part of the ceremony. The time enabled the staff of Foxbridge Cloister to prepare for a gala wedding. Sybill had taken no part in the preparations, for she was kept busy with fittings for the glorious wedding gown Mrs. Stoddard was making for her.
Beyond her bedroom, she played her role to perfection. She smiled when she met Owen in the halls or in the brown gardens where she played with Goldenrod each day. Enduring her betrothed’s kisses and no longer chaste caresses, she pretended she welcomed them. When Mr. Mallory left after his short stay, she had accepted his felicitations with outward sincerity. She was the model bride.
Only in her heart hid the truth. With the curtains of her bed shielding her from the world, she mourned into the thick pillows. At night she had time to reflect on the foolishness of marrying Owen. If only she had had more time that day … If only she could have repaired her heart before he asked her … If only … She accepted the truth. She could not have done anything differently. For the baby she loved, she had to accept Owen’s proposal. That did not ease her broken heart. She muffled the sound of her sobs, fearful someone would hear them and suspect she grieved for Trevor. Sometimes she wondered if Kate would have noticed.
The maid did all her chores without complaint. In her scratchy voice, she sang the love ditties so popular on the streets of London. It seemed the greatest twist of their lives that Kate sounded like the happy bride, while Sybill kept her tears secret.
When she stood before the mirror and saw herself dressed in her wedding attire, Sybill did not feel like laughing at fate’s cruelty. Everything was perfect. She wore her engagement ring and the brooch of maidenhood on her gown and held her garland of dried flowers. Her gown was exactly as she had dreamed it would be on the day she married. Nothing was wrong with her dres
s. What was wrong was that she was not marrying the man she loved. Along the skirt of her russet gown were love knots of purple and white. As her fingers ran over them, she bit her lip. They were the symbol of the unending love she should have for her future husband, but she had none to give him.
Her eyes closed as she felt the familiar flush of weakness and nausea. Kate rushed to her side as she swayed before the mirror. “My lady, please sit. Are you unwell?”
Breathlessly, she answered, “I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Her smile was too sad for a bride. “I guess I am simply nervous.” That was the first truth she had spoken all day. Until she could find a way to hide the truth forever, she would fear discovery.
“It is just as well my lord has insisted on a simple wedding feast, my lady.” Kate picked a bit of dust from the dark skirt. “If you are so nervous, then it will be better not to have all the hilarity right after the ceremony.”
A knock made Sybill want to cry out for help. She did not want to marry Owen Wythe. Someone in the world must want to help her. As the door swung open, she gripped the arms of her chair. On the far side stood Trevor. Despite her intentions, she found herself leaping across the room. When his arms did not rise to draw her close, she paused. She could not forget Kate stood behind her, but her happiness refused to be kept from her voice. “Trevor, you are back!”
“Aye, I’m back,” he said darkly. “You needn’t act so surprised.”
She stared at him in disbelief. He was intensely angry, but she did not know why. She should be enraged, but she was not. Just having him home was enough reason to forgive him. “I am surprised,” she asserted. “When I received your note telling me you were leaving, I—”
“I wrote you no note, Sybill,” he interrupted coldly. She noted he wore his traveling cloak. He must have come directly here upon his arrival.
“But I read it. I read all about you and Priscilla and—”
“Priscilla? Priscilla Wegner? What does she have to do with anything?”
Desperately she cried, “You said you were going to marry her.”
“Marry Priscilla?” His eyes narrowed with rage as he glared at her. “She is of an age of my mother, Sybill, and cares only for the tending of her ancient father. Why would you think that?”
She spun to face her maid, her dress belling as she moved. “Kate, you brought the letter. You said you were given it by Trevor.”
Guiltily the maid looked at the floor. She had not expected this turn of events. Mr. Breton was to have been away from Foxbridge Cloister until after this wedding took place. Quickly she thought of a way to redeem herself. “I said only that it was from Mr. Breton, my lady. I didn’t say he gave it to me.”
Trevor stared at both of the women, but all of his rage was for the one dressed in her wedding gown. “Does it matter? I told you to trust me, that I would find a way to bring us what I thought we both wanted. Instead you decided to disbelieve me, Sybill.”
“Listen to me, please.”
He waved aside her attempt to explain. “There is no time. It is time for your wedding. I came only to offer you my congratulations on your superlative efforts to obtain what you wanted from the beginning. Good-bye, Sybill.”
“Good-bye?” she cried. “Trevor, you can’t go until I—”
“I’m not leaving. This,” he motioned with his arms to emphasize his words, “this is my home. I simply say farewell to Sybill Hampton and what I thought might be. When I see you next, you will be Lady Foxbridge.”
The door closed. Sybill opened it, but he was gone. She forced her pain into her middle as she slowly went to the window. Leaning her head against the sun-heated glass, she watched as a single horse rode toward the sea, black in the last glimmers of twilight. Tears welled in her eyes, for she could not doubt where Trevor rode. The little hut which had sheltered Joaquin and witnessed their love would be where he would wait out the time of her wedding.
If she forced him to listen to the truth, it would destroy their lives at Foxbridge Cloister. But what life did they have kept apart by her hypocritical vows to another man? The price of losing her home would not be too high if she could be guaranteed Trevor’s love. It was the only thing she wanted for herself and the child created by their love.
Turning again to the door, she vowed to be honest with the man she loved. She reached for the doorknob, but Kate’s weathered fingers prevented her from touching it. Sybill ordered her away, but paused as she saw the smile on Kate’s face. It froze her heart in midbeat and told her what she should have guessed weeks ago. Kate was pleased to see her love for Trevor destroyed. Lost in her own sorrow since her betrothal, Sybill had been blind to the reason Kate was so elated. Because of her jealousy of the estate supervisor, the maid had eagerly helped bring about this wedding desired by everyone but the bride and the man who once loved her.
“You may not leave, my lady.”
Angrily, she stated, “Move, Kate!”
“My lady, you may not leave. Those are m’lord’s orders.”
“I don’t care!” she declared recklessly. “I wish to go.”
“But, my lady, you will obey m’Lord Foxbridge’s orders from now on, won’t you?” With a laugh, the maid reached for the bell pull. She did not have to tug on it. The threat was enough. If Sybill did not cooperate now, she would be forced to do so.
Her icy hands pressed against her hot cheeks as she stared at Kate. Backing away, she bumped into the settee and moaned as the wood cut into her hip. The sound of Kate’s victorious laugh was like a sword slicing through her. She had been ill-served by the one she once trusted nearly as much as Trevor. “Why?” she whispered.
The maid smiled. “It’s simple, my lady. I wish to stay at Foxbridge Cloister. If you married that yeoman, we would have found ourselves in some hovel. It was not difficult to convince you that the one you longed for had deserted you. I knew you would accept the lord’s proposal when you thought Mr. Breton would never return.” She held open the door. “Come, my lady. It’s time for your wedding. Your lord is waiting.” Her laughter was loud in the empty hallway.
Sybill considered balking. It was useless. Kate would not dare to be so forthright about her treachery if she had not had the support of Owen Wythe. With a shiver of fear, she wondered how much her soon-to-be husband knew of her love for Trevor.
Walking down the stairs, the differences between the wedding she had dreamed of having and this one became increasingly clear. Instead of being married on the church porch surrounded by her friends and family, the ceremony would take place in the drawing room. There was a chapel in the old section of the Cloister, but Owen had been adamant that he would not marry her in a room that, in his words, “reeked of popery.” There was no gaiety and singing as she walked to meet her intended. No bridal cup to be passed among the celebrants to loosen their tongues for the party to follow.
She paused by the window. Her eyes settled on the motto beneath the two wolves. “Always Prepared, Truth’s Champion.” She could hear the words spoken in Trevor’s voice the first morning the window was in place. Today she was neither, but soon she would be a Wythe.
The room was crowded with servants. At the far end, the minister stood before the hearth. For a moment, she stood in the doorway as she closed her eyes and said a quick prayer to strengthen herself for the ordeal which was just beginning. She opened them to see the portrait of her far more innocent self gazing at her. Somehow she was going to have to dampen the thrill within her each time she saw Trevor. Never again could she touch his warm skin, taut over well-honed muscles. The caress of his beard against her breast was something she had to put from her mind.
A soft sob of pain slipped from her lips as she thought of the love she was losing. Trevor’s fired kisses and his enrapturing touch would be lost forever. She knew Owen’s loving would never bring her such ecstasy.
Kate’s hand in the small of her back urged her forward to meet her betrothed. As Sybill walked across the endless expanse of empt
y floor, she did not hear the voices singing or see the smiles on the faces of those who could not guess the true state of the bride’s heart. Placing her hand in Owen’s, she turned to listen to Reverend Sears. As he went through the rite, she was oblivious to it. She answered when required and held up her left hand when Owen placed a ring on her finger.
Tears ran unchecked as he slid over her knuckle the gimmal ring designed in the popular style. Two hands of gold held an emerald in the shape of a heart. The significance was simple. Two hands sharing one heart. The only problem was her heart had been given into the safekeeping of another who did not believe she loved him. She heard murmurs from those who saw the wetness coursing along her face. She knew most would see them as tears of joy. Trevor and she had been so careful to hide their love, nobody would realize she was mourning its death tonight.
While the minister gave his wedding sermon, discoursing at length on the duties of marriage, she stared straight ahead. Although she knew Owen wanted her to look at him, for he tugged clandestinely on her fingers, she did not remove her eyes from their sightless gaze at the wall. Through the long sermon, she did not move.
After the benediction, the minister passed the bridal cup to the groom. Taking it, Owen took a sip and handed it to Sybill. For the first time, she looked directly at him. His smile was the antithesis of her sorrow. Raising the cup to her lips, she saw the rosemary floating in it. She could not swallow past the lump in her throat, so she did not drink. Whom she passed the cup to, she did not see. Her eyes closed as she felt Owen’s hands on her shoulders.
Although she wanted to scream out her protests, she knew there was nothing she could do. She was Owen’s wife. Remembering that Trevor had not once spoken of any future for them, she held up her lips for her husband’s kiss.
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