To my loyal Trevor Breton, for services rendered beyond what would be expected for his position, I leave one thousand pounds. Breton, I can never repay you for what you have done. I hope you enjoyed your duties as much as I savor the fruit of your labor.
To my darling wife, Sybill Hampton Wythe, who has given me the one thing I have waited twenty-five years to have, I give Foxbridge Cloister, all properties, monies not dispersed above, and any other material possessions I have to hold in trust for the child she bears. If the child dies before her, she may remain at the Cloister as if she is the owner for as long as she lives. The Cloister will revert to the Crown upon her death. If the child lives to have its own descendants, the property will go to them on the child’s death.
Mr. Mallory paused, before saying in a tight voice, “There is more about the rights of property and disbursement of funds, but those are the primary changes.”
The explosion they expected came immediately. “Child? Let me see those pages!”
Reluctantly the barrister handed them to Christopher. As the irate man perused what had been read aloud to all of them, Sybill stared at the fire on the hearth. This should not have been a surprise, but it was. For the past two months, she had not been allowed to come into the Cloister. She passed the time of her banishment by dreaming of how she would escape once the will was read. Now she was the owner of the Cloister, holding it in the name of her child.
Her hands slipped to cover the mound in her abdomen. No longer would she have to hide this child. Owen had made it clear to his scurrilous son that it would be useless to rid himself of either Sybill or the child. Carefully he had thought of a way to protect her from the one who would have the most cause to hurt her.
“This is ridiculous!” snarled Christopher. “My father must have been mad!” He spun to glare at her pale face. “You tricked him into this!”
Mr. Mallory answered quietly, “My lord, Lady Foxbridge was as unaware as you were of this codicil. It was Lord Foxbridge’s wish that no one but he and I would know of its provisions. Those who witnessed his signature were not allowed to read the codicil.” Sympathy was in his eyes as he glanced at the woman dressed in black.
As if the barrister had not spoken, Christopher stepped toward Sybill. He put his finger directly in front of her face. It shook with the intensity of his rage. “I will contest this, Sybill. I won’t see my birthright given to the bastard of a Spanish sailor.”
“What?” she cried. As she started to rise, she felt Trevor’s hand on her shoulder, holding her in the chair.
Coolly, the black-haired man said, “I think you owe Lady Foxbridge an apology, my lord.”
He snorted in derision. “An apology? For stealing my inheritance? What do you care, Breton? You lined your pockets well with my father’s gold. One thousand pounds. You will be able to live well for years with your miserly ways.” Turning to Sybill, he continued with his tirade, “You won’t take my home from me, harlot! I will appeal this to Her Highness Gloriana herself. She has no use for those who succored the Spanish with the warmth of their bodies.”
Sybill shook off the hand on her shoulder. Rising, she made no effort to hide what should have been obvious weeks before. Her fingers entwined in front of her distended belly. When she felt Christopher’s eyes on her middle, she allowed herself to smile. “My lord, I need not remind you this is once again my home. You and your friends are to leave it posthaste. As you so kindly did for me and Mr. Breton, I give you until nightfall to remove yourselves.”
“I am Lord Foxbridge!” he shouted like the spoiled child he was.
“And I am the chatelaine of Foxbridge Cloister for my child.” Her smile turned as wicked as his when he bragged how he would turn her out with only the clothes on her back. “It would seem you have a sibling, my lord.”
With another unintelligible snarl, he whirled away. The door slammed behind him so hard that several volumes bounced from their shelves to drop to the floor with a crash.
“He does enjoy making a loud exit,” she said to no one in particular.
Mr. Mallory smiled as he closed his portfolio and retied the ribbons around it. “Do not worry, Lady Foxbridge. The will can withstand any legal fight brought by Lord Foxbridge. The late Lord Foxbridge was very definite about that. Now, if you will excuse me, my lady, there are some papers I must prepare for your signature.” He cleared his throat. “I need to ask. Do you intend to find a new estate manager? You will need a very competent one to clean up the mess Lord Foxbridge has left you. Will you ask Mr. Breton to return?”
She looked at the tall man who had been so quiet during these proceedings. The need to talk of this and many other things wiped all other thoughts from her mind. Telling the lawyer she would let him know within the hour, she added nothing as he left the room. She motioned for Trevor to sit.
With a smile, he took her hands and drew her to a bench. Gently, but with the ravenous desire he could never hide, he placed his lips against hers. As his arms slid around her, the demand of his kiss grew into a command that she give herself to him once more. His laugh interrupted the sweet tendrils of passion entwining them. As his hand moved over the rounded mound, he whispered in her ear, “You have changed, my love.”
Her fingers pressed on top of his. “He has begun to kick very hard, Trevor. I think he will be a man of great strength like his father.”
“Sybill, we must talk about that.” All happiness left his face. “No one but you and I know for sure that this is not Owen’s child, but—”
“You and I and Mac Beckwith and Clara Pekins.”
“They know?” He chuckled lightly. “It seems naive to expect they would not guess that I came all the way from Liverpool simply to wish you a pleasant Twelfth Night.”
She smiled seductively. “It was a pleasant Twelfth Night, a very pleasant one.” She stroked the softness of his beard. “They knew before then, but not a word of it have they breathed to anyone. We are lucky to have such loyal friends.”
“Yes, at least they are loyal. Others won’t be the same. There will be a continuation of the rumor Christopher spoke of.”
“Rumor? What rumor?”
His ebony eyebrows became a straight line across his forehead. “Mac kept me informed of the news of the shire when he came to Liverpool to deliver your messages. You must have heard the rumors that you were pregnant—”
Laughter lightly wafting from her interrupted him. As her hand took his to smooth her dress over her stomach, she said, “That is no rumor, Trevor.”
“The rumor says you are pregnant by a Spanish sailor you tried to save in the summer, Sybill.”
“Joaquin? How did anyone find out about that? Trevor, he was so ill from the effects of being lost at sea, he could not have bedded me, even if he had wanted to.”
One side of his mustache tilted up slightly. “That I know, my love. I know all the facts, but the rumor exists. Christopher will be glad to give them additional fuel to grow. You must have been seen entering the hut by someone who saw you placing flowers on that Spanish cur’s grave. Damn him! He wanted to destroy us. Even after his death—”
“Trevor,” she pleaded, “don’t speak that way of the dead. It isn’t Joaquin’s fault his name is being used to defame me. Perhaps it will help to let others think that. It will keep the truth from being known.”
He snorted. “How long do you think you can hid our love, Sybill? Before your husband’s death, we were watched.”
“And no one saw anything but that you offered me comfort when I was abused by my husband!”
“Damn all these Wythes,” he said too quietly. “So often I longed for him to be alive again, so I could make him suffer as he made us suffer. Do you know how much it hurt to see you subservient to that bastard?”
For a long minute, she did not answer. She leaned her head against his strong shoulder as his arms wrapped around her as they had so seldom in the past months. When she spoke, she did not hide the longing in her voice, “Trevor, I want
to leave the Cloister, but I can’t. Will you stay here with me?”
“As your estate manager?” He sighed, his rage gone. “Of course, sweetheart. I won’t leave you when you need me.”
Tilting up her head, she asked, “As only my estate manager, Trevor?”
“For now, that is all I can be. Your husband is too recently dead and the child who must bear his name unborn.” He ran a finger along her cheek. “Be patient, Sybill. It’s only a few months until the child is born. Then you will be able to give up your title if you wish to become mine.”
She answered him in the sweetest way she knew. “I love you, Trevor.”
“I love you, darling.” He grimaced. “That old goat!”
“Owen?”
He laughed. “How did you guess I meant your late, unmourned husband? ‘For services rendered beyond what would be expected for his position.’ He was right about me enjoying those very special duties I performed for him, although I thought it was simply for our love. One thousand pounds is a high price for such.”
“He meant that?” She blushed crimson. After all the comments Trevor had made about her father’s profession, she wondered how he could be smiling.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” He kissed her teasingly. “My lovely Sybill, what we shared was priceless. No snide, posthumous comments will detract from that joy. I would trade everything I own to share my life with you.”
Happily, she clung to him. This was what she wanted as well. When his mouth covered hers, she welcomed his kiss. The tip of his tongue sought the soft secrets in the unlit recesses of her mouth. “Stay with me,” she whispered as he bent to taste the length of her neck. “Stay with me tonight.”
“Tonight?” His head jerked up to gaze into her loving eyes.
Her hands stroked the breadth of his shoulders before settling on the center of his chest. “I am Lady Foxbridge. Foxbridge Cloister belongs to me and the one within me. Never again will I have to answer to the Wythes. If I want the man I love with me, who shall tell me no?”
“Certainly not me, my lady.” He stood and comically put his fingers to his forehead and bowed deeply. “Your every wish is my desire as well, Lady Foxbridge.”
She put her hands in his and let him draw her to her feet. Staring up into his eyes, the color of rain-drenched tree bark, she whispered, “I wish only to be done with this title which has brought me unhappiness.”
“Soon you will be known simply as Mrs. Trevor Breton, trustee for Lord Foxbridge’s heir.”
All joy faded from her eyes as she looked out the window. In the twilight, she could see the glitter of sleet striking the deadened grass. She closed her eyes and tried to contain the thick tears, but it was impossible.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “The worst is over.”
“Is it?”
“What do you mean?”
She turned to gaze up at his handsome face. Taking his hand, she placed it against her distended belly. “Trevor, this is your child. Forever it will be known as Owen’s or questioned as belonging to any man I have been seen talking to. Can you accept that?”
“I must, my love.” Putting his arms around her, he drew her closer. “We will have others who will bear my name. You and I will know the truth.”
“And our child?”
“Perhaps when the time comes that the child will be mature enough to understand, we shall be able to tell him or her. Don’t despair. It will come to rights for all of us.”
With a smile, she breathed, “I hope so.”
“And tonight we will find heaven together once more.”
She did not hesitate on her answer, “That I know, my love.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Life fell into its easy pattern. With Christopher and his boisterous friends gone, Sybill attempted to restore the house. It had suffered during his temporary stewardship. Stains on the rugs and broken artwork were repaired as best as the staff was able. Trevor worked long hours trying to wade through the thick piles of paperwork Christopher had ignored. It took him a week simply to put everything in chronological order. When she was finished with giving the household staff their daily orders, Sybill joined him as they struggled to put the estate to right again.
Her work schedule was curtailed by the demands of her body. She found she needed to sleep far more. More than once, Trevor looked up from his desk to find her slumped over on the window seat. Although he wished to urge her to slow her pace, he knew she wanted to help. He simply let her sleep until she woke to continue her task.
Winter drifted reluctantly into spring. At the end of March, the new year dawned with the greening of the early grass. The first anniversary of Sybill’s arrival came and went without anyone mentioning it, although no one in the house was unaware of the significance of the otherwise normal Wednesday. She did not want to think of that day. Instead she savored the present. Doing the work she enjoyed during the day and sleeping in Trevor’s arms in the wide bed of the master suite’s main bedroom each night. He remained serene when she became frustrated with the changes in her body. His teasing about her blossoming shape relieved her unhappiness.
Sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair, she looked across the room at where Trevor sat by the other candle to read yet another pile of the papers from the library. “Trevor?”
“Hmm?” he replied absently. He looked up and smiled guiltily. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I have been thinking about Clara. She has postponed her wedding since autumn. There’s no reason to delay any longer. I was thinking they might like to get married at the Cloister.” Her smile dimmed. “It would be nice to have a real wedding here.”
He put the papers on the floor and rose. Kneeling by her, he took her hands in his and pressed them to his lips. “My love, I think that is a wonderful idea. They can have a fine wedding, and it will serve as a rehearsal for ours after the little one is born.”
“It’s time for Foxbridge Cloister to come alive. A bit of its joy must have died when the monks were turned out along the roads of England. I think we should open the chapel and rededicate it with a wedding. Reverend Sears won’t mind coming here, I am sure.”
“Slow down,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t you think you should ask Clara and Mac before you plan out their whole wedding?”
Smiling, she reached for the bellpull. The soft sound had not faded before a knock came on their door. “Yes, m’lady?” asked Clara when told to enter.
Sybill stood awkwardly. It seemed as if she were growing wider each day. “Clara, Trevor and I were wondering if you would be interested in marrying Mac Beckwith any time in the near future. Once the baby comes, I fear I will be depending on you more than ever before. It would seem a shame to delay your wedding simply because of me again.”
“We want to wed as soon as possible.”
“We would need some time for the preparation, but would you like to be married at the Cloister?”
Clara gaped in shock. “Here, my lady?”
Putting her arm around Trevor, Sybill leaned her head on his shoulder. It delighted her to be able to show how much she loved this man. In the days after the reading of the will, they had created a mock courtship for the residents of the Cloister. They hoped to protect their child by acting as if they were discovering love for the first time. After a month of such games, they decided it was no longer necessary to sneak about the Cloister.
Trevor smiled. He knew how much Sybill longed to plan their matrimonials. Despite that, she would wholeheartedly create a fantasy wedding for her maid to help pass the time until she could marry the man holding her. “Lady Foxbridge means she would like you and Mac to have your wedding in the old chapel,” he said.
Sybill added quickly, “It is one way I can thank you for all you have done for us. You have sacrificed your happiness to guard me and the secret you hold in your hearts. Would you consider this?”
“Oh, yes!” cried the young woman. Her brown eyes glittered like jeweled pebbles. “Oh, yes,
my lady! I never imagined such a wonderful wedding could be for me and Mac. This is a dream come true.”
“Talk to Mac about it,” Sybill urged. “As soon as you can, for I fear I will be in no condition for a wedding unless you have it by the beginning of May.”
Clara smiled. “He will agree, my lady. My Mac has a smart head on his shoulders. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to turn down such an offer.”
They laughed at her pronouncement. After arranging for Mac to come to the Cloister the next evening, they told Clara good night. When Trevor turned to see Sybill’s smiling face, he put his hands on her shoulders. Slowly they moved along her arms to her thickened waist. He loosened the sash holding her dressing robe over her chemise and slid his hands around her.
She stood on tiptoe to meet his lips. The warm flush of longing teased her. Abruptly she gave a gasp and placed her hands on her abdomen. Dropping onto a chair, she tried to get back her breath.
“Sybill! Sybill! What is it? It can’t be the baby yet.”
Tremulously she smiled and shook her head. “It’s the baby. He just kicked me with both feet. Hard.”
He laughed as he took her hand. Bringing her to her feet, he scooped her up in his arms. When she cautioned him to be careful, he chuckled again. “My dear Sybill, although you have gained more weight than I expected you would and look like a cannonball, I did handle bales of furs heavier than you when I was working in Liverpool.”
“Thank you for the compliments,” she said tartly as he placed her on the wide bed they shared every night. “Sometimes I wonder why I am so deranged as to love you.”
“And the rest of the time?” He sat on the bed and drew off his boots. Leaning over her, he stroked her stomach. When he saw her grimace, his eyebrows rose in shock. “He does kick hard.”
“You should feel it from the inside.” She closed her eyes with a soft sigh.
His fingers on her cheeks urged her to look at him again. “You didn’t answer my question. You sometimes wonder why you are mad enough to love me. What about the rest of the time?”
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