A flicker of hope ignited in Sybil’s heart. Humphry never spoke so vehemently about anything regarding the family—except when he’d expressed relief at news of Edgar’s supposed death. The following day he’d begun his search for Stephen.
“There’s nothing we can do, Humphry,” she said patiently, wishing it weren’t true. “I don’t know why young Stephen can’t satisfy her,” he grumbled. “He’s dashing and charming and seemed taken with the idea of having Araminta as a tenant for life.”
Sybil knew he was well aware of the answer but she replied anyway. “He won’t make her mistress of the Grange and nor is he swimming in lard, Humphry. Araminta is used to getting what she wants and Edgar is easy prey.”
Humphry glowered as he replaced his cup in its saucer with a loud chink. “God help us all, for an unhappy lot we’re destined to be.”
Chapter Six
What an unhappy lot we’re destined to be.
Sybil couldn’t get her husband’s words out of her head. She watched the young people disappear into the house. Stephen was nowhere in sight. The knowledge he’d be here a few days more would have been comforting had she thought he had a chance of winning Araminta over.
The sad truth, however, was that Stephen had not enough affection for Araminta to be fired by the chase and Araminta...well, Araminta was determined and stubborn. She wanted to become mistress of the Grange, and that was that. Sybil rather suspected that Araminta liked the idea of being wed to someone weak and pliable whom she could thoroughly rule over.
It was also clear that Araminta was succeeding nicely in winning Edgar’s heart, which he was now wearing on his sleeve. Throughout dinner his attention skipped to his alluring elder cousin every time she made a remark.
With the eagle eyes of a concerned parent, Sybil did not miss the consequent slump of Hetty’s shoulders.
When Araminta voiced a learned opinion on the prime minister, Edgar’s echoed, “Yes, dreadful man, Lord Liverpool,” would have been comical had it not been indicative of how easily led the boy was. It boded ill for all of them and the future of the estate.
Stephen kept his thoughts to himself. Perhaps he’d schooled his expression so as not to betray the contempt, which Sybil saw on her husband’s face. Hetty wore a mask of despair. She’d never been able to conceal her feelings and Sybil’s heart bled for her youngest. Edgar might not have been the husband she’d have chosen for Hetty but at least they might have made one another happy. Together, Araminta and Edgar would be a disaster.
After dinner the party broke up and the young people went to the billiard room. Again, Sybil was surprised when Humphry joined her in the drawing room after he’d had his port and coffee. He’d been a far better companion since Lizzy Hazlett’s departure.
It was a bolstering thought.
“Well, my dear, we’re living through interesting times,” he remarked. “My guess is there’ll be an announcement before the week.”
“My guess is sooner. Oh, Humphry.” She sighed as she put down her drink and sent him a searching look. “What can we do? I deplore the situation as much as you do. When Stephen first arrived I admit I was angry and upset. Here he was, taking George’s place. Now I’m utterly devastated that his position has been usurped.”
“He is so like his father Reginald, my cousin, an excellent man. A little wild in his youth but a good, steady fellow with a clever head on his shoulders. Reginald’s biggest mistake was his eye for the ladies. The crafty piece he married tricked him into it. Stephen’s mother. I feared Stephen might have taken after her. However once I met him I realized he’d inherited his father’s traits. He’d have made an excellent job of managing the estate, both in my dotage and when I die.”
Humphry poured them both another drink. “Now I’m all but staring at the young man who will destroy everything my forebears worked so hard to build up. Even with Araminta guiding Edgar, he won’t know how to curb his impulses. Indeed, I’m not sure I have that much faith in Araminta’s level head. No, it’s a disaster all ‘round.”
“And Hetty,” Sybil added sadly. It was Hetty’s bruised and broken heart that concerned her the most.
“And Hetty. But there you are. There’s nothing to be done.” He spoke with the finality of one about to excuse himself for the night. In a sudden burst of bravery, Sybil detained him with, “We could try one last time, Humphry.”
His puzzled frown suggested he wasn’t sure what she was saying.
She felt herself color up and explained, “I’m not too old to have a child, Humphry. We both know that.”
What remained unsaid was that they both knew how difficult it was for Humphry to do what was necessary. When he began to dissemble Sybil knew the time had come for plain speaking.
Studying the openwork design on her skirts, she said carefully, “The last time we tried, Humphry—three months ago, as I recall it—you said the fault lay with you and there was little point in trying again. But I can be as patient and forgiving as you like if it’ll provide an heir that will remove Edgar. Mrs. Hazlitt has gone away to have a baby. No, there’s nothing to be said. I know it’s scandalous of me to mention it but I have to say my piece if I believe it’s for the good of the estate. If Mrs. Hazlitt can have your baby, Humphry, surely you can bring yourself to try...” She swallowed. “Surely you could try and give me one too.”
Clenching her hands, desperate expectation rose within her as her husband stared at her. Nothing was more important to Humphry than the future of the estate. Surely he could bring himself to sufficiently overcome his aversion toward intimacy with Sybil to at least try for a solution.
The regret in his face was almost more than she could bear. She had been rejected many times in her life but this was the most painful.
She rose and walked towards the Argand lamp. “I will not let you see me cry— again,” she whispered as she dimmed the light. “Do I disgust you so much?”
He understood the depth of the pain he inflicted on her. She could hear it in his voice though she could no longer bring herself to look at him. He was not a bad man but in that moment she hated him, a feeling quickly tempered by sorrow. She could never truly hate Humphry, who now said, “You have never disgusted me, Sybil. Other men have complimented me on my lovely, easy-tempered wife and their admiration has always fuelled my self-disgust, for I’m not insensible to what I’ve denied you. But I cannot bring myself to regard you as other than a companionable helpmate. My affections were engaged before I met you and I find myself utterly unable to perform as a husband to any other than the woman I fell in love with. The fault is not yours. Please, Sybil, don’t cry. I can’t bear it.”
Wearily, she lowered herself into her chair and put her forehead into her hands. “So I’m to grow old, watching Edgar drive the estate into the mire, denied love because of your loyalty to your mistress.”
Clearly he could take no more such talk. On his way to the door, he hesitated by the back of her chair as if he might reach out and touch her. He did not but his words were thick with regret. “I’m sorry, my dear. I wish it were different. I wish you could find happiness in the position to which I condemned you.”
She swallowed painfully. “I cannot even take a lover, though lord knows I’ve never been tempted since all I ever wanted was to be a good wife to you.”
He hesitated on the threshold, his hand on the doorknob. “If George had not died I’d have had an heir and yes, Sybil, I’d have sanctioned a liaison that would have made you happy. It’s what you deserve and I know your loyalty prevents that, just as my loyalty is my own noose. But we cannot change the situation in which we find ourselves.” He turned the knob, adding under his breath, “God knows, I wish we could.”
After Humphry had gone Sybil remained in the dim drawing room. Finally, like an old woman, she dragged herself out of her chair and wended her way through the corridors toward her private apartments.
In the Long Gallery, she stopped by the casement and stared out into the darkness, h
er candle casting a soft glow over the red plush cushions and the heavy brocade curtains. When she stared at the row of family portraits, Humphry’s proud forebears seemed to glare their disapproval from walls that disappeared into the distance.
What would they make of all this?
Edgar, a simple, stupid boy was to become custodian of the small empire they had built. He would squander it all. Humphry all but acknowledged that. And Edgar would do so while breaking her youngest daughter’s heart.
She turned at the sound of a soft footfall.
“I did not mean to disturb you, Lady Partington.”
“Stephen.”
He stopped a few feet from her. “I thought you were Hetty until I got close up. I thought she needed some comfort.” He smiled. “Now I see it’s you and, if you don’t mind my saying, I think you look a little in need of comfort.”
How commendable that he saw beyond the limits of his own disappointments. Nevertheless, she bypassed this as she tried for a flippant note. “So you thought I was Hetty until my haggard visage came into the light.”
“I don’t know why you disparage yourself, Lady Partington.” Frown lines furrowed his brow. “I think you’re quite lovely.”
“Quite lovely!” She’d not meant to exclaim it as if she wished for confirmation or to hear his words again.
“You sound as if you are not in the habit of receiving compliments.”
“A woman of my age no longer receives compliments, Stephen.” She put her hand to her heart, which was doing silly palpitations. “Nor did I receive them when I was younger.”
“Lord Partington married a beautiful woman and I’ve heard him compliment his daughters. Both of them. Perhaps you misinterpret his veiled form of flattery.”
“I do not think the mistake is mine.” Best to change the subject. “Nevertheless you’re correct in surmising the state of poor Hetty’s heart. She is bereft and I don’t know what to do.”
She was keenly aware of Stephen’s closeness. There was now almost no distance between them. She put her hand to her face, hoping he’d not notice her heightened color. He’d scorn her if he knew what his close proximity did to her. An old woman, or at least nearly old enough to be his mother. Ridiculous.
“I wish I could help, Lady Partington.” He shrugged. “Araminta is the most determined young lady I’ve met but as I’ve said before, I have no wish to change her mind.”
Sybil sighed. “I wish you did.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Would you seriously promote a match between your eldest daughter and a penniless cousin? I have nothing to recommend me.”
“Except a handsome face and a kind heart.” Impulsively she put out her hand and touched his arm. “I did not properly appreciate you when you first arrived. I’m sorry.” To her confusion he closed his hands around her wrist. He stood so close she could feel his heat.
“I know.” He grinned down at her. “Does it take a lot to persuade you out of your prejudices, Lady Partington? You were wrong about me and you are wrong in your self-assessment, though it seems I cannot persuade you otherwise.” While he spoke his thumb was unconsciously caressing the underneath of her wrist. It seemed he’d not noticed. Perhaps he was used to addressing desirable women in intimate situations like this. Perhaps he truly did think her desirable. In the dim light he’d deluded himself into imagining her a generation younger.
“I’ve been made very welcome since I’ve come here. I only wish there was something I could do to help the family.”
* * * * *
Something I could do to help the family.
A thought that had lain repressed and dormant burst inside her head. He was proposing a solution. She’d been mulling over solutions. He was charming and handsome, the heir Humphry had wished for. And he did not find her repugnant.
In the instant before her careful self-censoring shutter closed upon her lips, brazen courage forced itself out of her depths. She whispered, “But there is.”
Instantly she checked herself. Dear Lord, had she really uttered those words? She must have for his head was tilted and his expression inquiring.
Before she could lose her nerve she went on quickly, “The only way to prevent
Edgar from becoming the next heir is for me to provide one.” She flicked her tongue over dry lips. “If I am carrying the possible next heir, Araminta will relinquish Edgar.”
Her heart thundered in her ears. She swallowed painfully, hesitated then burst out, “Will you help me, Stephen?”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—hysterically, of course—at the look on his face.
Withdrawing her hands she said, stepping back quickly, “I have embarrassed you. I apologize. It is late and I do not know what I’m saying.”
His hand shot out and he grasped her wrist, pulling her to him and lowering his head to hers as if to study her better. To her astonishment he cupped her face and said slowly, “Is that a proposition?”
Embarrassment washed over her, replaced by relief that he’d repeated the question, giving her the opportunity to withdraw with dignity. Thank God for his clear thinking, for she had never spoken more rashly in her life. Propositioning a younger man? What must he think of her?
Yet when she tried to snatch away her hand, muttering that she had no idea what had come over her, he would not relinquish it. A potent cocktail of mortification and fear churned in Sybil’s belly, not eased when he said softly, ignoring her babbled refutation, “If that is a proposition then the pleasure of it alone would be most enticing.”
Sybil sucked in a deep breath. No, this was wrong. She wasn’t even sure how she’d reached this point but it seemed he sensed she’d lost courage, for he gently put his finger to her lips and said, “With all due respect, Lady Partington, I was led to believe you were unable to provide His Lordship with an heir. It is of course the reason, I surmised, that I was invited here.”
Sybil swayed at the rush of blood from her head. Suddenly Stephen’s arms were about her shoulders, keeping her upright as she forced out the words. “Humphry has kept a mistress since before we were married. Together he and I have had four children but when we tried for another child after George died, Humphry was unable to...to...” She shrugged, unable to finish. “This afternoon I begged him to try with me again.” She looked down at her trembling hands, clasped across her stomach. “He was very kind and apologetic,” she murmured, “but made it clear it was quite out of the question. It seems the idea of being intimate with me is clearly so distasteful—”
Stephen lowered his head so close his words stirred the hair at her temples. “The idea of being...intimate with you, Lady Partington is the very antithesis of distasteful.” He seemed to relish the words. “If that is what you were suggesting?”
She could not break the lengthening silence.
He was giving her the opportunity to retract her proposition while making clear he liked the idea.
Fire and brimstone, thought Sybil, feeling consumed by it as she closed her eyes, while at the same time the heady thrum of need and want pulsed through her. What did she have to lose? Nothing, surely? And everything to gain...if she only had the courage to follow through.
She opened her eyes when Stephen cleared his throat. She was conscious of the warmth emanating from him. The scent of bergamot and horses assailed her nostrils; a pleasant, manly scent she recognized with a rush of familiarity from the occasion he comforted her over Lizzy Hazlitt’s mare.
He showed no trace of embarrassment and seemed only to want to clarify the matter. “So if your hopes for entering into this unusual coupling are realized, have you thought how you might explain an apparently immaculate conception to your husband?” He seemed amused as well as concerned.
Sybil shook her head and avoided his eye, suddenly wishing she could turn the clock back. How could she have been so bold? Nevertheless, she said truthfully, “I believe Humphry would prefer anything rather than hand the reins to Edgar.” She smiled grimly. “Anything, that
is, except do his duty with me.”
She’d barely finished before Stephen had both her hands in one of his large ones and the other clasped round her waist. Highly irregular yet the most exciting compromising situation she’d ever been in.
“I can see you wavering, Lady Partington, so am spurred on to encourage you not to lose heart. I believe it is an excellent idea, and I accept with the greatest delight—on one condition.” He was smiling and she saw the excited anticipation swirling in the depths of his warm gray eyes.
Her heart thumped even harder as she wondered why she didn’t cast everything to the wind and simply take to her heels like a coward. Instead she whispered, “What is your condition?” as his face filled her vision and she was conscious of his gently curved lips drawing nearer.
“That you regard this...solution...as more than just a conscious act of duty.”
A tremor ran through her as she closed her eyes, relishing the light caress of his hand over her hair. Her body tingled with expectation; so that she could fully pledge her commitment when he added, brushing her lips with his fingertips, “And that you respond to me accordingly.”
Chapter Seven
Stephen followed her into her bedchamber before she could change her mind. She was sweet and shy and his desire was raging. Lady Partington was no innocent debutante playing coquetry with no real knowledge of the consequences. He’d had plenty of those. They were diverting cameos played out in a public place and while he enjoyed flirtation, this was the real thing. His breathing was labored, his erection painful.
In front of him, the hesitancy in Lady Partington’s step suggested she was reconsidering but Stephen guided her forward with one hand on her bottom.
At the door, she turned. She looked so desperately concerned when she stammered, “I don’t make a habit of inviting young men into my boudoir,” that he nearly laughed.
Instead he simply smiled and touched his lips to her brow. “If I thought you did, Lady Partington, I wouldn’t be as excited as I am.” He closed the door behind them then led her gently but firmly toward the four-poster. “Now unless you’ve changed your mind about providing a solution that will make your husband and ultimately both your daughters happy, let us proceed.”
Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) Page 8