by Lauren Smith
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.
* * *
~ LADY X, 9 August 1815
* * *
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.
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 prod
ded.
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.