As for her intended, according to the prophecy, she had utterly ruined it. That was just something she had to accept. It was clear as day now that her last hope of him attending the wedding had been quashed.
An endless night followed and it was fun. Andrew and Ester retired and everyone else kept going, a good two hours beyond which point Sylvia couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. Sadness started to seep in again as she retired to her room, which had been tidied from the mess it had been that morning as she'd prepared to go help Ester. Now they were married.
*
Sitting in the drawing room, Sylvia mused on the dream she’d had the night before. Britheney had been there and it had been sweet. They had flirted and laughed, and then some force had simply dragged him away. The look on his face had frightened her, both shock and sadness. She’d tried to reach for him, but he’d unwillingly moved away from her so fast, she couldn’t grasp his reaching hand. Had then wandered through dark and gloomy spaces looking for him, but he’d been nowhere she could see. He’d simply been gone, and she had woken in a state of despair.
Obviously it was her disappointment at him not being at the wedding that had caused this, but the ill ease had remained all day. Was this all over? Had she messed up what could potentially have been her happiness? It felt that way. It felt as if she’d ruined something wonderful, through her fears and reservation—and consequent rejection.
Uncomfortable, she shifted in her seat, trying to find a physical way of alleviating the unease in her heart, but it achieved nothing. If she could only speak to him, but he wasn’t letting her, or was simply out of reach as her dream had depicted.
Her head still felt as if she had done the right thing, judging by the facts, but her heart felt like she had destroyed a connection with a man who fired her imagination. Maybe even worse. Maybe she had in some way destroyed the man himself.
Unease flared up in her stomach again and she stood to pace.
"Well, what shall we do this evening?" Andrew asked after their parents had retired early to recuperate from the previous evening. Along with the unease, it had been a slow, quiet day. Andrew and Ester had barely left his room and Sylvia had spent most of her day fruitlessly trying to read.
"We shall go to Vauxhall," Sylvia stated.
"Vauxhall?" Andrew replied. "The last thing I want is to take my bride to Vauxhall Gardens."
"Well, I need you to take me—before you head off on your honeymoon. I need to speak to that woman again."
"We don't even have a way of knowing she is there," he said.
"Then we will go have a look." Sylvia rose. She wasn't prepared to take no for an answer. Without Andrew, she had no possibility of going and she needed some answers now that she had ruined things with Lord Britheney.
Ester was looking between them. "I don't think she is going to accept no for an answer."
"That's right. Get your coat. Mr. Wilson, would you be so kind as to have the carriage brought around."
"But I don't want to go to Vauxhall."
"It will only take an hour. This is my future happiness we are talking about."
"I thought we all agreed the woman was a fraud."
"Of course she is, but I want to hear what she has to say."
Wilson assisted her and Ester with their coats and Andrew groaned loudly. "It doesn't help that you encourage her in these wild goose chases," he said to his wife.
"Still, I can't say she wasn't accurate in my case," Ester said lightly.
"She didn't point to me and say 'you shall marry him.'"
"What would be the fun in that?"
With a deep exhale, Andrew resigned that he was outvoted and dutifully followed them when the carriage arrived.
"I, for one, am having a nice glass of wine with my wife," he said to recover his assertiveness.
Sylvia was too nervous and preoccupied to even listen. Her fingers twisted the gloves in her hand. The dark city passed outside the carriage window. What would she say to the woman? And what would the woman say to her?
With great relief, she saw the woman's stripy tent the moment they pulled to a stop and she headed straight there. Ester followed and finally Andrew. They stayed outside as she pulled the flap aside and walked in. There was no one sitting at the table and Sylvia's heart plunged. Then she heard a noise and loudly cleared her throat.
"I have seen you before," the woman said as she entered through a hidden entrance in the tent and sat down. Her eyes were as heavily kholed as last time. "And you are back."
For a moment, Sylvia didn't know what to say. "I screwed everything up. Completely ruined it."
The woman sighed as if she was bored and then grabbed the velvet bundle and pulled back the edge of the material, revealing the cards she used in her… art. She shuffled them, then put them down again. "One pound."
Pulling the pound note out of her pocket, she placed it on the table and the woman snatched it and placed it down the front of her dress. "Cut the cards," she said and Sylvia eagerly complied.
The cards were laid out in a pattern and it was deathly silent in the small tent. Revelry could be heard outside, drunken men and laughing women. Beyond this tent, Sylvia had no interest in anything else that happened here.
"Inflexibility," the woman finally said. "It extinguished the flame."
"Extinguished," Sylvia repeated. That didn't sound good. "There is nothing that could be done to reignite it?"
The woman slowly put another card down. "Can," she said. "But you have to wait for him to come. Then you must show you can be flexible."
Hope soared inside Sylvia's chest. There was potential, although she had no idea what being flexible meant.
"You must show your bravery," she said. Sylvia blinked, because bravery was something Britheney admired. It was curious it was a trait this woman pointed to as well.
"How do I do that?"
"Be brave."
Well that wasn't all that helpful. Be brave. "Shall I go tackle a bear? Join the military and be a spy for my country?" It was absurd.
"There are many forms of bravery. When the time comes, you must risk."
"Alright," she said carefully, trying to get her mind around what that would mean.
"Now you go," the woman said. "But know you only get one chance. This man is not one for forgiveness. Once you lose his trust, he does not give it again."
"He is not entirely blameless in all this," she said, feeling as if she needed to make it clear that she hadn't been unreasonable in all this. At times she had been angry that he hadn't fought harder.
"You can be right or you can be happy. You choose."
There was always an air of disapproval from this woman, as if she had seen too much of humanity and had decided she'd seen enough.
"Right," Sylvia said again. The woman's words were repeating endlessly in her head as she left the tent.
Be brave, be brave, be brave. What did that mean? Had she in some way not been brave? Yes, maybe, because she hadn’t trusted him. Doubt had come in and clouded everything. She had not been brave. Oh, how she wished she could undo how she’d reacted. Why had she been so firm in her rejection, in the choice of words? She didn’t feel about him the way she’d portrayed. No wonder he had turned away.
But he would return. The fortune teller said she had to wait. Perhaps not her best quality. Glumly, she sat in the carriage as it took them back. Andrew, wisely, had decided to remain quiet, and Ester held her hand. She understood that this was meaningful to her and that she was deeply disappointed with herself. Perhaps a disappointment not everyone would understand. So many, like Mrs. Thornton, would say she’d done the right thing, but in her heart, she knew she hadn’t.
Intermittently she also grew angry with Britheney for not allowing her to correct her mistake.
Sighing, she watched as the dark streets of London passed outside. Britheney would come back. It was just a matter of time, and she would make it right. She would be brave.
Closing her eyes, she
thought back on the kiss and let her remembrance of it linger in her mind. Tried to feel the ghost of it on her lips. What if she never got such a kiss again? What if it was the only kiss she ever received, and she had wasted it worrying about someone seeing it? The greatest gift and she worried about what other people thought of it.
Maybe she would dream about kisses that night. In fact, she did dream about kisses that night. Even in her dreams, she had been nervous, being with him and wanting a kiss down into her very marrow. And he took his time. Eventually leaning in for the kiss, and at that very moment, she woke. Frustration pierced through her at being thwarted even by her own mind. She so badly wanted the kiss, wanted to feel him to her, his lips, his body. But she had to be patient and wait.
Chapter 31
THE BUILDING OF THE railway was progressing at good speed, but Felix was glad he had taken the time to oversee the project, because there had been some strange plans and assumptions he'd had to address. Careful scrutiny kept people on their toes, because they knew they would be asked to account for the decisions they made.
Right now, though, they were dealing with one of the tunnels required, and for this they had brought in expensive and respected specialist engineers, and Felix didn't argue with what they said. So there was little for him to do for a while, and he really should address some of the other things he had put to side while out here in rugged and wild country. His other investments had been put to side, and there were still things his predecessor had gotten involved with that he wasn't sure he should continue. And he really did need to have a conversation with the family solicitor about some of their commitments.
In addition, there was a racehorse consortium that he was apparently part owner in. His brother had loved racing, but it wasn't a passion Felix shared, so he neither put the time nor care into any of these ventures. His shares would be better off going to men who did care, or women if it were to be so.
It was best that he return to London for a while, but he didn't relish the thought. As far as he could see, there was nothing interesting in London. Working on the railway had been very close to the life he had lived and understood. Men together, working on a common cause. It had some ways to go, but eventually the project would finish and he would have to address the hollowness of his own life.
Besides, the rugged cold was hell on his knee. It ached every morning as he woke up and he had to rub the noxious-smelling ointment on it. The journey back to London would be too hard on his knee on horseback, so he had to resign himself to taking a carriage.
Although returning to London would give him a chance to peruse the bookstores for new issues. He had taken to reading in the evening and he was starting to like the habit.
When he arrived, the house had the cold and discarded feeling of abandonment. Fires were soon lit in every room to chase the spring cold away. Perhaps he should have let the staff know he was coming, but he still wasn't used to directing staff. They were particularly distressed because the cook had gone to visit her sister. Mr. Croft apologized profusely, while Felix insisted there was nothing to apologize for. It wasn't as if they could have foreseen that he would turn up unexpectedly.
In the end, they agreed that supper would be brought in from the Stuffed Goose, the pub not far away. That finally set his retainer at ease.
Dinner came and went, and Felix partook in the delights of the slightly depleted wine cellar, wondering what plans he should make for the summer. Perhaps he would go to the continent, present himself as a tourist—something he'd never done before. Maybe Italy.
It grew late as Felix sat in front of the fire in the salon, a glass of whiskey on the armrest next to him. In the stillness of the mostly dark house, a knocking was heard on the front door, followed by Mr. Croft's soft steps.
"Is Lord Britheney here?" a soft feminine voice said. While he'd like to say he didn't know who it was, he knew exactly who the voice belonged it.
"It is very late," Mr. Croft replied.
"I know it is late," she said. "It is very urgent."
"I will inquire."
"Let her in," Felix called before Mr. Croft shut the door on her. Rising, he walked over to the main hall. "Miss Bellworth," he said, seeing her standing just inside the door, wearing a cape with a hood. He frowned seeing her, particularly how beautiful she looked in the mellow light of the sparsely lit hall. "This is highly unusual."
"Well, I was afraid you would disappear again." She was out of breath as if she had run.
Felix moved to look through the window, seeing no carriage outside.
"You did not just walk here, did you? With every cut-throat in London roaming the streets this time of night."
"Well, I couldn't very well ask my father to call the carriage, could I."
"You shouldn’t be here."
Her brown hair curled around itself as it spilled over her shoulder as she took the cape off and handed it to Mr. Croft.
"You cannot stay," Felix said.
"I need to speak to you." Stepping closer, she smiled, her gaze lingering on his mouth for a moment. What was going on in her mind?”
"But this is not the way."
"I suppose you were planning on calling, were you?"
"No."
"As I suspected. I'm ever so cold."
"Please, come to the fire. This is probably the most foolhardy thing you have ever done. What if someone has seen you, entering a bachelor's house late at night?"
"No one saw me. I am fairly sure. I checked more than once."
"This is… You cannot run around the streets in the middle of the night."
"Well, you kissed me on a patio mere feet from the most disapproving doyennes in London. We have both done foolhardy things, and I don’t regret any of it. Believe me, this is not something I normally do, but I felt I needed to see you." She looked nervous and twisted her fingers together. "Felt I needed to apologize for how I acted."
"Apology accepted. I shall call you a carriage."
"No," she said adamantly. "Let me finish."
Felix groaned. Every moment she was here, there was a risk she would be discovered. Not here, obviously, but at her own house.
With a tentative smile, she shifted between her feet. "I was hoping you would come to the wedding."
"I am sorry, I was working on a particularly difficult part of the project. I could not get away." It didn't please him to lie, but what else could he say, that he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her? He couldn’t bear it now and she was right there. It hurt to have her there, so present and so within reach. Consciously, he released the tight clasp of his hand to stretch his fingers.
She was silent for a moment as if she didn't know what to say. "I got scared for a moment and I let people sway me because I felt there were things at stake."
A hundred times he'd wished to hear her apologize, but now that it was really happening, he wished it wasn't, because it was painful and confronting to hear. A part of him was rejoicing, and another felt that he was only reopening old wounds for no purpose whatsoever.
"I should have been a true friend, but I faltered," she continued.
"Miss Bellworth, you really must return home before you are discovered."
"I won't be. Mother's taken a sleeping draught and Father had too much port, so neither will wake until morning, and Andrew's in Bavaria. There really is very little chance."
Felix considered her words for a moment. "I see," he finally said. It was a risk, but it seemed she had considered it carefully. Still, it was not only her being seen at stake. Something much more dangerous felt at stake, a risk of being hurt again.
"This friendship means a great deal to me and I felt I needed to tell you that," she said. "And you weren't going allow me an opportunity to unless I forced you to."
That was true. "Well, you have now told me."
"You should have trusted in our friendship more," she chided.
"It didn't sound like we had one."
"I know I said awful things, an
d I am sorry. I simply let my fears run away with me."
"Fear of a kiss?" Against his will, he felt himself being drawn into this. Felt the hope he’d tried too hard to quash.
"Fear that it meant nothing to you, and that our friendship meant the same. But I see that I was wrong."
Yes, she had been wrong, because her rejection had hurt like little else. A persistent injury he'd carried around him, not much dissimilar to his knee when it came down to it. He hadn't forgiven the man who had injured him, and he'd struggled to forgive her. Still, it was nice to hear her say all the things he'd wished her to say.
No, she had to go. Things were thawing inside him and he didn't know if he wished them to. "Like I said, I accept your apology. Now you really should go. I will have my carriage—"
The kiss took him completely by surprise. His mind jarred to a halt, overcome by the sensation of her warm, sweet lips to his. It lulled and it called, like a siren. Heat flowed through his body—unbidden. The taste and the softness tempted him and he was weak in the face of it. But he forced himself. There was danger down this path, his mind screamed.
With his hands on her arms, he forced her back. Her eyes were glassy and slow, and her lips looked as luscious as he'd ever seen them. A sight like that and he was damned. Didn't she understand how hard this was? Not to mention that he'd grown stiff in ways he didn't want her to see.
"Please, Miss Bellworth," he pleaded.
"Sylvia," she said, her voice coarse. "Call me Sylvia."
Her attention was on his lips as if another kiss was all she ever wanted, and he could barely stop himself from relenting. "Please, Sylvia, what are you doing?"
"Being brave," she said, her eyes coming to his, searching his for an answer. The answer was clearly yes—it just shouldn't be.
Her statement had him stumped, but something inside him bristled with adoration. "Please go before you try my limits."
"I don't want to. I want to try your limits. I want to see what is beyond.”
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