The Lady Loves A Scandal_Regency Novella Page 6

  “I most certainly will not agree; however, I can confirm that if you make me leave London, it will be you—the pair of you—who is causing me pain. Not Galway or Garwood…you.” Sybil started for the closed study door, determined to exit the room with her chin high. If she were to cry, it would be in the comforts of her private chambers, not before her brother. “I will bid you both good night.”

  “Sybil, wait,” her brother called, the hard edge leaving his voice.

  “Dear brother, I can assure you that the only thing we will never learn is why Gideon fled London because you turned him away when he requested an audience,” Sybil hissed, refusing to turn back to face Silas. She would have liked to see his expression when he discovered that she knew of his refusal to meet with Gideon; however, she knew tears were not far away. Allowing Silas to witness how gravely she was affected by Gideon’s return would be unwise.

  “What am I to do with you, Sybil?” Silas sighed in defeat. “What will you have me do to fix this muddled mess we find ourselves in?”

  “Have a bit of faith in Gideon, even if you cannot trust in me.”

  “Sybil, your brother loves you dearly,” Mallory countered.

  “Not enough to allow me to experience an ounce of the happiness he has found,” Sybil said, fighting to keep her voice from cracking. “Good night.”

  She raced from the room, slamming the door in her wake. She’d been a fool to think that Silas was capable of allowing her the freedom to choose her own path in life. He’d found love in a most unexpected way with Mallory—along the shores of Bocka Morrow in Cornwall during the Christmastide Season, no less. They’d had nearly five years with one another, experiencing all that marriage offered a wedded couple…while Sybil remained alone. Why could her brother not see that she had also found love in a most unexpected way?

  The implications and repercussions of Silas’s decision to remove Sybil from London would have dire consequences for them both. She was not fighting to be allowed to see the latest onstage play at Covent Gardens. This was not an inconsequential squabble over an increase in her allowance. It would be difficult, likely impossible, for anyone on the outside to see the difference. She’d done just as she had when she was younger—she’d screamed, she’d belittled, and she’d argued until she was in tears.

  Stumbling down the corridor, Sybil entered the servant’s stairwell and climbed to the second floor where the family rooms were located.

  The hall was deserted with only two sconces to light her way.

  She passed Silas and Mallory’s chamber and halted before Slade’s door. No light shone from beneath. Her brother—Silas’s twin—could not be more different than his identical counterpart. Where Silas was rigid and demanding, Slade was uninhibited and insouciant. Silas adhered strictly to societal norms, while Slade flouted convention.

  If she had to place herself in the mix of her family, she would fall as a cross between her two brothers. She was loyal and independent, much like Silas. Though she did not always think that conforming to society’s rules over her own desires was a wise thing.

  Sybil knocked on Slade’s door, but her brother did not answer. He was likely not in residence, choosing to spend his time about town, doing as men were allowed: whatever suited them.

  Perhaps Sybil should do the same.

  Slade had amassed a sizeable gaming debt in the last few years; however, Silas did nothing more than scold him, and he never failed to settle the debts when they were called in.

  Could Silas’s threat of returning her to France be nothing more than that—a simple edict he had no plans to follow through with?

  Either way, Sybil was free of Garwood and their attachment.

  Even though Silas was not agreeable to discussing a renewed courtship between her and Gideon, Sybil had no qualms.

  When her brother had spoken of removing her from England and dragging her across the channel to France, the only thing she’d thought about was Gideon. Her heart still belonged to him, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.

  Even if Silas would not hear Gideon out, Sybil could, and then she’d attempt to change Silas’s mind. Her brother had to see reason.

  With one final glance at Slade’s door, Sybil turned and continued on to her room. If Silas were unwavering in his course to ruin her future, and Slade wasn’t home to assist her, she needed to find her own way to secure the outcome she desired.

  The night was still early, only two hours after nightfall. Gideon had bid her not to go to him, but if her brother was serious about her departing London, then she needed to speak with Gideon.

  Where he’d disappeared to last year didn’t matter.

  What he continued to hide from her, while irritating, did not change the way she felt about him.

  Together, they could work through everything that stood in their path, Silas included.

  Gideon loved her, he’d told her as much in the park. Yet, she hadn’t been able to tell him in return. She’d been confused and hesitant, but their impeding separation made everything clear.

  Sybil desired Gideon in every sense of the word—his heart, his body, and his forever.

  She loved him, and she’d be damned if she would allow anything to stand in the way of what she wanted.

  Scandal be damned.

  Gideon Lyndon, Viscount Galway, belonged to Sybil, and no one, not the London gossips or her brother, would tell her differently. Even Gideon himself was in the wrong, thinking he could keep her from going to him.

  Slipping into her room, Sybil hurried to the dressing closet to make certain she was alone—which, indeed, she was. Her maid had already turned down her bed and disappeared for the night. Had the entire staff gotten word of the duke crying off?

  That was likely the second-best thing to happen to her that day, number one being Gideon sending word to meet him at Hyde Park, at their secret spot known only to them. As if nothing had changed, the months melted away, and she’d rushed to meet him, not knowing what to expect. Instead of declaring his love once more, he could have broken off their association, pushed her to wed Garwood, and said his final goodbye.

  Her anger and irritation—the months of unending gossip at her expense—did not hold her any longer.

  Sybil loved Gideon, and she’d been a fool not to tell him—letting him believe his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she gathered her cloak, muff, and wool scarf, and retraced her steps back to the servant’s stairwell, pausing briefly at Slade’s door. Still, no light shone from below, so she exited the townhouse through the kitchen and slipped into the dark alley beyond.

  Chapter 6

  22 December 1815

  London is quiet with so many seeking their country homes for the Christmastide and New Year’s holidays; however, this author witnessed quite a display of family quarrels—in the middle of Bond Street, no less. The Earl of Lichfield, with his wife and Lady Sybil in tow, was turned away from Mr. Caruthers’s Shop due to an unpaid bill by none other than Mr. Sladeton Anson, the earl’s twin brother. I do not think this will bode well for finding Lady Sybil a suitable husband…yet, much will be forgiven and forgotten by the time Parliament resumes in the new year.

  ~ Lady X

  The sudden heavy pounding that echoed throughout Gideon’s townhouse brought a sudden panic to Charles’ stare as both men set down their utensils and gazed at one another silently across their plates. Despite the roaring fire in the hearth, stoked at least twice an hour, Charles wore a heavy blanket around his shoulders to ward off the chill that his friend said clung to his bones far more adamantly than a mutton chop.

  Gideon had only briefly experienced the frigid night air when he was made to sleep outdoors during the time he and Giles searched the docks for the ship that kept Charles captive. His friend spoke of weeks and months at sea, sleeping on the open deck when the roiling of the ocean permitted, and how the frothy salt water had seeped through even the heaviest of garments.
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  The fires in every hearth would remain burning hot every day for the rest of eternity if it brought even an ounce of comfort to Charles.

  The knocking receded, and Pires, the Galway butler, shuffled by the dining hall toward the foyer.

  Apprehension marred every line on Charles’ once boyish face.

  “I have given my servant specific instructions that no one is to pass my threshold without my explicit permission,” Gideon said, nodding at their meal. “I am not expecting anyone. Therefore, we shall finish our repast undisturbed.”

  The tension did not leave Charles, but he followed Gideon’s lead and took hold of his knife once more. He cut a piece of duck into minuscule portions before bringing a bite to his mouth.

  Gideon had taken great pride in watching Charles gain weight and strength as each day passed. His skin no longer had the yellow hue of sickness, nor did his fingers shake when he brought his glass to his lips. Yet, still, the haunted stare remained. Gideon wondered if it would ever disappear completely, even when official word came from the Admiralty Courts declaring Charles a free man.

  “What if they send orders demanding my return to the Caledonia. Or, worse yet, send the pressmen?” Charles’ head hung as he made a show of staring at his plate, his knife moving a roasted turnip from one side to the other. “I shouldn’t have accepted your offer of lodging. I have put your entire household in danger.”

  Gideon’s chest tightened with fear, though he refused to let Charles notice his trepidation. “It is highly unlikely that a man in your condition”—Gideon gestured toward his injured leg nestled under the table—“would be found useful on a warship.”

  “There are many tasks aboard a ship that one does not need the use of his legs to successfully accomplish.” Charles had spoken of this exact subject several times when Gideon had hired a physician to examine his friend and submit a written report to be included with his paperwork sent to the Admiralty Courts. As well as when Gideon had several pairs of trousers commissioned at his tailor’s, and even that very morning when Gideon had bid Charles accompany him to Hyde Park. “They may not demand my return to a ship, but they could turn me over to the courts for judgment.”

  Gideon had long since run out of encouraging words to ease Charles’ fears. “We can only wait until word arrives with regards to your fate.”

  While Charles had little confidence in the outcome of his friend’s request to the courts, Gideon was positive that Charles would be released from his impressment duties. If Charles’ injuries were not persuasion enough, Gideon was prepared to offer a large sum to make certain Charles’ bounty was paid.

  Gideon would buy his friend’s freedom a thousand times over if that was what it took.

  Being of noble birth, Gideon had never known the fear of being pressed into service to the crown. Neither of them could have imagined the consequences of their blithe night of drinking by the docks. To think that they could awaken and have their lives be utterly unrecognizable hadn’t crossed either of their minds. Gideon because his station in society placed him above such things. And Charles because he’d trusted Gideon.

  A faith that had been obviously misplaced.

  However, Gideon would not fail Charles again.

  “My lord,” Pires cleared his throat at the door. “A missive arrived for you.”

  Gideon waved the servant closer and snatched the letter from his hand, immediately noticing the distinctive seal of the courts. Maritime tradition boasted the silver oars as the symbol of their authority.

  The audible gasp from across the table said that Charles had seen it, too.

  “I hadn’t expected a response so quickly,” Charles said.

  Gideon met Charles’ gaze. “I didn’t either. My solicitor, who has an old friend in the courts, said it could take up to a year to hear anything on the matter.”

  An entire year during which time Gideon had been prepared to keep Charles hidden and safe.

  A year before he could speak on the matter to Sybil, and that was if he could remain in her good graces for that extended period of time.

  “Are you going to open it?” Charles rearranged the blanket covering his legs, attempting to hide his nervousness regarding what the letter held.

  Gideon extended his arm, holding the letter out for Charles to take. “I think you should do the honors.”

  “It is addressed to Viscount Galway, not me,” he said with a firm shake of his head.

  They both stared at the letter, Charles not making any move to take it, and Gideon wondering if he dared to open it. They’d waited less than two weeks after his solicitor delivered Gideon’s request. Did the court’s rapid response signify that they were in agreement with the laws governing the Navy’s ability to impress men into service with no notice?

  The practice was barbaric—and archaic.

  There were men of every station about England who longed for a commission into the crown’s Navy; yet during the wars, his country had continued with the practice of forcing unwilling countrymen to serve.

  “My lord, my apologies for interrupting your meal once more, but we seem to have a situation in the front drive that needs your attention,” Pires said with a curt bow before hurrying back to the foyer.

  Gideon’s first thought was that the courts had sent men to collect Charles and remove him back to the port immediately.

  “I will come with you.” Charles laid his napkin on the table beside his half-empty plate, and a footman stepped forward to assist him in standing. “My cane, if you please, Jackson.”

  “You should wait here.” Gideon knew his request would be met with defiance.

  Charles was resolute in his decisions, much like a certain dark-haired, wild-spirited woman Gideon was acquainted with.

  “If they are here to collect me, I will go willingly.” Charles held his chin high as he collected his cane and started for the door. “I will not cause you any more grief.”

  The only person responsible for Gideon’s surmounting grief—with accompanying guilt—was Gideon himself. It had been his fault that Charles was taken, and now, Gideon had once again not done everything in his power to protect his friend.

  “They will not take you,” Gideon bit out through clenched teeth, taking hold of Charles’ arm as they walked side by side toward the foyer. “That much I can promise you.”

  “We may not have a choice.”

  There were always options, of that Gideon was certain.

  “—you will allow me entrance.”

  Gideon’s steps faltered as the familiar voice floated down the long hall.

  “Lord Galway is expecting me,” Lady Sybil said, her voice rising an octave.

  “My lady, I can assure you, the viscount is not—“

  “If you would announce my presence, I can assure you Gideon will welcome my arrival.”

  “Who is that?” Charles asked, hurrying his steps while Gideon dug in his heels. “It cannot be…”

  Gideon released Charles’ arm, and his friend shuffled ever closer to the foyer, his injured leg dragging slightly in his haste to find out what all the commotion was about.

  It was on the tip of Gideon’s tongue to call to Charles, warn him that the woman might be a distraction, a ploy to get Charles out into the open so he could be apprehended.

  “Giddy, is that who I think it is?” Charles hissed in his direction. The words echoed in the foyer, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. “Lady Sybil Anson?”

  He saw enough to notice that Sybil had stopped tussling with the footman who attempted to keep her out of the townhouse.

  “Step aside, my man, step aside,” Charles’ voice boomed across the foyer. “Allow the woman in. Have you completely forgotten your manners?”

  The elder of the pair, Gideon had forgotten Charles’ assertive nature from their boyhood days. His commanding voice and sturdy presence dominated every village gathering at Gideon’s country estate. As they aged, Gideon had no doubt that the young women of the village would just a
s likely find delight if asked to dance with Charles as they did with Gideon.

  The footman stepped aside, and Sybil huffed as she pushed the hood of her cloak back and began unbuttoning the long row of brass buttons holding the overgarment closed to keep the chilly night air at bay.

  “Very kind of you, sir,” Sybil said, turning her most innocent smile on Charles.

  Gideon watched the man practically melt into his boots.

  “As I was attempting to tell Lord Galway’s butler…”—she paused, glancing about the foyer—“wait, speaking of Gideon, where is he? And who are you?”

  He could fairly visualize Sybil’s confused expression—the way a single cocoa brow would raise, her lips would press into a frown, and she’d stumbled over her words. None of this would take away from her exquisite beauty. It would only serve to lull Charles into a false sense of chivalry. He would want to help her, assist her in any way possible, just to dispel her unease.

  “I am Mr. Charles Smythe.” With amused chagrin, Gideon watched Charles bow grandly as if Sybil were the queen. “Lord Galway and I grew up together. My father worked as the Galway steward for several decades.”

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Smythe.”

  “Do call me Charles.”

  If anyone in Gideon’s household thought it peculiar that Lady Sybil had arrived at Gideon’s door—obviously unchaperoned and long past the socially acceptable calling hour—they did not breathe a word of it.

  At that moment, Sybil glanced over Charles’ shoulder, spotting Gideon lurking down the hall, her eyes narrowed on him.

  “We were enjoying our evening repast,” Charles said, nodding back down the hall. “Would you care to join us?”

  “I…well…I came to speak with…” Sybil stumbled over her words as she glanced between Gideon and Charles. “I suppose I should join you, or I fear your food will grow cold.”