Amanda Scott (20 page)

“Goodness,” the marchioness exclaimed, bustling forward to greet her, “he makes it sound as though I’m to be buried within the hour! No, no,” she added hastily when Sybilla began to rise to her feet, “stay where you are, my dear. I cannot tell you how distressed I was to learn of your illness. I came at once, of course, but I cannot think why you needed money, and at Beeton’s Hotel, when Edmond is right there in the house, as Axbridge assures me he is. That news, I don’t hesitate to tell you, pleased me very much, though I confess, it also surprised me.”

As she paused in her headlong speech to bend and bestow a kiss on Sybilla’s cheek, Sybilla said with a grimace, “Then perhaps it will not surprise you to learn that he is not here by invitation but because—” She broke off, biting her lip, shocked at the impropriety of what she had been about to say.

She had reckoned without the marchioness’s candor, however. That lady, drawing up a chair, laughed and said, “You do not need to tell me, you know, that he would as lief not stay in the same house with his father. I should not be at Axbridge House myself had I not had your letter and posted up to town at once in order to get to the bottom of things, and really, my dear, I should be a great deal more comfortable here with you, if I could but think of a way to manage that without infuriating Axbridge. But perhaps he will go home soon. Only then I shall have to go with him, for he will never leave me here alone with all the shops and handsome men. Really I don’t know which distresses him more.”

Sybilla smiled. She had been rather overwhelmed by her visitor’s unexpected arrival, but now she recalled two particular things the marchioness had said that made no sense. Frowning, she said, “I do not understand you, ma’am. Did you say that you had had a letter from me? Another request for money?”

“But you must know—” She broke off, peering closely at Sybilla for a long moment. “You don’t know, do you? Good gracious, my dear, what has been going on? Do you know I never questioned for one moment that those letters came from you? I knew you had been jauntering up to town and back, because I scarcely ever saw Edmond that he didn’t complain about it, so I never thought much about whether you were truly here or not until I had that letter from dearest Lucretia, complaining that if you continued to remain in Bath as you had for the past month, you and he would never straighten matters out betwixt you. You can imagine my astonishment, when I had just send a hundred pounds to you in London! I was nevertheless vexed with myself for letting Edmond discover what I had been about. I hope he was not too incensed with you.”

“Don’t trouble your head about that,” Sybilla said. “It was kind of you to send the money without so much as questioning the demand, though I fear that Lady Lucretia was right—I have not been to town since Christmas. And to my shame, I must confess that I have not written to you since just before then, when I responded to your suggestion that I might visit Axbridge Park.”

“I knew that wouldn’t answer,” the marchioness said sadly, “but I could not help but try. Are things any better between you now? I should not ask, I know, but I cannot help it.” She peered anxiously at Sybilla, who smiled fondly back.

“I wish I could say they are,” she said, “but for the most part they are not. Ned didn’t want to be married, you know. He enjoys his raking too much. And Lady Mandeville is still—”

“Oh, that wretched woman! I should like to take a horsewhip to her!” When Sybilla flung a hand to her mouth to stop a rising bubble of laughter before it burst from her lips, Lady Axbridge grinned at her, looking more like a mischievous moppet than a grand lady, and said ruefully, “Well, it is what Axbridge, in his youth, would have done to any young puppy that came sniffing after me, you know. I do not see why it is that only gentlemen can react with violence to such things. It seems very unfair.”

Sybilla sighed. “Very true, but we have strayed from the matter at hand, ma’am. Am I to understand that you believe I did not send those requests?”

“But certainly,” replied the marchioness. “You would not tell me you had not if you had, my dear.”

Sybilla grimaced. “Would that Ned could believe me so easily as you do.”

“Oh, but he is your husband,” Lady Axbridge pointed out airily. “No doubt you have lied to him any number of times. Certainly, I have told thousands of falsehoods to Axbridge over the years. One would be a fool not to do so when one knows how uncomfortable things will be when he loses his temper, as he does so frequently. Husbands are a different matter altogether.”

Biting her lip, Sybilla said carefully, “I wish I could say that I have never lied to Ned, but the fact of the matter is that I have, and he knows it, which makes this business all the more difficult. But I have never lied to him about anything important, or only to protect—” She broke off, not liking the direction her thoughts were taking.

The marchioness smiled understandingly. “If he believes you are not being truthful with him, he must think you are protecting someone else now, must he not? He told me he thought you wanted it for Brandon. A charming scamp, as I recall. Since you did not, do you know who might have written me?”

Sybilla’s voice was small when she said, “I begin to think I do not want to know.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. We must find the truth, and we have the perfect opportunity right now. I have the letter here.” She produced it, then waited patiently while Sybilla scanned the contents. “You see, you require another hundred pounds in order to pay for a gown for the first drawing room of the Season.”

“But, good gracious, the hand is very like mine!”

“Yes, or mine, or indeed like that of anyone who has been trained to write an elegant copperplate,” the marchioness pointed out, “but whoever wrote it cannot have thought too clearly, I think, because with the king ill again, one cannot know when there will be a first drawing room. But then, the person writing these letters must be a great optimist, for she seems to have expected me to continue to behave like a ninnyhammer.”

“What do you propose to do, ma’am?”

“Well, I have been thinking, and at first I thought to invite the writer to Axbridge House, but it would never do to chance letting Axbridge get wind of this. If it were still possible to confine one’s wife to a nunnery, I am persuaded that that is precisely what he would do if he learned that I have been franking some unknown person for so long as I did. Really, I am quite angry when I think how I was tricked!”

“Well, we must not take the chance that either Axbridge or Ned will find out about this latest letter,” Sybilla agreed.

“Not tell Edmond? Why on earth not?”

“Because,” Sybilla said, “I want him to discover for himself that he was wrong to accuse me. I don’t want you to tell him.”

“Very well then, I think we must enlist Grimthorpe’s aid,” the marchioness said with a decisive air.

“Grimthorpe?”

“My man of affairs, a very helpful sort of person.”

“Oh, but I don’t think that’s a good notion at all,” Sybilla protested. “Will he not tell the marquess?”

“Oh, no, for he has aided me any number of times in the past when I have got into some little scrape that I did not wish Axbridge to learn about. As I said, Grimthorpe is a good sort. We … no, not we,” she amended, “for you must rest. I will go to him this very morning, and lay our difficulty before him. Then, I shall return to tell you what we mean to do.”

She left a few minutes later, leaving Sybilla to contain her soul in patience until her return that afternoon. And when she finally did return, since both Mally and Sydney Saint-Denis had chosen that same time to pay her a call, it was necessary for Sybilla to wait twenty minutes more before she could speak privately with her.

“What a handsome young man that Mr. Saint-Denis is,” the marchioness said approvingly when they had watched Sydney escort Mally from the room at last. “And that lacquer bowl he brought you with his bouquet of posies is exquisite.”

Sybilla looked again at her gift, a small, charmingly designed round bowl with a delicate tracery of gold beneath layers of Oriental lacquer, so old that it had mellowed to a reddish gold. It held a small bouquet of silk violets. “It is a pretty thing. Sydney collects lacquerware. ’Tis one of his many little hobbies, as he calls them. He also collects snuff bottles and boxes and Oriental paintings. He spent some time in China, you see, and has a great fondness for the culture. But I do not wish to discuss Mr. Saint-Denis. Tell me, ma’am, what did Mr. Grimthorpe have to say?”

“He was extremely helpful, just as I said he would be,” Lady Axbridge told her. “He wrote at once to the false Sybilla, at the hotel where I have always addressed my letters to you—I never realized you stayed here when you came to town, always thought of this place as Edmond’s house. Really, Lucretia is quite right. I have let myself grow away from society. I must come up to town more often. I am quite enjoying myself.”

“You say Mr. Grimthorpe wrote a letter?” Sybilla said.

“Yes, you are quite right to bring me back to the point. I stray frequently. It comes, I expect, from having so few persons with whom to converse at the Park. Axbridge, you know, is no great conversationalist. He talks but prefers me to listen, and when I speak, he turns to his book or his newspaper and I might as well be talking to air. But,” she added hastily when Sybilla opened her mouth again, “about the letter. He will write, informing the false Sybilla that I have authorized him to discuss the possibility of a permanent allowance, and making it clear that he has never met you. Do you not think it a clever idea?”

“Indeed, I do,” Sybilla said, “but what if the letter writer is a man? He will certainly not Wish to meet Mr. Grimthorpe.”

“Oh, I do not think it can be a man, do you?” The marchioness paused a moment to reflect, then added firmly, “No, the letters are very feminine. I never doubted that you had written them, you know, and I think a man would have sounded more … well, more masculine. Men are different from women, you know. In any case, we will quickly learn if the ploy does not work, for Grimthorpe promised to send word here to Ramsbury House, to you, if he cannot arrange a meeting. If all goes well, he will meet with the person late this afternoon, if possible, or in the morning, and come to us at two tomorrow afternoon to tell us what happened.”

“Tomorrow?” The thought that the whole business might be settled overnight was a little frightening.

“Yes, indeed, for I did not think it would be safe for him to come to us sooner than that, for fear Edmond might walk in, you know, or not have gone out, and Grimthorpe has insisted upon meeting with the false Sybilla as soon as possible. Perhaps you are thinking that she might refuse to meet with him altogether, but I do not believe that will be the case. A permanent allowance will sound so very enticing, do you not agree?”

Sybilla did agree, but she could not be comforted by the thought that the mystery would soon be solved. A most unwelcome notion had begun stirring in the recesses of her mind, and she did not want to dwell upon it. Consequently, she spent the rest of her morning writing a letter to Mrs. Hammersmyth, telling her that her visit to London might be a trifle prolonged.

Ramsbury dined with her, but once he had escorted her to the drawing room, he lingered only long enough to inform her that he had engaged to meet with friends at Brooks’s that evening and had no doubt she would enjoy the solitude. Turning back at the door of the dining room, he added, “I am glad to see that you are feeling more the thing, but I hope you will not overtax your strength. You are not entirely well yet.”

Sighing, Sybilla said, “I am more like to die from boredom than from activity, Ned. Must you go out tonight?”

He grinned. “You must be bored if you are reduced to applying to me for companionship. I could stay, I suppose. I promised to put in an appearance, so they will be expecting me, but it would do them no harm to wait a few hours. By then you will be tucked up in your bed.”

But Sybilla had already had second thoughts. “You go on,” she said. “If you stay here on my account, you will only begin to fret about the men who are waiting. I remember how it is with you. I would not keep you from your pleasures, Ned.”

He frowned. “It’s possible I’ve changed a bit over these last months, you know. If you want me to stay, Sybilla, I will.”

“No, thank you. You are already becoming vexed with me, as I see by your expression. We will only quarrel if you stay.”

“As you wish,” he said stiffly, and for a moment before he turned away, she thought he looked disappointed, but she decided when he had gone that it was no more than a trick of the light.

After picking up and discarding two magazines and tossing aside her needlework, she muttered, “A fine thing, Sybilla. You sent him away, and now to be wishing that you had not is entirely ridiculous. He did not wish to stay and would have been but poor company. Even Brandon would be more amusing.”

But Brandon had not graced her dining table that night, nor did she see him again until the next morning, when his company did little to improve her darkening mood.

B
RANDON WAS BLEARY-EYED
when he entered the breakfast parlor the next morning, and Sybilla could not help smiling at him.

“Late night?”

“Don’t shout.” He began to lift lids from dishes on the sideboard and peer at their contents. When Fraser asked if he wanted anything other than what was out, Brandon winced. “Lord, didn’t I just ask everyone not to shout at me?”

The footman looked helplessly at Sybilla, who dismissed him with a gesture and a quiet-spoken order for more coffee. When he had gone, she said, “There is no need to snap at Fraser.”

Brandon turned from the sideboard, having helped himself to nothing more than a few slices of buttered toast. “Won’t hurt him, I daresay, and I’ve got the most awful head.”

“If your head aches, ’tis your own fault,” she said.

“Oh, don’t start prosing at me, Syb,” he begged. “I had my fill of that from your precious husband last night.”

“From Ned?”

“You got any other husbands lying about?” He sat down across from her. “First I heard of any oth—”