Amanda Scott (9 page)

Feeling foolish, she moved her hand to the bolt, but even as it began to slide, she took her hand away, knowing she would sleep far better with the door bolted. It would mean waking betimes in the morning, for she did not wish Medlicott or the chambermaid to know that she had locked her door, but with Ramsbury in the house, it would be better to be safe than sorry.

She awoke before gray dawn light had touched the crescent, unbolted her door, then crept back beneath the comfort of the quilt, shivering. When the chambermaid slipped in a half hour later to lay and light the fire, she was sound asleep again and did not waken until Medlicott came in with her chocolate and threw the curtains wide. The clatter of rings against rod woke her, and she turned over sleepily to gaze at her dresser.

“Good morning, Meddy.”

“Good morning, madam.”

“Madam? Am I in disgrace, Meddy?”

“Not at all, madam. I am sure it is no place of mine to censure your behavior.”

“No.” Hitching herself up in the bed, Sybilla allowed me little woman to plump the pillows behind her and lay the white tray across her lap. Watching lazily as Medlicott moved around the room, Sybilla felt a warmth toward her that was out of keeping with their relationship. “You know that his lordship spent the night,” she said suddenly. “He is my husband, after all. He has every right to stay in this house.”

“Indeed, he has, madam,” Medlicott said in a carefully even tone. “Every right.”

Realizing suddenly that Medlicott did not disapprove of Ramsbury’s presence in the house but of his absence from her bed, Sybilla frowned. “I think we will discuss this matter no further. I will wear the blue frock with the silver buttons.”

“ ’Tis a mite chilly this morning,” Medlicott said from the wardrobe, drawing out the flimsy muslin skirt of the dress in question. “I should think the moss-green velvet or this russet wool would be more sensible, Miss Sybilla.”

Sybilla sighed, remembering that she would likely be facing Ramsbury across the breakfast table. The possibility was remote that he would take himself diplomatically out of the way and back to his aunt’s house before that time. A suit of armor would be more to the purpose, had she possessed such a thing. Lacking one, she smiled at Medlicott and agreed to the wool.

Dressed at last, with her hair coiled neatly and primly at the nape of her neck, Sybilla descended to the ground floor, where the breakfast parlor overlooked the back garden, barren beneath an overcast sky. She could see a lone white marguerite amidst the mass of browning greenery just across the gravel path outside the window.

The earl was already at the table, and by the evidence of the crockery in front of him, had already made a tidy breakfast. He smiled at her. “Good morning.”

He still wore the clothes he had worn the night before, but he looked well rested, not as though he had prowled the corridors in the night, seeking entrance to her bedchamber. The thought made her blush, and her color grew even deeper when his eyebrows lifted in silent query. Quickly, she said, “I hope you slept well, sir. Could not Robert find you a clean shirt at least?”

His smile broadened. “Your whelp of a brother and I are scarcely of a size, my dear.”

“No, of course not. Oh, Elsie,” she added with relief when the maid entered, “bring a pot of tea and some toast. His lordship appears to have eaten everything in sight.”

“Aye, mistress,” Elsie said, smiling. “He’s a fine appetite, sure enough.”

Sybilla stared at the maid’s retreating back, then turned to look at Ramsbury. “Of all the impertinent … She thinks …”

He chuckled. “Don’t read more into her words than what she said. She meant nothing more. What would you like to do today?”

He had her full attention at last. She straightened to her full height, glad she had not yet sat down. “I intend to do what I do every day, sir. I have duties here to occupy me.”

There was a brief silence, but his expression, though it set a little, did not change. “Still indispensable, are you, Syb? Place still can’t run without your hand on the tiller? I should have thought you’d learned better by now.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, bristling. “I am here because I wish to be here, and since I am here, of course, I take my duties seriously. Who else will run this house, I ask you, if I do not?”

“I’m sure I don’t give a damn who runs it,” he said with a sigh, “but I’m convinced your Mrs. Hammersmyth is able enough.”

“Well, you don’t know everything about it. Papa would fly into a fit of apoplexy by the end of the first week if he were left solely to her ministrations.”

“You exaggerate, my dear,” he said, his pleasant tone a bit strained now. “I am sure your little jaunts to London often last longer than a sennight, and I know for a fact that Sir Mortimer survived the first few months of our marriage.”

Her teeth grated together. “That doesn’t matter, Ned. Perhaps he can get on well enough for a time, but you know there were often problems while I was in London. And since I am here because I wish to be here—”

“Oh, sit down,” he said sharply. “It cannot be good for you to fly into a temper so early in the morning, before you’ve even broken your fast. I’ll take myself off, if that’s what you want, but don’t think you’ve seen the last of me. We are going to talk, and soon.”

“No, we are not,” she snapped. “ ’Tis just as I told you it would be. We have been together for no more than ten minutes this morning, and already we are sniping at one another. No doubt you are longing to get back to London and more convivial company. Pray, let nothing here delay you.”

He stood up suddenly, his eyes flashing, the chair scraping back noisily behind him. “By heaven—”

The door opened, and Elsie, beaming, entered with a tray. Seeing him on his feet, she hesitated, but he had control of himself again, and he managed to smile at her reassuringly. “Ask one of the lads to whistle me up a chair, Elsie. I’ve no wish to parade through the streets of Bath in my evening dress.”

“Yes, m’lord,” the maid replied, moving swiftly to deposit the contents of the tray upon the table and beginning to clear away the empty plates.

Sybilla, seeing that the morning post accompanied her breakfast, turned away from Ramsbury and reached for her letters. Sorting quickly through them, she came to one that made her pause, frowning.

Ramsbury had begun to turn away, but her frown stopped him, and he watched her more closely. “What is it?”

“I do not recognize the hand,” she said, reaching for a knife to slit the seal. “ ’Tis from Charfield. I know no one there.” Quickly she opened the single sheet and began to read. No sooner had she scanned the first two lines than a small cry of alarm escaped her lips and she reached to yank the bell cord.

“What is it?” Ramsbury demanded again, his tone urgent.

“Brandon,” she said, breaking off to address the maid. “Elsie, tell Medlicott to pack a case for me, and have Newton hitch the bay team to my phaeton. I must leave for Charfield within the hour.”

“Yes, m’lady, at once.” Elsie scooped the last empty plate onto her tray, glanced at the teapot and toast rack, and added hesitantly, “Will you still want to eat, mistress?”

“No—”

“Yes, she will,” Ramsbury said abruptly. “Leave us, Elsie.”

“Aye, m’lord.” She hurried out.

“Sybilla—”

“No, Ned. I know you mean well, but I have no time to waste on tea and toast. Someone will pack a basket for the phaeton. I must dress now, so if you’ll excuse me …” She turned away toward the door, still clutching the letter.

He moved swiftly, grabbing her upper arm. “No, you don’t,” he said. “You’ve not said what’s in the letter, but if you think I’ll allow you to go flying off alone to Charfield—which is at least fifteen or twenty miles from here—you’re sadly mistaken.”

She tried unsuccessfully to free herself. “Let me go, Ned. I’ve no time to argue with you. I must go.”

This time when she tried to shake his hand off, his grip bruised her arm and he pulled her around to face him, giving her a shake. “We’ll not argue, Sybilla, but you will tell me what’s amiss or you’ll not leave this room.”

Her gaze met his at last, and she knew by the expression in his eyes that he meant what he said. She could threaten to call the servants, but she had no confidence now that they would obey her command to throw his lordship out of the house.

“Brandon’s been mauled by a bear, Ned. He may die. I must go to him at once, and you mustn’t try to stop me.” As she said the words, the enormity of what had happened nearly overwhelmed her. Tears leapt to her eyes, and as she struggled to contain them, her defenses collapsed and she flung herself into his arms, expelling a sob of relief when they closed tightly around her.

“G
IVE ME THE LETTER,”
Ramsbury said gently several moments later. When she handed it to him in silence, he read it quickly, then looked at her again. “I doubt that the situation is as bad as you think,” he said. “This Clayton Sitwell, whoever he is, appears to be more concerned with the cost of Brandon’s room and board while he recovers from his wounds than with his imminent departure from this life.”

“You would say so,” she retorted grimly, “but you don’t care a whit for poor Brandon. I doubt you would care if he were already d-dead.” Her breath caught on another sob, but she mastered it and glared at him. “You will not stop my going, Ned. He is my brother, and he needs me. Even if I find that he is not at death’s door, which I certainly hope is the case, there is grave danger of infection from such wounds, and d-disfigurement.” Again her feelings threatened to overwhelm her as she thought of her brother’s handsome features and the possibility that they had been destroyed. “Oh God, Ned, a bear! How on earth—”

“Larking, I expect,” he said unsympathetically. “Your brother is capable of—”

“Oh, don’t say it,” she snapped. “And don’t try to stop me, either. I mean to go, and that’s all there is about it.”

“No, that isn’t all,” he retorted. “There is a good deal more to be said, but I know better than to attempt it while you’re in this mood. I will tell you this, however, and you’d best heed my words if you know what’s good for you. You are not going all the way to Charfield alone.”

“Don’t be daft! I often travel alone, as you know perfectly well. Oh, why am I arguing with you? Let me go!” Again she tried to free herself.

Again his hand tightened. “I’ll not stop you, Syb, but I’ll not allow you to go alone, either. Not so far as that and not in the mood you’re in now. I’m going with you, for if I don’t, you’ll land that phaeton of yours in a ditch before you’re two miles out of Bath.”

“I won’t, and I don’t want you!” She stared defiantly into his face, then said between gritted teeth, “Let go of me, Ned.”

He returned her look steadily, and the warning she saw in his eyes made her shiver. “Heed me well, Sybilla,” he said, his voice a near growl. “I am going to Camden Place now, but only to change into more suitable clothing and order a bag packed. If you are not here when I return, I will follow you, and you will be very, very sorry when I catch you.”

The door opened behind Sybilla, and Elsie popped her head in. “Your chair is at the door, m’lord.”

“Thank you, Elsie.” His gaze did not shift from Sybilla’s face. “Well, Syb?”

She squared her shoulders. “You leave me little choice, damn you.” A gasp from behind her revealed that Elsie had not yet gone, but it was the glint in Ramsbury’s eyes that brought the rueful smile to her lips. “Pretty language, is it not, sir? I daresay I learned it from you.”

His expression relaxed, and there was amusement now in his eyes. “Very likely,” he said, “but you would do well to forgo the pleasure of its use if you would not shock your servants. And, Sybilla, I will have your word, if you please.”

“I have said—”

“I heard what you said,” he retorted. “And I know you well. I would prefer to have your solemn word before I leave you.”

His grip on her arm had relaxed, and she pulled free at last, glaring at him. “Oh, very well, you have it, though you mustn’t think for a moment that”—she flicked a glance over her shoulder to assure herself that Elsie was gone at last and the door was shut—“that you can bully me into anything else, sir.”

The anger that leapt to his eyes made her step hastily away from him, but he made no move toward her, nor did he say anything at all for a long minute. Then, bowing slightly, he said, “I will return within the hour. Please have the good sense to eat something before you go up to change your dress. You will do yourself no good—or Brandon, either—by starving yourself.”

When he had gone, she sighed with relief and moved to follow him out of the room. But at the door she hesitated, looking at the teapot on the table, and the rack of toast beside it. He was right. She would be foolish not to eat, particularly since she had given her word not to leave until he returned.

The tea was lukewarm, the toast cold. She did not sit down, stopping by the table only long enough to pour herself a cup and to smear jam on two pieces of the toast. She munched slowly, standing by the window, staring out at the garden and wondering why she was not angered more by Ramsbury’s high-handed ways. His arrogance, as the Lord knew well, had angered her often enough before. She had forgotten how irritating it was to be commanded to do what she did not wish to do, for until she had become Ramsbury’s wife, such incidents had been practically unknown to her. She had issued the commands, and others had obeyed.

She remembered his courting, her only Season in London. Many men had wooed her, complimented her, begged for her attention. Posies were delivered daily to her aunt’s house, and bucks and beaux had flocked to her side at assemblies and parties. Poems were written to her flaming tresses, her satin skin, her emerald eyes, even one to her dainty hands. Not, of course, that Ramsbury had written any of them.

She smiled at the lone marguerite on the bush across the gravel path. He was no hand at speaking fancy words, he had told her, or at writing them. Such stuff was for fops, not men, he had said. But she had liked the fact that he had his own opinions and did not hesitate to express them, even when they ran counter to hers. He had credited her with intelligence and good sense, and did not whisper insincerities into her ears. Instead, he had let her handle his curricle and high-bred team in Hyde Park; and, after he had tested her skill, he had even allowed her to help him train a young colt to accept town traffic.