Sybill Page 3

  “Lord Foxbridge didn’t mention he would ask you to leave.”

  Kate chuckled again. “No, I didn’t expect he would.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Miss Sybill, he wouldn’t deny you your maid. Look at these lovely rooms. He will be very generous to you.”

  Sybill frowned at her maid’s satisfied expression. Kate was acting strangely, glancing around the blue room with its pale furniture as if it was her own possession. Angrily, she told herself to stop being so imaginative. Of course, Kate was happy. They had a home.

  While they went down the stairs and toward the back of the house, Kate chattered uncharacteristically about the beauty of Foxbridge Cloister. Sybill stared at her in disbelief. This voluble woman was unlike the one who worked for her in London. She had never seen her so happy. Kate normally enjoyed grousing about every detail of their lives, especially if Alfred Hampton was involved.

  Sybill’s eyes widened. Her maid had put her mourning away. Today the round woman wore a brilliant red gown, which made her resemble a ripe apple. Regretfully, she told herself that one of them was pleased with their new life. In her morose opinion, nothing but trouble waited for her here.

  Sunshine leapt through long windows to brighten the dining room. Kate dipped in a quick curtsy, her knees creaking loudly.

  The lord dismissed her absently. He turned to the young woman who was staring about in awe. What a pretty child she was! It was a shame she must wear rusty black, but it was proper she should show respect for her father. When she stood in the large room, looking so lost, she appeared as she had the first time he saw her. She had been no more than six or seven. He had been surprised to learn Alfred Hampton had a daughter. Sybill’s existence had been kept a secret for most of her childhood, for she would have been a difficulty for her father’s business enterprises.

  Sybill felt the lord’s eyes and paused in her inspection of the room. It was as lovely as the other parts of the Cloister she had seen. The furniture shone with attentive care, and the pewter on the sideboard was stacked neatly.

  Remembering her place, she knelt. “Good morning, my lord.”

  “No, Sybill!”

  At the sharpness in his voice, she glanced up, perplexed. “Excuse me?”

  “Two rules will exist in my house. One is that I do not want to see such high protocol again. You need not curtsy to me. The other is that I wish you to call me ‘Owen.’”

  “Sir?”

  He came to where she stood. Taking her fingers, he led her to the head of the table. He pulled out a chair and seated her with a grace which she knew took years to cultivate. “This is your home, my child. Such formality is fine for court, but here we act as family.” He sat in his own chair and rang for the servants. “I trust that will be agreeable with you.”

  “Yes, my I—” She smiled as he began to protest. “Yes, Owen.”

  “Much better.” His smile wiped years from his face, giving hint of the handsome man he had been. “Now, tell me. How did you sleep?”

  The conversation continued in the same light manner while breakfast was served. The hearty meal filled her stomach, but nothing could ease the emptiness within her. When Owen spoke of her father, her eyes blurred. His death had been so sudden. She wondered if she would ever be able to accept it. She was happier when her host spoke of the Cloister and its lands. By the time the meal was finished, she was glad that he had invited her to share it with him. In this easy informality, he was giving her a chance to become comfortable with the changes in her life.

  Tossing his napkin on the table, Owen urged her to wander about the house while he was busy with the concerns of the estate. “Explore as you wish. The staff realize they are to make you feel welcome.”

  “I must tell you thank—”

  “No!” he interrupted. “I don’t want to hear that, Sybill. It is my pleasure to have Alfred’s daughter with me. Now if you will excuse me, Trevor is waiting in the library.”

  Wordlessly she nodded. She was puzzled. Instead of being treated like a poor relative, she was being entertained as if she was a long awaited guest. Owen had hinted blatantly all through the meal that he would let her earn her keep in a very ladylike manner, but she could not guess what he had planned.

  Rising, she went out of the room. As if each was a beacon, she could feel the curious eyes of the household peering from hiding places as she walked along the corridors. She tried to act normally as they satisfied their curiosity.

  Each room she peeked into was as lovely as its predecessor. Owen seemed determined to bring London to the area. She noted several paintings by artists currently in demand. Although the light green worn by the liveried servants was the predominant color in the public rooms, the smaller chambers were decorated in a myriad array of tints.

  In delight she entered a room at the back of the house. She knew it was a solarium. Although she had heard of such rooms built to capture the glow of the sun, she had never seen one. Eagerly she climbed the trio of steps and walked to stand in the white square of sunlight on the light green carpet surrounded by the uneven surface of the stone floor.

  Her eyes closed as she lifted her face to the warmth. It was a tender stroke along her skin. As she turned, she smiled. This was the most beautiful of all the rooms. Even the elegant drawing room paled beside the majesty of this room where the ceiling reached its peak fifteen feet above the floor.

  Walking to the windows, she saw the sun had a difficult time flowing through the glass set in the nearly foot-thick walls. Every liquid drop that reached through the windows stretching from the floor to the ceiling was precious. She leaned on the windowsill. The narrow farthingales which angled her skirt out over her hips brushed the edges of the window. Her gaze turned inward. She did not see the gardens as she wondered what the future held for her. There were no more answers today than yesterday.

  She turned as she heard footsteps. With her hands clenched in front of her, she wondered who was invading her haven. Involuntarily she took a step backward as a man climbed the steps into the room.

  His lips turned down in a frown as he stated, “Good morning, Miss Hampton.”

  “Good morning, Trevor.” She realized how foolish she was to use that name when she saw his eyebrows reach for one another as he glared at her. Unless Owen was present, she vowed not to call him by his given name.

  The silence grew painful. As she looked everywhere but at him, she thought of fleeing. Then some perverse part of her insisted that she not be the first to back down from the uneasy situation. Unless they learned to coexist, this disquiet would become increasingly intolerable.

  When he spoke, his words were cold. “I’m surprised to see you up so early after your long journey.”

  “It was tiresome, but I slept well last night.”

  “The undisturbed rest of innocence?”

  She was shocked. Trevor Breton did not know her well enough to make any judgments. Perhaps it was his own guilty conscience which needed assuaging. Determined to reveal him for the cur he was, she simply smiled. “Why, yes, I guess you could call it that.”

  He sat on one of the heavy chairs, but she remained by the windowsill. She crossed her arms over her chest in a vague effort to protect herself from his dark eyes, which seemed to see too much.

  “What do you think of your adopted home?” He flung his arms out to include the whole of the Foxbridge Cloister. “Beyond your expectations?”

  “Yes.” Her honest answer brought confusion to his face. She laughed lightly as she continued, “I must admit I expected something entirely different. It is no secret that the residents of London consider the rest of the island only slightly more civilized than the jungles of Africa and the New World.”

  In spite of himself, Trevor smiled. She was charming. He could not deny that. Even in black, she brightened any room she entered. He listened as she spoke of her preconceived notions of the western coast. With her sharp wit turned against herself, he could not help la
ughing at her sallies. He admired her. Not once did she lose her image of the innocent maiden who depended on an old friend. She must have practiced for the weeks she delayed coming to Foxbridge Cloister to enable her to assume this role so adroitly. Although deceit would have been drilled into her along with her childhood lessons, she was remarkable.

  As thrilled as she was with the beauty of the Cloister, he knew the lord was excited about having her here. More than once during the hour Trevor had spent with Lord Foxbridge this morning, the lord spoke of what a delightful addition Sybill Hampton was to the estate. The one thing Trevor could not understand was Lord Foxbridge’s determination that his assistant would like the young woman.

  That thought reminded him of something he must speak of. “Miss Hampton, if you recall, Lord Foxbridge wishes me to show you about the estate. When will it be convenient?”

  “To go riding with you?”

  “What is the problem?” he asked tartly as he saw her face blanch, then turn rose.

  “I can’t go riding with you.”

  He stood and walked toward her. With his arm against the wall, he leaned over her to stare into her deceptively artless eyes. “And why not? I am not infected with some dread disease, Miss Hampton.”

  “Y-y-you are a-a m-ma-an,” she stuttered, overwhelmed by his proximity. Until her father’s death, she had not been close to any man near her age. Her father had intended to find her a suitable match, so he kept the temptation of handsome, young men from her. His wisdom in that matter was clear as she stared up into soot black eyes. She could not halt the flutter in her stomach as her gaze followed the stern lines of his face.

  “I am quite aware of that.” He laughed at her reaction. It was easier to pretend he did not share it than to admit he was attracted to this woman. She must be more knowledgeable about men than she acted.

  Sybill blushed darker. Fiercely she fought to control her uneven pulse. As if each bit of her skin had a mind of its own, it was vitally aware of his presence. She could not let him overwhelm her like this. Then he would gain the upper hand. Drawing herself up to her full height, which was nearly a foot shorter than his, she stated coldly, “If you were anything but a western barbarian, sir, you would know a lady does not ride alone with a man.”

  “A lady?” His chuckle lost all its humor. “If I see a lady, I will be sure to remember that.”

  “And what am I?”

  “Do I need to say, Miss Hampton? Even a barbarian does not like to use those words in the company of a woman.”

  Her eyes narrowed in rage as she spun to walk out of the room. There was no need to continue trading insults. He had proven already he was incapable of being anything but impolite. As she neared the door, he called after her, “Tomorrow at ten, Miss Hampton.”

  In surprise, she turned. “Tomorrow at ten what?”

  “We will go riding so I may acquaint you with the estate. Lord Foxbridge would be disgruntled to find his ward had been so foolish as to ride out and hurt herself.”

  Gritting her teeth at his easy use of the word she despised, she said, “Very well, sir. As it is Lord Foxbridge’s wish, I consent to your vulgar invitation. I trust you understand that I would prefer to have little to do with you otherwise.”

  His laughter grated through her head as she walked with forced sedateness from the room. With her eyes directly on the floor, she seethed. She could not restrain her outrage long enough to speak to anyone civilly after that interview with the outrageous Trevor Breton.

  In her rooms, Sybill found no comfort. Nothing was familiar. There was no sanctuary to heal her wounds, both new and old. All she discovered at Foxbridge Cloister were more problems. She opened her wardrobe and stared at the quartet of black gowns which was the total of her wardrobe while she mourned her father. None of her other dresses had been rescued from the greedy hands of her father’s creditors. They had not been interested in her raven’s feathers, only the gaudy frocks decorated with jewels and furs.

  With a pained sigh, she pushed the door shut. No answers hid among the pitiful remains of her possessions. She looked up when a knock sounded. Wondering if Kate had abruptly developed manners, she went to the door.

  A maid in the ever-present light green dropped in a deep curtsy. Only her light brown hair was visible until Sybill urged her to stand. Then her lovely eyes of the same shade lit her plain face.

  “Miss, I be Clara Pekins. I work here.”

  Hiding her smile at what was obvious, she asked, “What do you want, Clara?”

  “Miss, m’Lord Foxbridge wants to see you.”

  “Now?”

  “Aye, miss. In the library he said.”

  She nodded, curious about what Owen wished to discuss. It had been only a short time since breakfast. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, miss.” She curtsied again and vanished as quickly as a rabbit in a hedgerow.

  Sybill smiled at the comparison. Clara Pekins reminded her of a light brown bunny scurrying about, interested in everything, timid of strangers. Nervously brushing off her skirt, she followed the maid out of the suite.

  As she came to the landing on the stairs, she paused when she heard voices on the floor below. She did not mean to eavesdrop, but the caustic sound of Kate’s laugh was instantly familiar in this world of unknowns. The words were indistinct, but she saw Kate at the door of the library.

  Only when her maid walked jauntily toward the back of the house did Sybill continue down the stairs. She berated herself for being so secretive and suspicious. It was obvious what she had seen. Owen had spoken with Kate, and the two had reached an agreement for the maid to stay on at Foxbridge Cloister. That would explain Kate’s elation.

  For a moment, she wished Owen had sent Kate on her way. Although she was the only part of London left, her maid was more impossible to deal with all the time. There had been many loud arguments between Kate and Father, but always behind closed doors. Neither would tell Sybill the source of their discord, but both openly displayed their contempt.

  She straightened her shoulders as she reached for the latch. It did not matter what had happened in the past. She must concentrate on her future, as dismal as it appeared. With a smile on her face, she opened the door. “You wanted to see me, Owen?”

  He looked up from his desk. “Come in, my dear child. Come in and sit down.” He rose to point toward a chair near the window.

  Sybill noted the many books lining the walls of this room darkened by the dusky shadows of the ceiling-high shelves. Never had she seen so many books in one place. She could not keep from pausing to glance at the titles.

  “Do you enjoy reading?” he asked as he moved to stand behind her.

  “Oh, yes!” Her enthusiasm was uncontainable.

  He chuckled. “Then, by all means, you must avail yourself of my library whenever you wish. Trevor and I often do our work here, but you are welcome to come in and browse. Two bachelors will never rue an interruption by a pretty lady.”

  A hot flush rose from her collar to betray her embarrassment with his effusive compliment. “Thank you. I will enjoy reading some of your books.”

  “Did you enjoy your talk with Trevor?”

  She hesitated a moment too long before she answered tritely, “Yes, of course.” It was naive to expect their raised voices had not been heard in this house with too many ears.

  “He doesn’t mean to be harsh to you,” he said as if he could apologize for Trevor. “You must become accustomed to the plainspoken people here.”

  “We are going for a ride tomorrow as you requested.” She kept her eyes lowered so he could not see her disagreement with his assessment of the problem. This had nothing to do with being candid.

  Owen sat in the chair opposite her. “Sybill, I know you need some time to adjust. The people here need time to acclimate themselves to your presence. There has not been a young lady at the Cloister since my wife Edith arrived as a bride twenty-seven years ago.”

  “I did not mean—”

  H
e waved aside her concerns. “Nonsense! There’s no need to apologize. I know you had no intention of disrupting the household. I have thought of a way to settle you in easier, if you are willing.”

  With a smile, she said, “Of course.” She wished to do anything to help. When Owen patted her hand, her smile widened. He was so kind to her. More than she had expected when she came to live on his charity.

  “You managed Alfred’s household, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Father never was much interested in such things. He gave me an allowance, and I handled the household.”

  He nodded. “That is good. I think you should assume that duty here as well.”

  “Manage Foxbridge Cloister?” She pressed her hand to her chest in shock. “This whole household? Owen, we had no more than a dozen servants. You have many times that here.”

  “You can handle this, my dear child. You’re intelligent. This will give you something to keep your mind busy.”

  “That was one of my concerns about coming out here,” she admitted slowly. As the thought of supervising this well-trained staff wound through her mind, she found she wanted to accept the challenge. Until she could find a way to escape this wilderness, she could have something to do.

  Owen laughed at her forthrightness. On her face, her thoughts were branded brightly. He was continually surprised by this innocent child. From what he had seen in London, this remained a tremendous shock. Once he acknowledged the error of his suppositions, he admitted he was very pleased. “Will you do this?”

  “Yes. Yes, I will!” She smiled. Even from herself she could not hide her anticipation of showing Trevor that she was more than a pretty ornament obtained by Lord Foxbridge.

  Taking her hands in his, Owen said sincerely, “I’m glad, Sybill. It is so nice to learn you wish to help me.”

  “I owe—”

  Again he interrupted her. “You owe me nothing, child. I’m the one who is grateful to you for being the gentle creature you are.” His mouth twisted in a scowl, as he went on, “Not all young people are as self-centered as my son Christopher.”