Chapter 16
“There is something I wish to talk with you about,” Sybil blurted uncertainly that evening when Everett came to her bedroom for his nightly call.
His unlikely visit with her that afternoon—so husbandly—had given her the courage she required, prompting her to voice the worry that had been plaguing her. “A rather delicate matter, actually.”
She knew from experience that if she didn’t speak at once, she would be swept away by his embrace and kisses.
Losing the rational part of her mind was frightfully easy in her husband’s arms. And Everett was not just handsome in his dark dressing gown, a swath of his chest showing beneath, but tempting.
She longed to throw herself into his arms and blot out the rest of the world.
But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she said what she needed to say.
For this was something she had been meaning to discuss with him for weeks.
Because of the sensitive nature of the subject and his glacial disapproval of her, she had hesitated to broach the topic.
But the time had come. She could not continue to do nothing on Henry’s behalf.
Even if doing so left her husband more vexed with her than he ordinarily was.
Everett’s pale eyes searched hers, his jaw hardening. “Are you trying to tell me you are with child?”
“No,” she hastened to say. “It is a different matter entirely. Perhaps we should sit.”
She gestured to the pair of Louis Quinze armchairs flanking the hearth. His expression turned questioning and curious, but he followed her, waiting until she was seated before folding his tall frame into a chair.
“What is it that concerns you?” he asked, his tone almost solicitous.
Sybil took a deep breath, preparing herself for her request and whatever her husband’s reaction would be.
She knew, of course, that this was no common matter.
That it was indeed complicated, if not downright scandalous.
She had no experience in asking her husband if her illegitimate brother would be welcomed under their roof.
“At Eastlake Hall, there is a servant. A footman, to be precise…” Her words trailed away hesitantly as she took in the sudden fury that darkened her husband’s countenance.
She faltered, dismay washing over her. Perhaps she had been wrong in broaching the subject of Henry so early in their union, given the tenuous nature of their marriage thus far.
“I am already aware of the footman.” Everett’s voice was as cold as January air.
Surprise washed over her, for he had never intimated that he was aware of her half brother.
But then, Henry was not a well-kept secret.
The domestics at Eastlake Hall all either knew or suspected his connection to her father.
His mother was one of the housemaids, and tongues had likely been wagging ever since her condition had become apparent and Father had set her up in a small cottage on her own.
“You know about Henry?” she asked Everett cautiously.
“Indeed.”
His frosty voice and clipped response took her aback.
Mayhap the gossip had traveled further than she had supposed and word had somehow reached Everett.
And judging from her husband’s reaction, she had been wrong to suppose that he would consider her request where her half brother was concerned.
Bastard children were one of polite society’s darkest shames.
She had known she couldn’t expect her husband to immediately take on her illegitimate sibling into his household.
But he had been so kind to Mother, and although he remained aloof toward Sybil, she couldn’t help but to feel that their intimacy had brought them closer.
No more so than earlier today when he had tended to her pricked finger.
Each day that Henry remained at their father’s mercy was one that left the guilt inside her growing.
But she could see that her optimism had once again been misplaced.
“Perhaps I should not have broached the subject,” she said, seeking to melt some of his ice. “I was merely hoping we might offer him a better situation than the one he has at Eastlake Hall, either here in London or even at Riverdale Abbey.”
Helping Henry would likely require more time. She would have to be patient, she told herself. Everett was not a heartless monster. Surely at some juncture, he would see the wisdom of removing her half brother from her father’s cruel reach as well, just as they had Mother.
“You absolutely ought not to have done so,” Everett snapped, lip curling as if he had just partaken of something particularly distasteful.
“The temerity… Good God, madam. Surely you cannot think to ask to bring that bastard into my own household? Do you have no notion of the insult you pay not just me, but my mother and my sister? Can you possibly believe that I would allow such a thing beneath my very roof?”
“You needn’t be so harsh, Your Grace.” Tears rose to her eyes at his viciousness, and she blinked them away, feeling foolish. “I…I am sorry. It wasn’t my intention to pay you insult. I understand that there is the possibility of scandal, but—”
“The possibility of scandal,” he interrupted, repeating her words with furious bite. “You, madam, have gone beyond the pale.”
“Please, Everett,” she entreated. “I didn’t think—”
“You are damned right about that,” he broke in harshly. “You didn’t think. Not at bloody all.”
He rose from his chair as if it had suddenly burst into flame and stalked to the opposite end of the chamber, fury emanating from him. Sybil stood and hovered at the chair, watching his broad back and waiting for him to turn to her.
But he didn’t.
He simply stalked into his chamber and slammed the door behind him with such awful finality that she flinched. The tears she had been refusing to shed returned with vigor then, stinging her eyes. How had she convinced herself that anything between them had changed?
All these weeks of sharing her body with him, living as his wife at his side, doing everything in her power to find whatever measure of happiness she could, convincing herself that she could love him enough for them both, and what had her na?veté garnered her? The same broken heart.
She rose from her chair, dashing at her tears with the back of her hand. The suitor who had charmed her into a hasty marriage had been nothing but a clever lie. He wanted his heir, but he didn’t want a wife.
She couldn’t bear to endure any more of this anguish. Tomorrow morning, she would begin packing for Riverdale Abbey. She couldn’t remain here in London, enduring this sham of a union for one day longer.
Her marriage to Everett was over.
Her love for him wasn’t enough. She understood now that it never would be.
Dressed haphazardly in trousers, a shirt, and a waistcoat, Everett stalked to the library.
She still loved that bloody footman, damn her.
He wanted to tear the fucking plaster off the walls.
He wanted to rage and shout and smash things.
But he was a civilized man, and the household was abed.
He had two elderly women and a sister he didn’t wish to frighten.
So he moved to the darkened library with as much quiet and haste as he could manage in his furious state, intent upon finding the oblivion to be had at the bottom of the whisky bottle that awaited him there.
Because he also had a wife who had somehow deemed it prudent to ask him to give the man she loved a position in one of their households.
By God.
After all they had shared. After giving herself to him each night. After marrying him and spending these last few months as his wife, Sybil was still consumed by thoughts for her beau. He hadn’t needed Verity to find an answer for him. Everett had the only one he needed now.
His wife was in love with another man.
He bit back a curse as he crossed the library to the fire, stirring it back into a roaring blaze before he poured himself the whisky he’d use to drown his thoughts. How dare she ask him to take on her lover? Had she no notion of what she requested?
No husband in his right mind would allow his wife to bring her lover into one of their households, be the man servant or guest. She must have gone mad. How could she possibly think that he would accept such an arrangement? Did she think he had no pride, no emotions?
He drank deeply of the whisky, relishing the burn.
“Everett?”
Verity’s voice gave him a jolt. He looked up to find his sister moving soundlessly across the Axminster in slipper-shod feet and a dressing gown.
“Verity.” He frowned at her. “Is something amiss?”
Ordinarily, he was grateful for her company. But tonight, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself. He hadn’t been this furious since the day he had seen Sybil in that arsehole footman’s arms.
“It would seem I’m the one who should be asking that question,” she said softly. “I heard raised voices, and then it sounded as if someone was stomping down the stairs.”
Damn it. He ought to have known that there were never any secrets in a household. But he wasn’t ready to be examined by Verity’s clever, probing mind just yet. Everything was too new, too raw, like a wound freshly opened.
He swallowed another mouthful of whisky. “Tell me something, sister. Were you responsible for King’s invitation to dinner this evening?”
Her brows drew together, and she folded her arms in a defensive posture. “Is that the reason for your ire? Pray don’t tell me that your manly jealousy caused you to suspect that Sybil harbors some sort of tendre for the duke.”
“I’m not in the mood for your sharp tongue this evening,” he warned her darkly. “And I can assure you that none of my manly jealousy, as you phrase it, is misplaced.”
Verity cocked her head, considering him. “What has happened between you and Sybil?”
“I don’t want to speak about that now. What I do want to know, however, is just why Kingham has been sniffing about like a stag in rut.”