Chapter Five #2
“Hmm. That won’t do. I’ll have to hunt for an English translation.” He replaced the book on the shelf and took the book she had chosen. He paid for the slim volume and as he escorted them out of the shop, he turned to Lucy. “Miss Lucy, I wonder. You are new to town—”
Lucy winced.
“And no doubt have seen a great many sights already.”
Lucy relaxed.
“I wonder if you might be willing to do me a favor. My sister, you see, lies abed from a broken leg.” Seeing their expressions, he added, “She was pretending to be a pirate and fell out of a tree.” He looked down. “She’s very adventurous.”
“How old is she?” Sibyl asked.
“Fourteen.”
“Why, that’s only a year younger than Lucy.”
He rubbed the side of his face. “I wonder if you might be willing to pay her a call soon. She does not have many friends, and I suspect would like a bit of conversation with someone her own age. I’m too old to be of much entertainment to her. She likes to read, especially fairy tales.”
Sibyl cocked her head at him. Was that why he’d almost fought her at the bookstall when they’d first met? He’d been looking for a book for his sister?
Before she could ask, he said, “She is at home most days. She will be free tomorrow, if you would care to visit for an hour or two.”
Was that a hopeful look in his eye? She wasn’t sure.
“We would be delighted.”
“Excellent.” He told them his address and escorted them out to their carriage. As the footman stepped down and opened the door, Mr. Heyter gave Lucy a hand up and offered the same gentlemanly assistance to Sibyl.
“I am not so delicate that I need help getting into a carriage.” Sibyl smiled. She personally felt such minor attentions were unnecessary.
“It is not your delicacy I am thinking about,” he said.
“What, then?”
“Perhaps it is the touch of a fine lady’s hand.”
She looked down and realized she had paused, one foot on the small folding step, and still held his hand. She blinked and climbed inside.
He shut the door with a snap, kicked up the folding step, and nodded to the footman to drive them away. But he stood by and watched as the carriage entered the London traffic.
“I think he likes you,” Lucy said.
Sibyl wished she had a fan at that moment. She felt her heart all a flutter as his words stayed with her. She took a breath, and said, “Don’t be silly. He’s just being kind.”
“Maybe. But he likes to talk to you.”
“So?”
“There were other pretty ladies in the shop. They were looking at him. But it was like he didn’t see them at all.” Lucy shrugged. “Do I really have to go tomorrow?”
“Yes. It’s a personal favor to him. He asked. It would be rude not to.”
“Fine. But she’s probably like a child. We won’t have anything to talk about.”
“You could always play a game. They’re bound to have something to do.”
Lucy stuck out her bottom lip, a sure sign she had her doubts. “If you say so.”
The next day, Sibyl and Lucy dressed well and took a carriage to Mr. Heyter’s address, not far from Regent’s Park.
It was one townhouse connected to a row of others, with smart-looking pillars and high windows.
They knocked and were received by the family’s footman, who showed them into a parlor.
He led them into a decently-sized room. It was a trifle large, Sibyl could tell, but comfortable.
The walls were of a light-green color that reminded her of the sea at times, and the curtains were of thick, forest-green material, bound back by gold braided ties.
“Miss Clifton, Miss Lucy, how good of you to come.” Mr. Heyter bowed and rubbed his hands on his thighs.
Was he nervous? Sibyl wondered.
There was a smart chaise lounge in the room by a large window, and on it sat reclining a young woman.
Although from the look of her, she was more girl than woman, for she had the thin, skinny, coltish look of a girl on the cusp of womanhood, with long limbs and short, uncertain, ungainly movements. No grace about her at all, but Sibyl was sure there would be in time.
The young woman looked at them curiously as they approached. Mr. Heyter said, “Miss Clifton, Miss Lucy, allow me to introduce my sister, Penelope.”
The ladies curtsied and Penelope nodded. She said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’d stand if I could, but the doctors won’t let me.”
“That’s right. You’re not to move a muscle. We’re on strict orders to keep your leg bound and even moving you to the lounge was taking a liberty,” Mr. Heyter said, his voice firm.
Penelope looked on the verge of sticking her tongue out at him but did not. Instead, she looked at Lucy. “Do you want tea?”
“Mm-hmm.” Lucy pulled up a chair and sat by her, while Mr. Heyter tugged on a bell pull and addressed a servant. “Tea for us, please.”
“And biscuits,” Penelope called.
Mr. Heyter arched an eyebrow at his sister, and Sibyl grinned. He cleared his throat. “Miss Clifton, I wonder, do you play games much?”
“Not too much. Why?” Sibyl asked.
“I wonder if I might tempt you with a game of chess.”
“Now that, I do play. But I warn you, I am a poor loser.”
“And I play to win. Let us see who shall emerge the victor.” He gestured for her to take a seat. In the center of the room were two long sofas and chairs scattered around, but nearby was also a small, wooden games table and two chairs sat by it.
She removed her hat, coat, and gloves, took a seat in one of the chairs and waited patiently as he took two pawns of different colors and held them in his fists so she couldn’t see.
“Pick one,” he told her.
She tapped one of his fists, and he opened up his palm, revealing… “White.”
Together, they set up an ordinary chessboard and the pieces and began to play. Soon, she lost herself in the game, only noticing when a servant brought up a tea tray with a steaming silver tea service and white China cups and saucers, along with a large plate of biscuits.
“Here, let me.” Mr. Heyter stood back and began to get involved with the tea things, when the doors to the parlor opened, revealing a well-dressed matron with a set of gray curls beneath her mobcap.
There was a slight resemblance between her and Penelope.
She strode forward, smoothing down wrinkles in her dress that bore a great many ruffles.
“Why, Neville, you never told me we had guests.”
“My apologies, Mother. I thought I’d mentioned it at dinner.” He stood back. “Mother, may I present Miss Sibyl Clifton and her sister, Miss Lucy?”
Sibyl rose, as did her sister, and curtsied. “How do you do, Mrs. Heyter?”
The requisite greetings exchanged, Lucy accepted cups of tea and a plate of sweet biscuits for her and Penelope, while Mrs. Heyter served Sibyl and Neville.
So that is what it is like, Sibyl thought, watching their hostess.
Being mistress of a household, pouring tea for the guests.
Is that what it would be like to be married to him?
To be Mrs. Neville Heyter? She blinked at the thought and observed as Neville gently teased his mother and they exchanged friendly words that spoke of affection.
It is pleasant to see, Sibyl thought. She paused, then realized Mrs. Heyter was looking at her thoughtfully. The older woman had said something.
“I beg your pardon?” Sibyl asked.
“I said, I do hope you can teach my son a thing or two when it comes to games. He has no equal and never likes to hear of any differing opinion,” Mrs. Heyter teased, smiling at Neville.
Once tea had been served, Mrs. Heyter asked, “And, Miss Clifton, are you talented in the arts? Are you a great musician?”
She blinked. “Not at all. But I do enjoy reading.”
“Ah. I myself—”
“Mother, please,” Neville said. “We were playing a game.”
“Yes, yes, all right. You two start and I’ll come by in a few minutes. But I have every right to enquire, you know.” To Sibyl, she said, “You are the first young woman he has mentioned, much less encouraged to pay a visit.” Her mouth curved into a knowing smile.
“Mother…” Mr. Heyter groaned.
Sibyl bit back a laugh, but Mrs. Heyter’s teasing sent a shiver of warmth through her. She felt special.
Mrs. Heyter laughed, finished her tea, and went to speak with Lucy and Penelope.
As they resumed their chess game, Neville said, “I hope you do not mind her. She means well.”
Sibyl smiled. “She seems charming.” And she took his pawn.
His eyes flashed, and he raised an eyebrow at her as he moved another pawn forward.
They lost focus on all but the game, and it was rather like a dance, Sibyl thought.
Backward and forward, advance and retreat.
But this was somehow more intimate. It was like the world had stopped, time had paused, and it was only the two of them.
Fortified by tea, she lost pieces and gained others and was keenly aware of his eyes on her, and the clean scent of him.
Here, as game opponents, there was no reason to avoid looking at each other for long.
Indeed, she could look at him and not have her start be misconstrued as anything but being deep in thought for the game.
Sibyl wondered where he might make his next move, when she ought to move a rook to support her queen, rather than defend her knight.
He lost his bishop in the next exchange, and she reached to remove it from the chess board at the same time as him, and their hands touched.
She froze. The feel of his fingertips against hers was electric, and a thrill ran up her body. “Sorry, I…”
“No, please. My bishop is yours.” He held open his palm with the bishop, and she reached for it, when he stroked her fingers with his thumb.
She almost dropped the chess piece. His thumb was so soft and smooth. She swallowed and snatched her hand back, setting the fallen bishop aside.
Mrs. Heyter wandered over. “And who is winning?”
“He is,” Sibyl said, at the same time as Mr. Heyter said, “She is.”
They looked at each other. Mrs. Heyter laughed. “Well, I’m glad that’s decided.” She pulled up a chair. “Now, Miss Clifton, I wonder, do you read the society papers?”
Not if I can help it, Sibyl thought. But that wouldn’t have been very kind, or sociable, and she found herself wanting the older woman’s good opinion. “Not very often, Mrs. Heyter. I prefer novels and some poetry.”
“Ah, you take after Penelope, I see. Well, I read in the papers just this morning that the artist Phillippe, this portrait artist who’s becoming popular these days, that he is making a big fuss about his new muse. Can you imagine?”
The older woman looked so cheerful and kind, Sibyl wanted to make her smile. “Indeed, I gather he’s very particular about those he paints.”
“Ah, but this won’t be just anyone. The article I read said the muse was certain to be a major public figure. Maybe a new actress, or a young maiden about to hit the marriage mart. Could be a good choice for you, eh, Neville?”
Mr. Heyter cleared his throat. “Mother…”
“Yes, yes, I know that tone. I’m nattering and you’d prefer me to leave. But it is a mystery, and I love a good surprise. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was someone we knew?”
Sibyl gave a warm smile to her hostess. “I don’t know many actresses, ma’am.”
“She might be a singer, or perhaps a wealthy widow. Or a duchess. Or like your…”
Mr. Heyter rose from his seat. “That’s it. I cannot focus on the game with all this talk of duchesses and singers. Miss Clifton, might I tempt you with a tour of the library?”
Sibyl’s eyes widened. “You have a library?”
Mrs. Heyter laughed. “Nothing so grand as that. More a little study with some books on the shelves. I never go in there. But the servants say they keep it clean and dusted. Do tell me if the place makes you sneeze. I won’t be offended.
Oh, and do keep the door open. We wouldn’t want anyone to think you are unchaperoned.
” Mrs. Heyter pushed back her chair and crossed the room.
“Now, Lucy, tell me all about yourself. Oh, you’ve finished the plate of biscuits. I’ll call for another. Paul!”
Mr. Heyter was watching Sibyl. “Shall we?”
She rose from her seat. “Are you sure you aren’t just wanting to escape because I am winning?”
“Not quite.” He met her eyes, and his gaze made her cheeks feel warm. “Follow me.”
He led her out of the room, through an open door and down a narrow corridor, to the left, where a door led to a study.
But it wasn’t just a study. It had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, arranged in a haphazard fashion.
Books were everywhere, along with pamphlets, rolls, balled-up pieces of paper, and a desk nearby with an ink stand, a ledger, and papers. The room itself was clean, sort of.
But the sight of all the books caught her attention. “You have so many books…” She went to the bookshelves, unable to stop herself.
She traced her hands over the titles, reading them. There were histories, works by Ovid and Cicero, treatises on Plato, reprints of physical remedy books, self-help manuals, even a book of poetry or two. She became conscious of Mr. Heyter standing near her.
“Do you like them?” he asked.
“Very much. Although I’m surprised they’re so untidy.”
He snorted. “Why, Miss Clifton. Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to insult a man’s bookshelves?” He touched her hand.
A little electric feeling went through her. She looked down. He’d taken her left hand and held it. There was no denying it. It wasn’t a mistake or an accidental brush. He’d taken her hand and now was facing her.
She looked up at him. She didn’t let go of his hand. Her cheeks felt warm. His fingers felt warm. “I…”
He spoke quietly. “You know what I sometimes wondered about, in all my readings of these books? The art of pleasing a woman. To touch her and make her blood warm. To see spots of color rise in her cheeks. To learn what makes her blush. Like you are, now.”
She felt warm. Was it warm in here? Her eyes darted to the door. It was most definitely closed. They were quite alone. The knowledge of it made her heart pound.
He stepped closer. “You know what else? I often wondered if any of these works gave advice on how to kiss a woman, and to do it well.”
She swallowed. Her throat felt dry. “Oh?”
“Yes. Would you care for a demonstration?” He stood very close now. Too close for propriety. Too close to be safe.
She didn’t want safe. “Yes.” Her chest rose and fell.
He moved in then, slowly and softly, pressed her against the wall of books, and touched his lips to hers.