Chapter Ten #2
“They aren’t. This will blow over.”
“You’d better hope so. You’re everywhere now, so I hope you enjoy it. Enjoy being notorious.” And with that, Isobel stomped out of the room. She quit the townhouse, slamming the front door behind her.
Sibyl sank on the sofa cushions and gripped her knees. A part of her was furious with her friend, though she now wondered if Isobel was a friend at all. The other part of her fretted. What if Isobel was right?
There was a knock on the door. “Isobel?” Sibyl went to the door and answered it, but it was a footman with a letter.
She accepted the letter and looked down at the envelope. It was addressed to her but very poorly written. The writer must have written in haste. She opened it up.
Dear Miss Clifton,
I regret to say that the news of the story behind your paintings has surprised me and I no longer wish to continue our friendship, or to see you.
Were you a less purile and humbler young woman, I might have deigned to recognize you in the street, but now I shall do so no more.
Do not seek me out. My doors are closed to you forever.
Regards
Neville Heyter
The letter fell out of her hands. Mr. Heyter had written her.
In just a few words, he’d ended their relationship.
But last night… he had seen her portraits.
He’d even liked them. The words he’d spoken had been so honest. And then, when he had pleasured her in the garden at the Lyon’s Den, had it all meant nothing?
She blinked hard, and her vision grew watery. Sibyl wanted to explain everything. But he’d made his decision. He didn’t want to see her again. He didn’t want to be friends, even acquaintances.
But her body still tingled from his touches the previous night and she wanted him.
Badly. She shivered at the thought of it, then mentally cursed herself for thinking about his body and touch when she was hurting.
She still wanted to talk with him about books and tell him what she thought of the Sorrows of Young Werther. Now she never would.
Tears began to fall, coursing down her cheeks.
She took the letter and ran upstairs to her room.
She closed the door shut, threw herself onto her bed, and cried into the nearest pillow.
She felt utterly wretched. First her oldest friend had deserted her, Margaret was not that trustworthy, and now Mr. Heyter.
She felt utterly alone. But worse, a niggling thought appeared in her mind.
The source, KH, in the papers was clearly Kate Harvey.
That much was obvious. How much trouble that young woman had caused, and all because of jealousy.
Sibyl’s chin trembled, and she reflected bitterly that if she had known how horrid life could truly be, she would have given the opportunity to Kate, gladly.
To lose Mr. Heyter’s regard broke her heart.
And yet… did she deserve it? Had she truly been so naive that she was at fault and deserved the world’s derision?
The invitations stopped immediately. No one came calling. The harsh article had done its dirty work and had put a stop to all happy associations. The London art world may have known Sibyl’s name, but it was cheap as dirt, as far as they were concerned.
Neville was in a sour mood. He aimed a shot at the billiards table and sent a ball flying, crashing into another ball. But he’d aimed at it so forcefully, he’d almost scored a gash in the green felt of the table. He’d earned a disapproving frown from his opponent and muttered an apology.
He focused on playing the game and lost—terribly. He nodded to his opponent and put back his cue, standing back as others came to play. A glass of brandy was put into his hands.
“George, what are you doing here?” Neville asked.
“Looking for you. Why are you here?”
“What do you mean? Where else would I be?”
In his mind, he couldn’t go anywhere else, and even home was a torment.
Penelope missed the visits from Sibyl’s sister Lucy, and his mother walked around wondering what had gone wrong.
She hadn’t believed the newspaper story for a moment, which had pleased him enormously, but…
he couldn’t shake the feeling that the world had gone terribly wrong, and turned upside down in a heartbeat.
“Well, you played a terrible game just now, so I know your mind is elsewhere. Perhaps on a certain young lady?” George suggested.
“She doesn’t wish to see me,” Neville muttered, drinking his brandy. “She told me so in a letter. It doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t want to see me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Should never have kissed her.”
“‘Kissed her’? When did you do that?”
“In the library. And then again in the… Never mind. She was worried about her virtue. She clearly doesn’t want to be near me.
” She was so worried about what he might think of her.
And now, the entire city of London was talking.
It was no wonder she hid. But to push him away, it was like a dagger in his heart.
George said, “I can’t believe that. She was head over heels for you last time I saw her. She didn’t have eyes for anyone else but you.”
“Then we are both fools,” Neville said, drinking more. He couldn’t go to the bookshops or lending libraries he loved, in case he saw her. He respected her wish for privacy and knew how it would go. The moment the article had come out, he’d known.
“I think Miss Clifton could use friends right now, not distance,” George said.
“She told me she didn’t want to see me anymore,” Neville grumbled, settling into a round-backed comfortable chair. “I’m respecting her wishes.” He drained his glass and motioned to a servant for another.
“And you believe that? She’s going through hell right now. Her name was dragged through the mud. She needs a champion.” George took a seat beside him.
“She needs a good ally, or a journalist for a friend. A patron. She’s going to be just like her.”
“The Countess d’Arbley, you mean,” George said.
Neville paused as a servant filled his glass with brandy, eyeing the amber liquid.
“The very same. Miss Clifton will capitalize on the fame from her modeling and eat up the notoriety and lose her sweet innocence. She may not even love books anymore. She’ll be the toast of London for a few months and then move from suitor to suitor, climbing great heights socially, until she declares herself too grand for London and moves to the Continent to start all over again.
” He drank. “Should never have kissed her.”
“Neville…” George started. “That’s not what is happening here. I’ve only met her a few times and even I know that much. Miss Clifton isn’t the sort to do that.”
Neville shook his head. “I know. But I fear what will happen to her good character. She is sweet and naive about the world. Her family’s good name will be dragged into the mud, and no good will come of it, I assure you.
Their reputations will be reliant upon her standing in society.
To put a whole family’s reputation in the hands of one young woman, who is unused to fame…
It may become insufferable, and it would cruel of her to do that to them,” he finished, wiping his mouth.
“I thought your aunt changed her name.”
“We told her to. It was the best thing she ever did. She couldn’t believe we didn’t all want to ride on her coattails and enjoy her fame, and we couldn’t believe she was singing in public, for money, when she came from a perfectly good family.
So we decided to part ways.” Or at least that was what his father had always told him.
The man had never approved of Aunt Clara’s decision, especially when it impacted the Heyter family name.
In his presence, the woman’s name was not to be spoken.
Especially as her fame and notoriety had grown.
Neville had grown up hearing wild tales whispered about his famous aunt, and even though his father had died some years ago, Neville had taken those lessons to heart.
He’d learned to never trust those who seek out fame, for it only brought misfortune and heartache.
“You’re forgetting something,” George said.
“And what’s that?”
“Miss Clifton is not your aunt.”
Neville brooded over his glass of brandy and eyed George.
“You and I both know that is not her character. She may have posed for the artist, yes. But a lot of women do, and it’s not a bad thing. Families do all the time. They even pay for the privilege. Do you really believe this nonsense about her giving away her virtue?”
“No. And I don’t want to believe it,” Neville growled.
“Then have a little faith in her. She’s never led you to believe that she would do such a thing, has she?”
His mind wandered to the warm feel of her soft body pressed against the bookshelves. In his mind, he pinned her against the books they both loved so much, while he trailed kisses down her soft, pale neck. He swallowed at the memory. “No.”
“Then why think so now? A newspaper was bound to take a dig at her at some point. You and I both know she is not the sort of woman to welcome infamy into her life. Why are you here now, and not at her side? She could use your support.”
“She doesn’t want it.” Neville finished his brandy.
“I saw it in the papers. My mother was most distressed. She was worried for Miss Clifton. I would have gone to her right away, but she wrote me and said she doesn’t want to see me anymore, as she is too busy and has too many parties to attend.
But it is strange, since the papers said she was essentially an outcast from society.
” He felt hollow and more than a bit confused.
How could she have turned on him so completely?
“She must have found suitors from somewhere. My aunt always found those willing to receive her, even after she became notorious.” His voice was glum.