Chapter 2
As Sylvie waved goodbye to Matilda and left the ballroom behind her parents, she took one last surreptitious glance around.
Not for Mr. Wentworth, of course. He was the farthest thing from her mind.
She certainly hadn’t spent the rest of the ball reliving the moment he invited her to confide in him, the way his brown eyes melted when he caught her unintended admission.
And the pang of disappointment that hit her as they passed through the open double doors at the front of the hotel had nothing to do with not seeing him one last time.
She didn’t even like the man. No matter how much Mother prattled on about him as they climbed into their waiting carriage, he wasn’t the right man for Sylvie.
But prattle she did. Mother leaned back against the cushioned seat and sighed in Father’s direction.
“Thomas, you’ll have to invite the marquess to the club in Sandusky this week.
If Sylvia is going to outshine the other girls, we’ll have to help her. ”
“He asked to be called Mr. Wentworth, Mother. Or have you chosen to disregard his preferences too?” The retort brought a swift glare from her mother, but it had slipped out too fast for Sylvie to restrain it.
First of all, because she hated the way Mother insisted on using her full name despite all the times she’d asked to be called the less formal version.
Second, because the comment more than insinuated that Sylvie—if she had any desire to participate in such nonsense—wouldn’t be capable of standing out among the others without her parents convincing Mr. Wentworth to notice her.
Mother tilted her head with narrowed eyes, the calculating look sending a spike of worry through Sylvie. “I might say you’re too concerned about his preferences for someone who claims not to have any interest in him, Sylvia. Perhaps my instincts here aren’t so wrong.”
Sylvie squeezed her lips together to stop another rejoinder.
After swallowing back the unpleasant words that sprang to her tongue, she spoke in the most controlled tone she could manage.
“I simply think he would appreciate your consideration for his request. I imagine he’d look at our family with more favor for it. ”
Of course, that wasn’t her actual concern.
She didn’t care whether some rich English heir was pleased with them or not.
But arguing with her mother tonight would only cause a bigger scene.
And Sylvie was too tired to manage more than she’d already dealt with.
The hours she’d been spending on her secret endeavor demanded far more energy than she’d expected, not to mention the steps she had to take to ensure it remained a secret.
There had been a disguise to design and procure in secret.
She’d spent several days learning her way around the Cedar Point resort.
For a girl who had rarely been allowed away from home without a chaperone, it had been a trying undertaking.
But Sylvie had accomplished it with only a little help from her maid and advice from Matilda.
The most difficult aspect had been concocting a reason to leave by herself two days each week without arousing her mother’s suspicions.
Sylvie hadn’t wanted to lie, so Matilda had invited her to do some charity work together at those exact times for the first few weeks after they left Cleveland.
Once the routine was established, Mother didn’t ask where Sylvie was going or with whom, so she could begin going instead to Cedar Point every Monday and Thursday for her shows.
It wasn’t a lie until Mother asked, despite the occasional twinges of guilt in Sylvie’s chest.
Tugging the dratted feather out of her hair when it drooped into her face again, Sylvie let her head drop back against the seat.
Mother’s diatribe continued through the short drive home, the only response her father’s occasional murmurs.
He, too, knew it was best to let Mother talk herself out after an eventful evening.
The island where much of Cleveland’s high society chose to own summer cottages wasn’t large, so it didn’t take long to arrive at their residence after leaving the hotel.
Sylvie always found the popular use of the word cottage to be incongruous with the reality of these homes—slightly smaller versions of the mansions they all lived in back on Euclid Avenue in Cleveland.
The Bryce cottage was no different. It was a bit more intimate than their primary residence, but still far larger than three people could ever need.
Sylvie preferred it to their house in town, though.
Instead of being clad in heavy stone or brick, these houses sported wood siding painted in a variety of pastel colors.
Theirs was a lovely shade of blue that matched the sky over Lake Erie on a clear, calm day.
But her favorite part was the sprawling, tree-dotted lawn.
The gardens and outbuildings provided plenty of places to escape the watchful eyes of her parents, which made her clandestine activities that much easier.
Once inside, Sylvie attempted to make a quick getaway to her room, but her father stopped her at the base of the grand staircase with a hand on her shoulder.
Mother passed them, quiet and contemplative after all that talking, which was never a good sign.
But Sylvie fixed her attention on her father rather than worrying about it.
Gray hairs that had been present at his temples for years took over more of his thinning brown locks every day, but his gentle hazel eyes never changed.
He wasn’t an assertive man, preferring to let Mother handle matters while he enjoyed his own pursuits.
But the occasions when he had stuck up for Sylvie over the years remained some of her favorite memories.
This time, he fiddled with the buttons on his jacket, giving Sylvie the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “My dear girl, you should listen to your mother this time.”
At least he didn’t beat around the bush. “Why this time, Father? She’s pushed me at the unmarried men in society for the last two years, and you didn’t say a word.”
He patted her hand while it rested on the banister, a rare gesture of affection from a man who was usually somewhat distant.
“That’s entirely why. You’ve rejected a good many men, and not kindly in some cases.
Gentlemen may not gossip the same way ladies tend to, but they share enough.
You know what your future holds. It’s time to begin making choices to help you secure the best option available to you before they all decide it’s not worth the trouble. ”
The pragmatic words thudded straight into Sylvie’s heart, tightening her chest. She was used to everyone believing her only choice in life was to act the part of an accomplished, acceptable wife.
All she wanted was to be allowed to choose her own companion for that future, but even that was more than anyone believed she could manage.
In their eyes, obedience was all she was capable of.
And maybe they were right. She did tend to make a mess of anything she planned herself.
Swallowing hard, Sylvie refused to let him see how much his words hurt. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good night, Father.”
Spinning on the toe of her ivory dancing slipper, Sylvie kept her shoulders squared until she reached her room.
But as soon as she pushed the door shut, she dropped her forehead against it and let the smooth wood calm her.
Out of habit, her heart turned to God for direction, but she didn’t expect a response.
These days, it felt as if He wasn’t any more interested in her desires than her parents.
All anyone cared about was Sylvie fulfilling their expectations.
A good cry never hurt, so Sylvie buried her face in her pillow to muffle the sound and let it all out in frustrated tears.
Eventually, the moisture welling in her eyes slowed enough that she could draw a deep, cleansing breath.
There was one part of this day she’d been excited about, and it was finally time.
Straightening, Sylvie rang for her maid.
Delia appeared moments later and looked Sylvie up and down but didn’t mention her swollen red eyes. “Good evening, miss. May I help you with your gown?”
Sylvie nodded and turned around to let Delia undo the ball gown.
The kind Irish woman was only a few years Sylvie’s senior, and they had formed a close relationship.
Enough so that Delia was the only person besides Matilda who knew what Sylvie had been up to since they’d arrived at Put-In-Bay for the summer.
And that led Sylvie to a subject she’d much rather discuss than give her maid a chance to ask about the ball.
“Delia, did you manage to procure the item I asked you for?”
By the time Sylvie’s head popped through the top of her nightdress, Delia’s forehead had scrunched and her eyes narrowed. “I did, miss. It’s hanging with your other clothes. But I don’t like the idea, if I might say so. Not one bit.”
Scurrying to the ornate wooden wardrobe in the corner, Sylvie threw open the door and riffled through until she saw it, hidden in the back behind her most voluminous gowns.
She dragged the new garment out. It was a short cloak made of heavy dark-green velvet.
It would be hot to wear in the summer, but that was the price Sylvie would have to pay for anonymity.
She swung it around to settle over her shoulders and stepped toward the mirror to see for herself.
When drawn up, the deep hood obscured her face quite well, while boning in the front hem provided enough structure to keep it from blocking her sight.
“This is perfect, Delia. Thank you.”
The maid tsked once again. “Why must you do something so odd, miss? Your mother won’t like it if she finds out.”