Chapter 4
Sylvie held her breath as she strode away from Mr. Wentworth, praying he wouldn’t follow her. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to engage in conversation with him at all. He didn’t know who she was. It wouldn’t have mattered if she chose rudeness and left without speaking to him.
But the man was downright charming. The spark of interest in his eyes when she’d spoken about the lady archer had been impossible to ignore.
If not for her mother’s insistence on throwing Sylvie at him, Sylvie would enjoy his company.
But that possibility was already doomed before she could even consider it.
Mother had insisted, and Sylvie refused to prove her right.
Miles Wentworth was not the man for her.
Sylvie made her way to the sprawling, busy bathhouse.
Going to such a crowded area while in her costume was risky, but Sylvie had to remove the disguise somewhere before leaving.
During her first few weeks of performing, the resort manager allowed her to change in an office housed near the Coliseum.
But she’d stood out too much there. The level of activity around the bathhouse distracted most people from noticing when she emerged in her normal attire.
She now had a key to a staff changing room around the back of the building, so Sylvie withdrew it from a pocket in her skirt and slipped inside, praying as she always did that no one noticed.
The dim room was a little bigger than the public changing rooms and held a bench, a mirror, and several hooks on the wall.
Sylvie unfastened the cloak, tugged off the mask, and stuffed both items into her bag.
Delia had taught Sylvie a simple hairstyle she could do on her own, since the hood made such a mess of it while she was performing.
After taking a moment to re-pin the loose strands, Sylvie cracked the door and peeked out, looking around once again to ensure no one was watching her.
It might be silly to exercise such caution, but there was too much at stake to allow the ruse to be exposed before she’d hardly begun. She needed this bit of stolen freedom.
Finally confident she was safe to leave, Sylvie headed toward the dock, where she would board a steamer that would take her back to Put-In-Bay.
She walked with rushed steps that left her breathless, but she was short on time to get home, clean up, and dress for the next social event that evening as it was.
Any delay would make all of them late to a dinner party hosted by Mrs. Templeton, which Sylvie’s mother would never stand for.
Sylvie would much rather spend the next few hours dreaming up new tricks to thrill the audience at her next show, but it would take being near death before Mother would allow her to skip a social engagement.
Once Sylvie reached her room, Delia appeared to help her don an elegant cream satin gown with sparkling beads strewn everywhere.
Mother liked to dress Sylvie in lighter colors, claiming it would put men in the mind of weddings.
To which Sylvie mentally declared that only money put weddings in the minds of any men she knew.
At least the gown fit well, with a square neckline that didn’t plunge lower than Sylvie liked and fluttery elbow-length sleeves that weren’t too cumbersome.
And Sylvie had managed to convince Mother to add a bit of color to the hem and bodice in the form of beaded green appliques shaped like bows.
Even though no one else would understand the connection, Sylvie liked having the green there to represent her newfound attempt at making her own choices.
But now, one person might be able to connect her to the lady archer, after all.
Mr. Wentworth had looked at her with such a knowing look during their conversation that afternoon.
Could it really be a coincidence that he’d shown up at the resort of all places, at the specific corner of the Coliseum where she hid, at the exact moment she’d let her disguise slip?
Still, she couldn’t fathom how he would have recognized her. She’d allowed the hood to drop for a brief moment, but it had been back in place when he rounded the corner. No, most likely, her secret was still intact.
Sylvie sent up a brief prayer thanking God for the opportunity to do the show and asking Him to help her be more careful. She must do her best to stay far away from Mr. Wentworth. Since his hosts socialized in the same circles as her family, it wouldn’t be an easy feat. But it was necessary.
Even as she made the decision, a tiny voice deep inside reminded her of the spark of interest that had ignited when they’d spoken earlier.
She never experienced anything of the sort with the gentlemen she met at society events.
It was a shame she couldn’t allow it to fan into a flame. But she couldn’t, plain and simple.
Finally dressed and with her hair twisted into an intricate arrangement with yet another irritating feather prepared to droop into her face at any moment, Sylvie joined her parents downstairs.
They proceeded to Mrs. Templeton’s home, an ostentatious mansion tucked close to a lovely stretch of pristine beach.
Carriage after carriage rolled up to the front, where guests dressed in the most elegant fashions climbed out before another took their place.
While the dinner party would have a more exclusive guest list than a ball, it appeared there would still be a significant number of people in attendance.
Sylvie followed her parents inside when it was their turn, surveying the room for Matilda.
And, if she must be honest, for Mr. Wentworth.
But only so she could avoid him from the start.
The summer house had reportedly been designed by the late Mr. Templeton and was beyond lavish.
Marble floors gleamed while matching marble columns with gilded trim formed archways throughout the foyer.
A grand double staircase—also made of marble with wrought-iron banisters—filled the far end of the room.
To Sylvie’s relief, Matilda appeared at her side, stunning in a sapphire satin gown that set off her dark hair to perfection.
“There you are. You’ll never guess who arrived yesterday for the summer. ”
Matilda grabbed Sylvie’s arm and tugged her toward the drawing room, where guests gathered to talk and be seen before the meal. Leaning this way and that to peer around people, Matilda finally straightened when she caught sight of her prey. “There, next to Leila and Adelle Moreau.”
Sylvie had to step in front of Matilda to see where she indicated, but when she saw the group the sisters stood with, her heart dropped.
It was impossible not to recognize such elegantly coiffed blond hair, a delicate complexion envied throughout Cleveland, and a gown so extravagant it nearly outshined her perfect features.
“I didn’t think Lucy Casburn intended to summer here this year.
She made such a fuss about her family going to the mountains instead.
As if they’re the only ones who could afford a summer retreat in the Adirondacks. ”
With a smug tip of her head, Matilda smirked a little. “Maybe they can’t, and that’s why they’re here.”
Sylvie tapped her friend’s arm while holding back a smirk, silently admonishing such an unkind comment. But still…wherever Lucy Casburn went, trouble followed. She stirred it up like a little boy with a stick who discovered a hornet’s nest.
Straightening her spine and raising her chin, Sylvie shrugged off a twinge of worry. “No matter. We’ll do our best to avoid her. Now, where’s your handsome beau? He’s usually lurking nearby, but I don’t see him.”
Matilda’s face fell. “He was called back to Cleveland for a few days on business.”
Sylvie’s heart clenched at the idea of missing someone enough to be that melancholy when he was gone for a mere few days. She wanted that kind of love.
Mrs. Templeton’s voice rang out across the room, calling for her guests’ attention.
“Welcome, everyone. I hope you’re having a lovely time socializing.
I have a fine meal planned for you tonight, inspired by the French countryside and prepared by a chef straight from Paris.
Please, make your way to your seats so we can begin. ”
Two gentlemen appeared to escort her and Matilda into the dining room.
To Sylvie’s dismay, it was Mr. Greene who held out his arm toward her.
His expectation was clear, and she was well aware that following the rules would make the evening go much smoother and quicker than causing a scene.
So she rested her hand on Mr. Greene’s elbow, while Matilda did the same with her assigned escort, a young man Sylvie suspected she’d met before but who had been forgettable enough that his name escaped her.
Once seated, Sylvie removed her gloves and situated her napkin on her lap, hoping to keep busy enough to avoid conversation with Mr. Greene.
Matilda was seated farther down, too far away for Sylvie to speak with.
Her parents sat near each other toward the head of the table, leaving Sylvie alone to manage her companion’s droning.
But if being required to spend the entire meal next to Mr. Greene was bad, her first glance up from her place setting revealed it was much worse than that.
Mr. Wentworth was settling into the chair across the table from her, striking in a rich black evening coat.
His white waistcoat and shirt fit closely enough to display the impressive breadth of his chest…
Sylvie forced her gaze away. She would not consider the breadth of Mr. Wentworth nor the obvious strength in his graceful movements. But in attempting not to stare at him, Sylvie found herself gazing straight at his partner for dinner—none other than Lucy Casburn.
And if her glare was any indication, Lucy wasn’t any happier to be seated across from Sylvie.
It was going to be a long, miserable dinner.