Chapter 20
Sylvie had put off speaking to her mother about Lucy’s vague insinuations all week.
The delay was partly out of worry about what exactly Mother knew and partly fear that she would confirm what Lucy claimed. Knowing Miles had taken time to visit Lucy but hadn’t spared even a word for Sylvie before leaving the country would be far more painful than wondering if he had.
But by Friday morning, Sylvie couldn’t procrastinate any longer. Her show on Thursday had suffered thanks to her emotional turmoil. Her shots hadn’t been as clean as she liked. One had even missed the center bullseye, though by a small enough margin the audience didn’t notice.
While she only had a few shows left to perform for the season, Sylvie didn’t want to end it on a bad note.
Leaving the resort manager questioning if her show was worth keeping for next year wasn’t acceptable.
Sylvie might have only secured her father’s promise not to tell Mother about the show until they returned to Cleveland, but Sylvie still held out hope that a way would open up for her to continue the next year if she needed to. Which was looking more and more likely.
Knowing she couldn’t give the show her all with the questions about Miles and Lucy hanging over her, Sylvie descended the stairs on Friday morning at the exact time Mother preferred to eat her breakfast. As expected, Sylvie found her at the table in the breakfast room, reading the society column while nibbling at a piece of toast spread with jam.
Sylvie bypassed the food in favor of sitting down across from Mother and starting in before she lost her nerve.
“Mother, I need to ask you about when Mr. Wentworth left. Lucy Casburn said he came here and spoke with her.”
With a small sigh, Mother set down her toast and then the paper. She patted the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin before meeting Sylvie’s gaze. “Yes, he did. What of it?”
Frustration burned in Sylvie’s chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I saw no reason. He wasn’t here for you, but for Miss Casburn. What good could come of throwing that in your face?”
It made sense, but Sylvie still felt her mother knew Sylvie would have questions. Nothing would be solved by arguing over her motivation, so Sylvie moved on to a more difficult question. “What did he say to her?”
The question hung in the air between them, spoken in a smaller, tighter tone than Sylvie intended. She was revealing too much about her feelings for Miles.
But instead of jumping on that slip, her mother’s expression turned compassionate. “Oh Sylvia, you needn’t burden yourself with that. He’s better left to someone else, anyway.”
“What on earth does that mean? You’ve been pushing me at him all summer, and now you want to let Lucy have him?”
Stacking her hands one on the other on top of the table, Mother drew a deep breath, as if to fortify herself for something difficult. Was this it? Had Lucy revealed Sylvie’s activities, and now the consequences were in front of her?
“Miss Casburn is also not pursuing Mr. Wentworth any longer.”
Confusion heaved through Sylvie’s thoughts, stirring them into a mess. “Whyever not? She’s been very insistent on catching his attention since arriving here. And I know Lucy. She doesn’t give up easily.”
Mother tilted her head. “Sylvia, after Mr. Wentworth left, Miss Casburn revealed some rather dark information. I’d hoped to spare you from it since he’s gone, anyway. But I suppose knowing will help you move past this infatuation with him.”
It all sounded so ominous. Sylvie’s stomach dropped, and she swallowed hard as Mother went on.
“It seems he got into some significant legal trouble as a younger man. He was a suspect in a murder case, my dear. While I hesitate to trust Miss Casburn, your father contacted a business acquaintance who was able to dig up newspaper articles about it from England. I’m afraid what she said is true. ”
Sagging back in her chair, Sylvie’s breath eased. “Is that all? He told me about it himself. He was falsely accused. He did nothing wrong and has still been suffering for it all these years.”
The sympathy dripping from Mother’s expression made Sylvie want to throw something.
“That doesn’t matter to society. If—or more likely when—word gets out, his opportunities and connections will dry up faster than you could imagine.
Regardless of your feelings, there’s too great a risk that he’ll be shut out of society.
Your father and I cannot consider him as a potential suitor for you, even if he does return at some point. ”
Unable to control the anger rising in her throat, Sylvie slammed her palms on the table to push up from the chair. “That’s ridiculous. He’s a good man. Why should something he didn’t do, that was completely based on hearsay, determine if he’s acceptable? Why can’t what he does now matter more?”
Mother’s expression stilled, but a hint of fire sparked in her eyes.
“And what is he doing now, Sylvia? Where is he? Is he here pursuing you? Clearing his name? No. He ran away, leaving only uncertainty in his wake. It’s time for you to move on and take your future seriously.
You will accept visitors with me this afternoon.
There will be eligible gentlemen present, and you will consider each one. There will be no arguments about this.”
Sylvie knew when she was at a disadvantage. As much as she wanted to curl up in her room that afternoon and have a good cry, Mother was likely to physically drag her downstairs in the type of mood she was in.
Worst of all, Mother had driven home one undeniable truth, despite assuming the worst about Miles.
He was gone. For once, Lucy had been honest. He’d left without a word to Sylvie, and without stating any plans to return.
The feelings she’d been harboring toward him despite her best efforts had been misplaced.
Tears welled in her eyes, but what good could crying do now? Sylvie retreated to her room and lost herself in a book for the rest of the morning. Delia arrived to help her dress for the afternoon, and Sylvie left the maid to her ministrations without a word, lost in numbness.
At two o’clock, Sylvie presented herself for an afternoon of what could only be described as her mother losing all sense.
Twenty or so gentlemen milled around the Bryce parlor, casting frequent glances Sylvie’s way.
No doubt Mother had led them to believe Sylvie was choosing a husband from among them, because most had come bearing flowers or trinkets.
It made her skin crawl. Mr. Kinsey smiled at her from across the room, but even that sympathetic gesture didn’t do a thing to lift her spirits.
She wasn’t ready to consider anyone else, not so soon after discovering that Miles didn’t return her affection.
At least Mother had the grace to ensure that Matilda was at Sylvie’s side for the dreadful proceedings.
Sylvie pressed her shoulder against her friend’s, drawing comfort from her as they sat side by side on a settee with three gentlemen in chairs across from them, including Mr. Greene.
Sylvie twisted her head at an odd angle that allowed her to block her lips from the men while whispering to Matilda.
“What am I going to do? I don’t want to be in the same room with most of these men, much less marry one of them. ”
Matilda lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “Pretend to consider them while putting your mother off as long as possible? That’s what you’ve always done, and it worked this long.”
Sylvie swallowed hard. “She’s different this summer. More intense and much more focused on getting me married than ever before. She’s not going to let me delay this any longer. I don’t know how I’m going to sneak out to my shows anymore either.”
Matilda aimed a polite but unemotional smile at one of the men, who watched them with far too much interest. Then she raised her hand to shield her lips, clearly unconcerned if they found her behavior rude.
“You only have two more weeks of shows, anyway, don’t you?
Have you saved enough money this summer to stand up to your mother once and for all? ”
The meager stack of cash hidden deep under Sylvie’s mattress flashed in her mind. She shook her head, and Matilda’s face fell. “Well, you can’t consider most of these fellows for a lifetime companion. I’m not sure what your mother was thinking. She could do much better.”
Sylvie might agree, but Mother hadn’t given her much choice in the matter.
Hoping to calm the rising panic tightening her chest, Sylvie excused herself from the settee, leaving Matilda to entertain the trio of gentlemen while she caught her breath for a moment.
Slipping out of the parlor, Sylvie crossed the hall with light steps and darted through the open door of her father’s study.
Dropping back against the dark wood wall out of view of the hall, she let out a long, slow breath.
She wanted to pray. There had been times over the summer when she’d felt God might care about more than just gaining her obedience.
She’d begun to think He might want to fulfill her dreams, even if she wasn’t perfect.
Had she gotten it wrong? Had God left her in this mess because she went behind her mother’s back?
Was her work at Cedar Point too close to deception, even though she’d tried not to lie?
“Miss Bryce, are you well? It bothers me how often you’re distressed when we’re together.”
Startled, Sylvie whipped around to see Mr. Kinsey leaning on the doorframe.
He cut a dashing figure, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, a bemused smirk quirking his lips.
She felt a responding half smile forming, despite the terrible day.
“I’m fine, Mr. Kinsey. Only a bit overwhelmed with the… ah…zeal of our guests today.”
Stepping into the room and joining Sylvie in leaning against the wall, Mr. Kinsey arched an eyebrow. “You aren’t swept off your feet by their zeal? Shocking, really.”