Chapter 21
The Bryce summer cottage was in chaos as the staff prepared to move the family back to Cleveland.
Sylvie appreciated the distraction, as it allowed her to slip away unnoticed to perform her last archery show instead of being stuck under her mother’s watchful eye.
She’d left earlier than usual, slipping out before her mother roused from her rooms. Sylvie had already been informed she must be home that afternoon to entertain guests at their last event, what Mother called a simple garden party.
But she had enough time before anyone noticed her absence to complete her work for the summer.
As Sylvie made her way to Cedar Point on the ferry one last time, the last three months flashed through her mind.
So much had happened. So much had changed.
But had she? When Miles had been there, she’d experienced a freedom to be herself that was unmatched in her life to that point.
Then he left, and her world was shrinking back down to the things her mother allowed her to do.
She once again felt like the same helpless woman, stuck under her mother’s thumb and not allowed to make a single decision for herself.
The money she’d earned that summer wouldn’t take her far if she had to stand up to Mother’s demands for an influential marriage.
And did she even want to try? Without Miles, Sylvie couldn’t muster the will to fight against her mother’s wishes and society’s expectations.
She’d lost the man she would have chosen, all because she’d been too stubbornly committed to a plan that had been silly to begin with.
As it turned out, the little bit of independence she’d managed to carve out didn’t feel like freedom at all. Being with Miles did.
But she still had one more show to do, and Sylvie was intent on completing her task.
She raised her chin, straightened her shoulders, and marched off the ferry.
Cedar Point was in full swing that day, with many members of Cleveland’s high society visiting once more before returning to town for the fall. It should be a good day for a show.
If only Sylvie didn’t have to work so hard to muster an interest in performing.
In her usual spot behind the Coliseum, Sylvie watched from under her hood as a crowd grew along the wooden bleachers next to the demonstration lawn.
Mr. Miller went back and forth, setting up the targets and the stool he would sit on for the big ending trick shot.
They’d trained a young man who ran errands around the resort to do Mr. Miller’s part in the finale so he could take over Miles’s spot.
Miles. Sylvie’s heart ached with missing him.
She’d imagined the previous week that the intense hurt overshadowing everything else would fade soon enough, but there was no sign of that happening.
She drew a deep, cleansing breath and did her best to put it out of her mind.
She didn’t want to be distracted and run any risk of harming Mr. Miller during the show.
But the moment she stepped away from the building and toward her starting position, thoughts of Miles fled to the back of her mind.
There, front and center in the stands, was a large group of people she recognized all too well—Leila and Adelle, Millicent Howard, Mr. Greene, Mr. Kinsey, and even the widow Templeton, among too many others.
Just about the only people missing from the usual high society group were Lucy and her entourage.
And Miles, of course. Matilda sat by Mr. Kinsey, her eyes wide enough for Sylvie to see the worry filling them from her hiding spot.
A surge of panic stole Sylvie’s breath. It might be her last show for the season—possibly forever—but she still needed to protect her identity. These people knew her as well as anyone in society. If her father and Lucy had figured out her identity, anyone in the audience could do the same.
And to make matters worse, there, behind Mr. Kinsey and Matilda, sat her parents.
Father’s gaze darted around the area as if he was looking for a way to warn her and Mother.
Her mother sat with arms crossed, appearing unhappy to be at the show.
Why were they present? Sylvie hadn’t imagined anything would convince her mother to travel to the resort.
She wasn’t the type to enjoy amusements meant for the masses.
Had Lucy told her what Sylvie had been doing all summer?
The urge to turn around and abandon this foolhardy idea hit Sylvie with physical force.
She took a step back. But then she stopped and closed her eyes.
She envisioned her future as it looked right then.
Mother would marry her off to the first man who asked, probably Mr. Greene, and probably before Christmas.
Sylvie would then be stuck forever in the role of dutiful wife, performing a different sort of show for the rest of her days.
Instead of releasing arrows from her bow, she would play the part of the perfect hostess.
She would pretend to be proud of and happy with her husband.
She might enjoy the years of having children under their roof, but then, when they all grew, married, and had homes of their own, what would she have left?
The memory of this summer might be all she had. She refused to fail in completing the job she’d agreed to. There was still a chance her identity wouldn’t become public knowledge as easily as she feared.
Sylvie once again fixed her posture and marched forward, forcing everything else out of her mind and keeping her eyes averted from the society group.
Her arrows flew straight and true. Her theatrics impressed the crowd, as shown by their wild applause.
The final trick was a success, the arrow thunking into the target—albeit slightly off center—without ruffling a single hair on Mr. Miller’s head.
And Sylvie rushed away as soon as the shot landed in hopes she wouldn’t have to encounter anyone she knew.
It wasn’t until she arrived home that Sylvie finally allowed herself to release the pent-up emotions from the performance.
The crying left her feeling drained, along with mottling her cheeks and rimming her eyes in red.
Even after Delia’s best efforts, her resulting appearance was rough enough that Mother pursed her lips when Sylvie descended the stairs before the garden party.
Mother stepped up close to Sylvie, turning Sylvie’s face this way and that before straightening the lace trim on her white gown.
After another long look, Mother adjusted the tilt of Sylvie’s beribboned straw hat too.
“Goodness, but you do look a mess. Can’t Delia do anything more with your complexion? ”
No understanding or compassion for the obvious fact that her daughter had been in tears.
Only concern for how Sylvie might look to their guests.
Resigned more than ever, Sylvie forced a smile.
“It will clear up before most of the guests arrive. You needn’t worry about your daughter bringing any shame on you. ”
Her tone must have been sharper than Sylvie intended because Mother flinched.
Her gaze roamed Sylvie’s face for a moment, almost as if she considered a compassionate response, after all.
But then she drew herself up straight. “Sylvia, you won’t speak that way to me.
I care about you, but I don’t understand this moping over a man who left.
There are plenty more here who are interested in you and are more eligible than a suspected murderer.
I’m thinking of your future. Something I’m not sure you care about in the least after all your clandestine activities this summer. ”
Sylvie swallowed hard. She had to be referring to the archery show.
But Mother’s face was clear and smooth, unmarred by anger.
Maybe she didn’t know, after all. Sylvie wasn’t about to reveal it in case she didn’t.
“Of course I care. I only want to choose for myself. I’ve been trying to tell you that for months. ”
“Like you chose to risk your reputation by going out and getting a job at that resort? By putting yourself on display for everyone who comes through Cedar Point? I don’t think those are the choices of a young lady qualified to make her own decisions.”
Resignation washed over Sylvie, taking her will to fight with it. “Did Lucy tell you?”
“She did, although I suspected you were up to no good since June.”
So this was how it ended. Sylvie should have known from the start that her wild plans wouldn’t succeed. As Mother said, she hadn’t proven to be very competent at choosing her own path. And Mother didn’t even know about the way Sylvie had pushed Miles away.
Seeing Sylvie’s surrender, Mother grasped her hand, tone softening.
“You might think I’m unaware, but I know you’ve had an admirer writing to you this summer.
I have a bit of good news for you. I know his identity.
He’ll be at the party, and if he declares himself, I hope you’ll keep an open mind and consider the option. ”
Shock froze Sylvie in place for a moment.
Her mother not only knew about the secret admirer, but also knew who he was?
Sylvie started to ask one of the multitude of questions swirling in her mind, but the butler chose that moment to announce the arrival of their first guests.
She pressed her lips together and put on her bland, neutrally pleasant mask while following her mother outside to begin the afternoon’s events.
But all the while, her mind raced, wondering which man might be her admirer.