Sybill (25 page)

“No, don't go.” Mrs. Beckwith smiled gently. She put her hand calmly on the stricken woman's arm. “I don't do such. I am a midwife, a bringer of life. If you were looking for other help, I could not do that for you.”

When she motioned to the bench, Sybill sank onto it gratefully. In a barely audible voice, she answered the woman's questions. She noticed immediately that Mrs. Beckwith did not ask who had fathered her child. That eased a bit of her guilt. She did not want to lie, but she could not tell the truth. It would mean Trevor's banishment from Foxbridge Cloister.

Mrs. Beckwith nodded sagely. “Aye, Miss Hampton, I would guess you are pregnant. Eat heavily, rest when you are tired, and send for me when the pains start.”

“That's it?”

“What do you expect?” she asked with a laugh. “It's God's will when this child will be born. All you can do is allow it to grow healthy within you.”

“Mrs. Beckwith?”

“Yes?” she prompted when Sybill paused. “Ask me, child. Do not let your fears eat you up inside. That won't be good for your child. Happiness is the best prescription for a strong child.”

Softly she said, “My mother died when I was born. Will I?”

“Childbed fever happens even in fine homes in London.” Proudly she added, “I have lost only one woman to that. Tend to yourself wisely and think of your baby constantly, and you will be fine.” She smiled as Sybill rose. “You will do fine, Miss Hampton. You are the perfect age for your first child. Have Lord Foxbridge send for me as soon as the pains start next springtime. With a first child, it's impossible to guess how long it will take to birth it. Don't worry. Simply because your mother died is no reason to suspect you will have trouble.”

“Thank you.” As she put her hand on the latch, she heard Mrs. Beckwith call her name. “Yes?”

“It will be easier for you if you are wed. Do you plan to marry your child's father?”

Honestly, she replied, “I don't know. First I must tell him.”

She was startled when the woman put her arms around her and squeezed her as she said reassuringly, “He'll want to make his child legitimate. Tell him right away.”

For a fearful moment, Sybill was afraid the woman knew exactly who the father was. Then she saw her own terror was blinding her to simple kindness. Mrs. Beckwith had been nonjudgmental all through the discussion. “I will think about that. Thank you again, Mrs. Beckwith.”

“Of course, child. If you have any questions, come immediately.”

The midwife stood in the doorway as she watched the slender woman remount her horse and turn away from Foxbridge Cloister. A pricking of curiosity teased her to wonder whom this pretty lady had chosen as her lover. There could be only one man. He would do the right thing and marry her before scandal could disrupt the whole shire.

With a sigh, she closed her door. At least Miss Hampton had sense. She had come to see the midwife instead of fretting. That could endanger her baby. Gentle thoughts were the hallmark of a successful pregnancy. Lost in her musing, she never noticed the figure flitting through the hedgerow like a child fleeing from a nightmare.

Sybill tried to compose her thoughts as she rode along the deserted marsh roads. By the time she reached the hut, she had been unable to decide how to tell Trevor the truth. Vowing to tell him soon, she dismounted.

“My love,” murmured Trevor as he drew her into the warmth of the cabin. The day had turned chilly, so he had a fire snapping on the hearth. “I wondered if you were delayed at the Cloister this afternoon.”

She stepped away to pull off her gloves and cape. “I had an errand to run before I could come here.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Gently he turned her. His ebony eyes tried to reach past the unexpected barrier. “And what is wrong?”

“Nothing. I simply have a headache this afternoon. It is nothing.”

Taking her hands, he brought her to sit on the bed. He leaned her back on the pillows. Closing her eyes, she sighed with happiness as she relaxed into the softness. She knew the truth. There was nothing she could do to change the facts. A sense of peace wafted over her as she gazed up at Trevor's concerned face. “I love you. Did you know that?”

“I guessed.” He laughed at her suddenly lightened tone. “I love you, too. That is why I'm worried about you. You have been feeling poorly too much lately. Perhaps you should have Lord Foxbridge's doctor look at you.”

With a shiver, she shook her head. “That old toad? I would never let him touch me!”

“Lord Foxbridge or Dr. York?”

“Trevor!” she admonished, but she began to chuckle. Sitting, she threw her arms around him. As her laughter turned to tears, she clung to him.

Unable to guess what disturbed her so deeply, he stroked her back and held her as she sobbed. He reclined on the wide bed and drew her down to rest next to him. Silently he listened to her sorrow. What was upsetting her was something she did not want to share. He was sure she would tell him when she was able. For now, he would have to be patient. That would not be easy.

Her sharp breaths smoothed into gentle puffs of sleep. He knew that she had not been sleeping well lately. Beneath her paper-pale skin, he could see the dark circles of restlessness. He suspected the man they seldom mentioned as the source of her unhappiness. While she slept on his shoulder, which was dampened by her tears, he gazed at the thatched ceiling. Owen Wythe would never willingly let her go. That they had eluded his watchdogs this long amazed Trevor, but he did not question their good luck. To do so might bring it to an abrupt and tragic end. With a sigh, he closed his eyes as he rested his face in the soft nest of her hair. He loved her and would do everything he could to keep her with him.

It seemed only seconds later that he awoke to find Sybill leaning over him, using a strand of her hair to tickle his nose. When he sneezed, she laughed. With a growl, he pressed her back into the mattress. His mouth teased hers as he reached for the buttons on her dress.

“No,” she whispered regretfully. “Look at the shadows, Trevor. We have slept the afternoon away. I must get back. Owen is expecting me to bring his dinner tray this evening.”

“Tray? Is he ill?” He was not surprised by the blossoming of hope. Guilt surged to bank that brief happiness. Lord Foxbridge had raised him from the low ranks of the clerks to run this estate. Instead of wishing the man dead, he should be grateful to him for bringing Foxbridge Cloister and, more importantly, Sybill Hampton into his life.

“Just a bit. I told him to rest.”

“Good. I hope the rest helped you, too.”

She smiled and stroked his whisker-sharp cheek. “Being with you always helps me, my love. The hours we have together are too short.”

“Sweetheart, I have something very important I have delayed talking about. I must tell you today.”

“You tell me?” she gasped. She clamped her lips closed as she realized what she could reveal with such a stupid reaction.

He gave her a queer glance, but said only, “Lord Foxbridge has business for me to attend to in London. I must leave next week. I should be home before the Christmastide.”

“Trevor!” She sat and stared into his startled eyes. “No, you can't go now!”

“My love, I don't want to leave you or these sweet hours behind me for the dirty streets of the city. I have no choice. Every year, after the harvest, I go to London. Although I am leaving a week or two earlier this year, it is nothing unusual.”

She nodded. “Of course, you must go. Excuse me, I'm being silly.” She bent and kissed him before she stood. “I simply hate the thought of being without you.”

He sat on the edge of the bed as she tied her cape around her and waved farewell. Each day he gave her five minutes before he followed. He did not want to compromise their secret needlessly before he had time to make the proper arrangements. Everything would fall into place within days after his return from London. With a sigh, he rose to bank the fire on the hearth. He did not want to endanger the only place where he could hold Sybill and feel her soft skin so close. If only she would tell him what was bothering her …

The door came crashing open, and he spun around. His eyes widened in astonishment. “Sybill, what—?”

She did not answer as she closed the door quickly behind her. Slowly she opened it again a crack to peer out at the marsh.

“Sweetheart, what is the matter?”

Without turning, she said, “I know you don't trust my feelings totally—”

“I do trust them.”

She ignored his interruption as she continued, “But I know someone was riding after me when I left here. Someone has been waiting to see where I was today.”

“What did you see?” He drew her away from the door and shut it. Going to the shuttered windows, he tilted the slats slightly so he could see the road twisting into the distance.

“A lone rider. A man I would guess. He had on a dark cape.” She shivered. “I felt as if Lucifer himself was spying on me. I know I shouldn't have come back, but I didn't know where else to go. I thought if he saw me come here as if I was not worried, he would—Oh, I don't know!”

“Perhaps it is just as well that I will be away for a while. If someone is curious enough to follow you, we will fool them. Come here alone for several days after I leave.”

She smiled weakly. “You have a devious mind, Trevor Breton.”

“Aye,” he said softly. Her jesting did not fool him, for he could see the glow of fear in her eyes.

When he held his arms out to her, she went to him. He drew her close and held her trembling body against his. Not for a second did he doubt her words. Someone was curious as to where Miss Hampton was riding each afternoon. The time of their innocent love was ended.

Chapter Thirteen

“Marshall, have you seen Trevor this morning?” The tall man smiled. He dismissed the housemaids he had been reprimanding for slack work. “Hello, Miss Sybill. Didn't he tell you? He left at sunrise for London.”

“Today?” She shook her head as she counted off the days. Being so wrapped up in her own concerns, she might have been mistaken. As she realized she was not wrong, she stated, “But, Marshall, he wasn't to leave for three more days.”

His easy expression slowly vanished as he heard her distress. “Surely he told you that Lord Foxbridge needed him to go to London.”

“Yes, but he was not to leave until Friday. This is only Tuesday.”

“About that I do not know. He was gone by the time I rose this morning.” Seeing the sorrow in her eloquent eyes, he put his hand on her shoulder. A paternal longing to bring back her smile surged through him. “Miss Sybill, perhaps he left an explanation on his desk. I'm sure something important called him away.”

She looked up into his eyes of warm gray. Marshall meant well, but he could not guess at her pain. That Trevor would leave for London without telling her farewell, she found unbelievable. He had been distracted yesterday when they parted, but he had not mentioned they would not be meeting today as they did each day. “I will look. Thank you,” she added with a smile she did not feel.

As she walked slowly along the long hallway to the library, she accepted the facts. Trevor would be gone for at least three weeks. The changeable weather of winter might keep him away past Christmastide and Twelfth Night. She sighed. By the time he came back, she would have no choice but to tell him immediately of the impending arrival of their child. Time would prove to be her greatest enemy. She was as slim as ever, but by then she would be changing shape visibly. To everyone else, it would be invisible for more than another month beneath her heavy gowns. Even longer if she wore loose wraps about the Cloister.

There was no one in the library. The dim light from the storm-darkened sky did not seep far across the room. She lit a candle and placed it in the sconce behind the desk. Its feeble light pooled on the work area but did not spread farther toward the shelves and silent books. The top of the desk waited for Trevor to return. His normally neat array of writing materials and paperwork were stacked along the sides, leaving the center clear. Feeling like a violator, she searched for anything that would give her a clue to his sudden change in plans.

She found what she was seeking. Too soon. It was a plain page written in a hand she did not recognize. Simply it was an invitation for Trevor to call upon one Priscilla Wegner and her father at the beginning of the following week at their home in London. The statement of important business eased her wounded heart.

Laughing shakily, she finished the note which spoke of the business interests of Mr. Wegner and how well things were going for them in London. Replacing it among the other papers, she told herself she was being silly. That this woman wrote a note urging Trevor to call on her and her father had nothing to do with her. If it arrived late yesterday, that would explain why he left with the rising of the sun. She had gone to bed early, and he would not have wanted to draw unwanted attention by going to her suite to tell her farewell.

“Ah, here you are!”

Guiltily she glanced up to see Owen in the doorway. “Good morning,” she said as she stepped forward to stand between him and the desk. Although she knew the signs of her meddling were invisible, she feared he would discover her reason for coming here.

“My dear, I have been looking for you. I wanted to introduce you to a friend who just arrived at the Cloister. Come in, Mallory.”

Sybill regained her serenity as Owen introduced her to the stooped man named Leonard Mallory. “Welcome to Foxbridge Cloister, Mr. Mallory. I trust you had a pleasant journey.”

He smiled as he bowed over her fingers. His sparkling blue eyes seemed incongruous above his scholarly dark clothes. “'Twas as good as can be expected this time of year, Miss Hampton. My horse made excellent time, although I daresay we saw a score of wagons mired on the route from London to here.”