Sybill (3 page)

With a weak smile, she looked up into Lord Foxbridge's concerned face. “I'm fine, my lord. Forgive me for being so weepy. It hasn't been easy since Father died.”

“I understand,” he said, although he had no idea if she spoke of the death of her progenitor, which had been lamented by so few publicly, or the financial troubles that always had plagued Alfred Hampton. “You are safe here, child. No one can hurt you again.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze went around the room. She noted the heavy furniture made in the latest style. Although there never was much gold in the Hampton household, her father had been sure all they possessed was of the highest quality. Until his shocking death, she had not questioned how it was paid for when there was little money to buy from the food peddlers in the street. “Lord Foxbridge, I must tell you I appreciate you opening your home to a stranger.”

He chuckled as he sat in a chair covered with light green velvet. “Stranger? You are hardly that, my dear child. After all the wonderful letters you have written to me in the past year.”

“All? There were only two or three,” she corrected. She tried to recall what she had said which would make him think he knew her. Little in the stilted missives reflected the true Sybill Hampton.

“I enjoyed them and reread them so often, it seems impossible there could be that few.” He waved aside the topic. “It does not matter, for you are here now. My guest as I have been your guest in the past.”

Her answer was halted by the door opening. Although her smile faded, she could not keep her eyes from savoring the handsomeness of Trevor Breton. From his position in Lord Foxbridge's household, it would seem his intelligence matched his outward appearance. If he had not been so uncourtly, she would not have minded having a friend like Mr. Breton to keep her mind from becoming dull in this wasteland. Her greatest enjoyment had been the spirited, witty conversation at her father's table. She wondered if she would find any like that in this wilderness. When he looked in her direction, she lowered her eyes. The moment their eyes met, she had seen his revulsion.

Iciness filled his voice, as he said, “As you requested, m'lord. Here is the wine. Do you wish me to pour?”

Lord Foxbridge asked, clearly baffled, “Is there a problem, Trevor?”

“None that I know of, m'lord.”

“Very well. Pour three glasses and join us. I know you will want to have a chance to become better acquainted with Foxbridge's newest lady.”

The wine splashed onto the linen tablecloth. Trevor looked up in dismay, but the lord and his pretty, young guest were talking as if nothing was wrong. Perhaps that was the way they saw it. Especially Sybill Hampton. Nothing could be wrong for her if the lord was set to announce she would become the lady of Foxbridge Cloister.

As he dropped a damp cloth over the stain, he asked himself why he should be so surprised. Before the woman arrived, he had overheard talk among the servants about why Lord Foxbridge would invite Sybill Hampton here. No one could be unaware of what her father had been, and there was a great deal of snickering behind hands.

More cautiously he finished filling three goblets with the blood red wine. With Lord Foxbridge's son determined to drain every coin from the estate to waste in the brothels and playhouses of London, they had no need for another of the same type. Lord Foxbridge was not making any effort to hide his enchantment with her, so it would be Trevor's job to rid Foxbridge Cloister of her.

Loathing the circumstances which forced him to be polite, he held out a goblet to Sybill. “Miss Hampton?”

“Thank you, Mr. Breton.” She was careful her fingers did not brush his. If she touched him again, she did not know what the result would be.

Lord Foxbridge chuckled. “How formal you are! Sybill, you must feel free to call my aide by his Christian name. You don't mind, do you, Trevor?”

“Of course not.” He smiled, but his skin felt as if it was being stretched too tightly. The insult was clear. He was to allow her to use his given name, but the compliment was not to be returned. Never in his years at the Cloister had he been reminded in this manner of his yeoman status.

Sybill noted his reaction to Lord Foxbridge's unthinking words. Trevor Breton did not seem like a man who would take such treatment lightly. For her, she was increasingly sure he was dangerous. She took a sip of the rich-bodied wine while she watched him retrieve the other two glasses. The men were conversing, so she did not think either noticed her perusal of the man who fascinated and frightened her.

As he accepted his glass, Lord Foxbridge said, “I think it might be a good idea if you show Miss Hampton around the estate and village, Trevor. You will find she rides well.”

Black eyes settled on her. “Is that so? Do you think you can handle the uneven paths around the Cloister?”

“I will manage.”

“She has ridden with her father and me when we went hawking, Trevor. She will do well.” Lord Foxbridge smiled into his goblet. The antagonism already developing between his guest and his trusted assistant was entertaining. Although it was not what he had expected when these two met, he did not doubt all would work out fine in the end.

As he listened to their stilted conversation, he sipped on his wine. Yes, it would all work out fine in the end.

Chapter Two

Sybill stared at the bed canopy. Her warm nest was tinted with golden light from the morning sun filtering through the bed curtains. Drawing the bedcovers closer to her chin, she sighed.

More than ever, she was sure it was a mistake to be at Foxbridge Cloister. Not that Lord Foxbridge was not as kind as she recalled him. He seemed the perfect host. Charming and generous. Instead of the spartan room she expected would be her lot, he had insisted she use this lovely suite. In addition to the bedroom, which dwarfed the one she had in London, there was a private chamber for Kate and a sitting room with its own hearth. Like the other rooms, it was decorated with new furniture which the lord had purchased to fill the massive addition to the original cloister.

She could have no complaints about the lord. It was his servant who concerned her. With a groan, she buried her face in her pillow. Trevor Breton hated her. He made no effort to hide that. Why he should despise her, she did not know, but she could guess.

Lord Foxbridge was not young. In his letters, he had not dissembled about his deteriorating health. Under those circumstances, he would have to depend on his estate manager. By the way the servants deferred to Mr. Breton, she could tell he ran the estate single-handedly. Although he would give his orders in Lord Foxbridge's name, an aura of power surrounded Mr. Breton.

And he hated her because he feared her. He suspected she would be able to see the truth and would report to someone how much authority he had gained. Let him try to oust her from her only home, and she would resort to such tactics.

Sybill gasped at her own hateful thoughts. Sweeping aside the bed curtains so forcefully that the rings holding them to the railing near the top of the canopy jangled, she climbed down the steps from the high bed. She went to the mirror at the dressing table to determine if she had changed during the night.

Although her features were unaltered, the gentle Sybill who had trusted life to treat her well had died with her father. Harshly she had been taught how little others cared for her, and she forced herself to harden her heart to worry as little about others. It was not easy, because she always was the caring one. Time after time, Kate had scolded her for giving pennies to street urchins. She had no more coins to offer anyone. All she possessed was this invitation to live at Foxbridge Cloister. She was not going to let anyone wrench it from her until she could decide what she would do. If Trevor Breton tried to have her evicted from Foxbridge Cloister, she would fight him with every weapon she could devise. Her most powerful one was the lord himself.

“Good morning.”

She spun to see Kate entering. It was useless to remonstrate with her maid. In the nearly three years she had worked for the Hamptons, Sybill had never been able to convince her to knock.

“Good morning,” she answered shortly.

“Grumpy this morning?” Her own voice was cheerful. “A message just came. The lord would like you to have breakfast with him.”

“Breakfast?”

The morning meal was not one for socializing. She never would have thought of asking a guest or even a member of the family to share the meal with her. Only on rare occasions had she seen her father before midday. That practice was not confined only to the Hampton household, where the entertainments often went until dawn. Many families served breakfast in the privacy of each member's bedroom.

The maid laughed as she walked to the cupboard where Miss Sybill's clothes were stored. “This isn't London.”

“I think I have noticed that!” she snapped. She rubbed her forehead. “Pardon me, Kate. I have an aching head.”

Nothing could affect Kate's bright spirits. She hummed as she helped Sybill dress. Like everything the young woman wore, the gown was a tired black. Slipping it over her chemise, she stood quietly while Kate hooked up the back. She smoothed the wrinkles from the plain skirt which flowed to pool on the floor. Adjusting the bodice which laced with crisscrossed ties, she thanked Kate absently for her help.

Brushing her hair did not help her mood. She had been so disgruntled, she had forgotten to braid it before bed. Now the tangles were bunched from the back of her neck to its ends near her waist. Although many women wore their hair short, her father had insisted that she not cut her dark strands.

She bit back an oath which would earn her a reprimand from Kate. Finally she convinced her hair to behave and rolled it into the thick bun she wore at her nape.

“If you are ready, Miss Sybill, I can take you down to the room where Lord Foxbridge has breakfast served.”

“You know where it is?” she asked, puzzled.

The coarse sound like a handsaw on a log was Kate's version of a laugh. “I have not been lying in bed late. A servant learns quickly if she wishes to keep her place.”

“Lord Foxbridge didn't mention he would ask you to leave.”

Kate chuckled again. “No, I didn't expect he would.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Miss Sybill, he wouldn't deny you your maid. Look at these lovely rooms. He will be very generous to you.”

Sybill frowned at her maid's satisfied expression. Kate was acting strangely, glancing around the blue room with its pale furniture as if it was her own possession. Angrily, she told herself to stop being so imaginative. Of course, Kate was happy. They had a home.

While they went down the stairs and toward the back of the house, Kate chattered uncharacteristically about the beauty of Foxbridge Cloister. Sybill stared at her in disbelief. This voluble woman was unlike the one who worked for her in London. She had never seen her so happy. Kate normally enjoyed grousing about every detail of their lives, especially if Alfred Hampton was involved.

Sybill's eyes widened. Her maid had put her mourning away. Today the round woman wore a brilliant red gown, which made her resemble a ripe apple. Regretfully, she told herself that one of them was pleased with their new life. In her morose opinion, nothing but trouble waited for her here.

Sunshine leapt through long windows to brighten the dining room. Kate dipped in a quick curtsy, her knees creaking loudly.

The lord dismissed her absently. He turned to the young woman who was staring about in awe. What a pretty child she was! It was a shame she must wear rusty black, but it was proper she should show respect for her father. When she stood in the large room, looking so lost, she appeared as she had the first time he saw her. She had been no more than six or seven. He had been surprised to learn Alfred Hampton had a daughter. Sybill's existence had been kept a secret for most of her childhood, for she would have been a difficulty for her father's business enterprises.

Sybill felt the lord's eyes and paused in her inspection of the room. It was as lovely as the other parts of the Cloister she had seen. The furniture shone with attentive care, and the pewter on the sideboard was stacked neatly.

Remembering her place, she knelt. “Good morning, my lord.”

“No, Sybill!”

At the sharpness in his voice, she glanced up, perplexed. “Excuse me?”

“Two rules will exist in my house. One is that I do not want to see such high protocol again. You need not curtsy to me. The other is that I wish you to call me ‘Owen.'”

“Sir?”

He came to where she stood. Taking her fingers, he led her to the head of the table. He pulled out a chair and seated her with a grace which she knew took years to cultivate. “This is your home, my child. Such formality is fine for court, but here we act as family.” He sat in his own chair and rang for the servants. “I trust that will be agreeable with you.”

“Yes, my I—” She smiled as he began to protest. “Yes, Owen.”

“Much better.” His smile wiped years from his face, giving hint of the handsome man he had been. “Now, tell me. How did you sleep?”

The conversation continued in the same light manner while breakfast was served. The hearty meal filled her stomach, but nothing could ease the emptiness within her. When Owen spoke of her father, her eyes blurred. His death had been so sudden. She wondered if she would ever be able to accept it. She was happier when her host spoke of the Cloister and its lands. By the time the meal was finished, she was glad that he had invited her to share it with him. In this easy informality, he was giving her a chance to become comfortable with the changes in her life.

Tossing his napkin on the table, Owen urged her to wander about the house while he was busy with the concerns of the estate. “Explore as you wish. The staff realize they are to make you feel welcome.”

“I must tell you thank—”