Sybill (40 page)

“She will see me! Open the door, you foolish wench.”

Sybill rose quickly and rearranged her wrap to hide the thickening of her body. Not much longer could she keep her pregnancy a secret, but each day might bring a change in the standoff.

Christopher Wythe exploded into the room on the echo of his angry words. Shaking snow from his cape, he tossed it carelessly at a bench. With his normal sneer, he glanced around the cozy room. His blond hair caught the light from the fire to glow as if with the heat of the summer sun. “Not even a greeting for your son, Mother dear?”

“I did not invite you. No, Goldenrod.” She put out her hand to order the dog back onto the rug by the hearth.

“You still have that damnable mongrel, I see. I don't know why no one has accepted my offer to bring me that cur's head in exchange for a generous bounty.”

She smiled coldly. “I'm sure you don't understand. Loyalty is something you have never had.”

“Loyalty is something these cursed peasants should give their rightful lord, not their late lord's whorish wife.”

“I see no need to act as if I am pleased to see you.” She motioned to a chair by the hearth. “If you have any reason for coming, other than to insult me and your father, I am willing to listen to it. Sit down if you wish. I'm going to sit.”

His eyes narrowed. “You look as if you have been ill.”

“No. I am fine.” She asked Clara to warm some cider, but Christopher countermanded her order as he paced the small room. Keeping her hand on Goldenrod's head, she could feel the rage within the animal as his head moved in tempo with the man's steps.

“There is no time for that,” he stated. “You are moving back into the Cloister.”

With unspoken derision, her eyebrows arched in a copy of the laugh lingering at the corners of her mouth. “I think you are mistaken, my lord. I refused your offer before Christmas. I have not changed my mind with the coming of the new year next month.”

“Sybill, stop being stubborn. Come back.”

“Why?”

He stopped his uneasy walking. Fury disfigured his face. Icily he said, “I have told you. That's enough reason for you.”

“And I have told you I shan't. If you have a good reason to drag me from the comfort of my home, I'll be happy to give it my attention. Otherwise, my lord, good day.”

When Clara stepped between them to hand her lady a steaming mug of cider, Christopher nearly shouldered her aside. He wanted to shake some sense into Sybill. Hearing the dog's snarl, he decided such was not a good idea. Force would not convince her. He would have to find another way, at least until he could rid her of her yellow bodyguard. Slowly he lowered his hands and watched the dog sit back on its haunches.

“Very well, my lady. Here is the truth. Mallory arrived from London last night.”

“I know,” she replied smugly. When he sputtered in surprise, she added, “Did you think anything that goes on at the Cloister fails to reach my ears? I know your father's barrister arrived not last night, but the night before.”

He grinned in reluctant admiration. Sybill Wythe might look as delicate as a spring blossom, but she had the strength of an oak. He would not forget that. After more than two months of waiting, he did not intend to let her elude him again. “You are correct. He asks to speak to you, so I told him I would retrieve you from where you have been visiting an ailing friend.”

“An ailing friend? That is hardly an original lie, Christopher.” She sipped her cider, ignoring its scalding heat. Her concentration was centered on the man standing before her. “I doubt if Mr. Mallory was fooled.”

Leaning forward to put his hands on the arms of her chair, he snapped, “I don't care what he thinks. He is here. The will can be read. If he wants to see you, I will bring you to see him.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he repeated in a screech.

Regally she nodded her head. “Maybe is what I said. Maybe is what I meant. I won't reenter your father's house until I know that it is safe for me.”

“Damn your eyes, Sybill!” he ranted. “My father's will must be read before I can have control of the assets. I need that money.”

She shrugged in a feigned serenity. He was near desperation. She could not push him too far. “I'm in no hurry.”

“No?” He paused in his renewed pacing. “How much more money do you have, Sybill? Whatever you took from the Cloister must be nearly depleted. What will you do then? Take in one of these rough-handed fieldworkers and exchange your body for the food he can provide for you?”

“I will manage.”

He snorted. “I'm sure. You have allies within the Cloister who have been helping you. Have it your way. Come back to the Cloister. I will assure you that no one will hurt you while we are getting all of this settled.”

With a sigh she stood. He was beaten. It would only be harmful to continue to rub his nose in defeat, although that idea was tempting. “Very well, my lord. Although I doubt the value of your vow, I will accept it. I will be there this afternoon.”

“Why not now? I have transportation waiting outside.”

“Send it to me after midday. It will take that long to ready the house for my time away.”

Knowing he had lost whatever advantage he thought he possessed when he entered, he spat a reply. He turned on his heel. The door slammed resoundingly after him. A plate on the wall shivered and dropped to shatter on the floor.

Clara ran to the window and peeked out to see the lord mount his horse. He sped away at top speed. The wagon he had brought followed more slowly, as empty as when it had arrived. When its clatter was swallowed by the distance, she turned to her lady. A triumphant grin lit her face. “Lord Foxbridge knows he cannot command you, my lady.”

“Does he?” she asked tiredly. “I don't think he can be taught that lesson. He will try to force me to his will when we go to Foxbridge Cloister. Not for a moment can I forget that.” She sighed and sat in the chair. “Pack only what we need for one night, Clara. I don't intend to let Christopher hurt me again.”

“Aye, my lady.” All exultation drained from her voice as she heard the despairing words. This trip to the Cloister would not be the victorious one she had anticipated.

Marshall opened the door for Sybill as he had on so many other occasions. “Good afternoon, Lady Foxbridge.” His pleasant voice did not reflect the happiness in his eyes as he gazed down from his awesome height. If she had not seen the expression, she would have thought he considered this homecoming no different from when she rode every afternoon.

“Good afternoon, Marshall,” she said as calmly. Inside her stomach flip-flopped with anxiety. In his last, short note, Trevor had warned her against coming to this house alone. Her shoulders straightened. She would be able to defend herself against Christopher as long as the barrister was here. The alternative of staying away was more dangerous, for it would drive her stepson to something rash.

“Mr. Mallory is waiting with Lord Foxbridge in the library, my lady. Do you wish to rest before you speak with them?”

His face softened with compassion, reminding her that he knew the truth that loose robes would be able to conceal only a little longer. She wondered how many in the Cloister were aware of her pregnancy. None of those who were aligned with Christopher, for he had made no mention of the topic. Only Clara and she possessed the truth that could guarantee their deaths if Christopher learned it.

“I am fine, Marshall. Clara, you can go to chat with your friends if you wish. It has been a while since you have seen them.”

“My lady, I don't want to leave you alone. You may—”

Taking her friend's hands, she said, “I will be fine. Enjoy yourself.” A demonic twinkle brightened her eyes. “I intend to!”

The others laughed heartily. They did not doubt Lady Foxbridge's words. As she walked toward the library, a wave of reassurance billowed around her. Marshall saw that she was not defeated, and she would not be. Her banishment had served only to strengthen the slight woman. Lord Foxbridge would be taught that immediately.

Mr. Mallory came forward to greet Sybill. He could not see Christopher's angered face. She did, and the sight brought a warmer smile to her lips as she held out her hand correctly to the barrister. “My dear Lady Foxbridge.” He bowed over her fingers.

“Mr. Mallory, it is a pleasure to see you again. It has been months since I last spoke with you.”

Unsure if her words were a censure, he said quickly, “My lady, I apologize for my delay in coming to read the will. What with the weather and all.”

“I understand,” she said with a soft smile. She could not tell him that it had been easier for her to live at the dowager house than to face her stepson's lust. “You have arrived sooner than we had hoped. It speaks well of your loyalty to my late husband.”

“May I offer my condolences?”

Lowering her eyes, she repeated the pat words which spoke nothing of her true feelings. “Owen's death was a shock, but those who knew him longer than I did tell me he had a wonderful life.”

Graciously the man said, “One which you made more wonderful, my lady.” His eyes swept along her, and she drew her shawl around her. He did not act surprised to see her in these loose clothes, and she wondered what Owen might have revealed to his attorney.

He asked if he could seat her. When he aided her to a chair, he paused to add a few more trite phrases. He excused himself when Christopher suggested it was time to get on to the business at hand. The short man went to the desk to get the papers Owen had entrusted to him.

“Hello, Mother dear.”

“Good afternoon, Christopher.” She refused to be baited. It was simply an unfortunate turn of fate that he was her stepson. She could not change it.

“You look as if you have been living well, Sybill, despite the meanness of your cottage. You have gained some weight. How are you going to capture yourself another wealthy, old man if you are so plump?”

Covering her fear, she smiled sweetly. “Some men prefer their women with fuller curves.”

When he realized he was not going to force her out of tranquility, he turned to the barrister. “Mallory, shall we get on with this? There have been some matters which had to wait until the estate was settled. I wish to delay those no longer.”

Sybill hid her smile behind her fingertips as she saw Mr. Mallory's mouth working furiously to stay in its professional expression. They both knew the only reason Christopher Wythe wanted the will read was so he could spend the money of the estate as quickly as possible. “As soon as Mr. Breton arrives, we will start.”

“Breton?” exploded the young man. “Why in hell do we need him here?”

The barrister held up the folder containing the will. “It stipulates that you, my lord, Lady Foxbridge, and Mr. Trevor Breton must be present at the reading of the will.”

Christopher spun to point an accusing finger at Sybill. “You! You did this!”

“I did nothing,” she snapped, tired of his outrageous actions. “If Owen wanted Trevor here, it was his right. After all, this belonged to your father.”

“Where is Breton?”

She shrugged, unwilling to aid him. “How should I know? You were the one who banished him without so much as a recommendation.”

With his nose within inches of hers, he taunted, “But you two were very friendly, Sybill, before you married Father.”

“Of course. We worked together. You know your father was ill. Often I was his eyes supervising the household. Trevor managed the farms. Of course, we interacted.”

His coarse laugh rang harshly. “Interact? Is that what you call it?”

Rising, she pushed him aside. He was tempted not to move, but remembered the barrister watching this exchange. When she smiled coldly, he bit back the retort struggling to escape his pursed lips. He watched as she walked to the other man who was staring wide-eyed at the foes. “Mr. Mallory, you can contact Mr. Breton at this address.” She picked up a quill. Her eyes noted the piles of unread pages, and she wondered if Christopher had done any estate work since his father's death. From the mountain heaped on the desk, she doubted it.

“Aha! You do know where Breton is!”

Without looking up, she said quietly, “Of course, Christopher, I know where to contact him. Mr. Mallory, this is Mr. Breton's sister's house. She should be able to get any message to him quickly.” Handing him the paper, she turned to the florid face of her stepson.

At that moment, like never before, she saw Owen Wythe in his son. Demanding and self-centered, they were alike in making life a hell for the ones who went against their desires. If she had played Owen's placid wife, she would have lived in splendor and been pampered. Instead she fought him to retain her own identity. In the same way she battled Christopher.

“Lord Foxbridge …”

“Go!” he snarled at the attorney. “Get him here as quickly as possible. Sybill, you are pushing my good temper too far.”

“My dear son,” she said with exactly the same condescension he used, “if you had thought for a moment, you would have known that I would not allow Mr. Breton to leave without a recommendation. I did not have time to write it before you forced him to leave. He gave me this address to forward it to him at my convenience.”

As Christopher stepped toward her, she walked to where Mr. Mallory waited, unwilling to leave the woman with the angry man. She smiled and placed her fingers on his arm when he offered to escort her to her room.

Christopher watched while they strolled away as if he did not exist. With a sweep of his arm, he cleared the top of the desk. As the ink bottle sprayed his clothes, he cursed Sybill. She would not win. Before he let her rule the Cloister, he would destroy her.

Marshall reached the door before the man beyond could knock. For the past day, he had been checking the road regularly as he waited for this arrival. He opened the huge door wide and, grinning, said, “Welcome back, Trevor.”