Sybill (42 page)

“He meant that?” She blushed crimson. After all the comments Trevor had made about her father's profession, she wondered how he could be smiling.

“Ironic, isn't it?” He kissed her teasingly. “My lovely Sybill, what we shared was priceless. No snide, posthumous comments will detract from that joy. I would trade everything I own to share my life with you.”

Happily, she clung to him. This was what she wanted as well. When his mouth covered hers, she welcomed his kiss. The tip of his tongue sought the soft secrets in the unlit recesses of her mouth. “Stay with me,” she whispered as he bent to taste the length of her neck. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Tonight?” His head jerked up to gaze into her loving eyes.

Her hands stroked the breadth of his shoulders before settling on the center of his chest. “I am Lady Foxbridge. Foxbridge Cloister belongs to me and the one within me. Never again will I have to answer to the Wythes. If I want the man I love with me, who shall tell me no?”

“Certainly not me, my lady.” He stood and comically put his fingers to his forehead and bowed deeply. “Your every wish is my desire as well, Lady Foxbridge.”

She put her hands in his and let him draw her to her feet. Staring up into his eyes, the color of rain-drenched tree bark, she whispered, “I wish only to be done with this title which has brought me unhappiness.”

“Soon you will be known simply as Mrs. Trevor Breton, trustee for Lord Foxbridge's heir.”

All joy faded from her eyes as she looked out the window. In the twilight, she could see the glitter of sleet striking the deadened grass. She closed her eyes and tried to contain the thick tears, but it was impossible.

“Don't cry,” he murmured. “The worst is over.”

“Is it?”

“What do you mean?”

She turned to gaze up at his handsome face. Taking his hand, she placed it against her distended belly. “Trevor, this is your child. Forever it will be known as Owen's or questioned as belonging to any man I have been seen talking to. Can you accept that?”

“I must, my love.” Putting his arms around her, he drew her closer. “We will have others who will bear my name. You and I will know the truth.”

“And our child?”

“Perhaps when the time comes that the child will be mature enough to understand, we shall be able to tell him or her. Don't despair. It will come to rights for all of us.”

With a smile, she breathed, “I hope so.”

“And tonight we will find heaven together once more.”

She did not hesitate on her answer, “That I know, my love.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Life fell into its easy pattern. With Christopher and his boisterous friends gone, Sybill attempted to restore the house. It had suffered during his temporary stewardship. Stains on the rugs and broken artwork were repaired as best as the staff was able. Trevor worked long hours trying to wade through the thick piles of paperwork Christopher had ignored. It took him a week simply to put everything in chronological order. When she was finished with giving the household staff their daily orders, Sybill joined him as they struggled to put the estate to right again.

Her work schedule was curtailed by the demands of her body. She found she needed to sleep far more. More than once, Trevor looked up from his desk to find her slumped over on the window seat. Although he wished to urge her to slow her pace, he knew she wanted to help. He simply let her sleep until she woke to continue her task.

Winter drifted reluctantly into spring. At the end of March, the new year dawned with the greening of the early grass. The first anniversary of Sybill's arrival came and went without anyone mentioning it, although no one in the house was unaware of the significance of the otherwise normal Wednesday. She did not want to think of that day. Instead she savored the present. Doing the work she enjoyed during the day and sleeping in Trevor's arms in the wide bed of the master suite's main bedroom each night. He remained serene when she became frustrated with the changes in her body. His teasing about her blossoming shape relieved her unhappiness.

Sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair, she looked across the room at where Trevor sat by the other candle to read yet another pile of the papers from the library. “Trevor?”

“Hmm?” he replied absently. He looked up and smiled guiltily. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I have been thinking about Clara. She has postponed her wedding since autumn. There's no reason to delay any longer. I was thinking they might like to get married at the Cloister.” Her smile dimmed. “It would be nice to have a real wedding here.”

He put the papers on the floor and rose. Kneeling by her, he took her hands in his and pressed them to his lips. “My love, I think that is a wonderful idea. They can have a fine wedding, and it will serve as a rehearsal for ours after the little one is born.”

“It's time for Foxbridge Cloister to come alive. A bit of its joy must have died when the monks were turned out along the roads of England. I think we should open the chapel and rededicate it with a wedding. Reverend Sears won't mind coming here, I am sure.”

“Slow down,” he said with a laugh. “Don't you think you should ask Clara and Mac before you plan out their whole wedding?”

Smiling, she reached for the bellpull. The soft sound had not faded before a knock came on their door. “Yes, m'lady?” asked Clara when told to enter.

Sybill stood awkwardly. It seemed as if she were growing wider each day. “Clara, Trevor and I were wondering if you would be interested in marrying Mac Beckwith any time in the near future. Once the baby comes, I fear I will be depending on you more than ever before. It would seem a shame to delay your wedding simply because of me again.”

“We want to wed as soon as possible.”

“We would need some time for the preparation, but would you like to be married at the Cloister?”

Clara gaped in shock. “Here, my lady?”

Putting her arm around Trevor, Sybill leaned her head on his shoulder. It delighted her to be able to show how much she loved this man. In the days after the reading of the will, they had created a mock courtship for the residents of the Cloister. They hoped to protect their child by acting as if they were discovering love for the first time. After a month of such games, they decided it was no longer necessary to sneak about the Cloister.

Trevor smiled. He knew how much Sybill longed to plan their matrimonials. Despite that, she would wholeheartedly create a fantasy wedding for her maid to help pass the time until she could marry the man holding her. “Lady Foxbridge means she would like you and Mac to have your wedding in the old chapel,” he said.

Sybill added quickly, “It is one way I can thank you for all you have done for us. You have sacrificed your happiness to guard me and the secret you hold in your hearts. Would you consider this?”

“Oh, yes!” cried the young woman. Her brown eyes glittered like jeweled pebbles. “Oh, yes, my lady! I never imagined such a wonderful wedding could be for me and Mac. This is a dream come true.”

“Talk to Mac about it,” Sybill urged. “As soon as you can, for I fear I will be in no condition for a wedding unless you have it by the beginning of May.”

Clara smiled. “He will agree, my lady. My Mac has a smart head on his shoulders. He wouldn't be so foolish as to turn down such an offer.”

They laughed at her pronouncement. After arranging for Mac to come to the Cloister the next evening, they told Clara good night. When Trevor turned to see Sybill's smiling face, he put his hands on her shoulders. Slowly they moved along her arms to her thickened waist. He loosened the sash holding her dressing robe over her chemise and slid his hands around her.

She stood on tiptoe to meet his lips. The warm flush of longing teased her. Abruptly she gave a gasp and placed her hands on her abdomen. Dropping onto a chair, she tried to get back her breath.

“Sybill! Sybill! What is it? It can't be the baby yet.”

Tremulously she smiled and shook her head. “It's the baby. He just kicked me with both feet. Hard.”

He laughed as he took her hand. Bringing her to her feet, he scooped her up in his arms. When she cautioned him to be careful, he chuckled again. “My dear Sybill, although you have gained more weight than I expected you would and look like a cannonball, I did handle bales of furs heavier than you when I was working in Liverpool.”

“Thank you for the compliments,” she said tartly as he placed her on the wide bed they shared every night. “Sometimes I wonder why I am so deranged as to love you.”

“And the rest of the time?” He sat on the bed and drew off his boots. Leaning over her, he stroked her stomach. When he saw her grimace, his eyebrows rose in shock. “He does kick hard.”

“You should feel it from the inside.” She closed her eyes with a soft sigh.

His fingers on her cheeks urged her to look at him again. “You didn't answer my question. You sometimes wonder why you are mad enough to love me. What about the rest of the time?”

Tartly she stated, “The rest of the time I know I'm insane to love you. Let's get some sleep. I have a wedding to plan.”

He blew out the candle and stretched out next to her. As she placed her head on his chest as she did each night, he heard her soft breaths slow into sleep. For him, slumber did not come easily. Usually he was not tired when she spoke of retiring, but he did not want to miss feeling her close.

Moonlight sifted through the curtains to create a cool bath over them. He stroked the powder-softness of her cheek, and she murmured in the midst of her dream. Staring at the top of the wooden canopy, he wondered how long this idyllic interlude would last.

Christopher Wythe had not contacted them or Mallory. Where he was living in London and how he was surviving were two things Trevor did not know. Sybill had mentioned her distrust of her stepson enough times for him to guess these thoughts plagued her, as well. Lord Foxbridge would not allow his inheritance to be given to her without a prolonged fight. That the battle had not begun meant nothing, except that he was arming himself to be better able to defeat them. Sybill would not fold beneath any assault launched by her stepson. For him and for the child, she would use every bit of her wits to best Christopher.

For a second, he smiled. She was galled that she was doing exactly as her husband wanted. Yet to defeat Owen Wythe, she would have to cede Foxbridge Cloister to his son. That she would not do either, for she was aware of the cost of giving Christopher what he wanted.

With a soft moan of unsatisfied desire, he counted the number of weeks until the child would be born. Although he teased Sybill about her bulbous shape, he found her as appealing as ever and wanted to feel her softness enfolding him in love. So close to the baby's birthing date, it would be dangerous, but the fantasies taunted him. As he had so often, he promised himself he would love her soon.

When Sybill told her staff of her plans for the Beckwith wedding, they greeted the announcement with delight. Everyone knew that once the Beckwith nuptials were completed, it would be time for the baby to be born and another wedding.

Although Clara insisted that Lady Foxbridge only sit and watch, Sybill came along the long gallery to the chapel while it was being cleaned. It was a simple room. The ornate stained glass of the recent addition had not been copied from here. Small windows built high up under the eaves allowed in little natural light to distract the monks from their devotions. The maids scrubbed the six sets of stone pews and the simple altar. Cobwebs were swept from the corners as high as they could reach. When Sybill suggested they bring in ladders to get the rest, Clara only laughed.

“Let the spiders enjoy the ceremony, too, my lady.”

“All right, but if one of them drops on your shoulder, do not shock Reverend Sears by shrieking.”

Clara's eyes sparkled as they did all the time. “I will do nothing to stop this wedding. I have waited so long. Oh, my lady, I did not mean—”

“Of course you didn't, but it is true.” Sybill leaned back against the hard pew and adjusted her loose gown. “I am so glad it finally is coming to pass.”

“Next it will be yours and Trevor's turn. What a celebration that will be!”

Sybill was spared answering when another maid approached to ask a question about the decorations the lady wanted for the chapel. By the time she had dealt with that problem, Clara had returned to her chores. Over the weeks until the ceremony, she thought often of the wedding she and Trevor would have. She suspected her wedding to Owen was her only fancy one. Under the circumstances, a quiet rite would be better than a gala, which would insult Christopher.

The day of the wedding dawned with the promise of a perfect spring day. April skies held the hope of no showers to ruin the food that would be served in the garden. The ceremony would begin shortly after midday to give the tenant farmers a chance to share in the celebration without missing either their morning or evening chores.

Sybill scowled at her reflection as she adjusted her gown. There was no way she could make herself look attractive today. Even the rich, royal blue velvet of her dress did not compensate for the misshapen figure beneath it. A heated kiss on the nape of her neck brought a smile to her lips. “Trevor, are you ready?” She turned slowly and gasped in amazement.

She had become so accustomed to seeing him in work clothes that she stared as if he were a stranger. The cut of his gold breeches was the narrow style he favored, and he tucked them into his high stockings with their ribboned garters several inches above his knees. Scarlet material peeked through the slashes in the sleeves of his dark-green doublet. His beard was trimmed to a point just below his chin, and he looked like the court rogues in London.

“Oh, my!” she breathed.

“Does that mean you approve?” He bent and kissed her cheek. “You look lovely, sweetheart.”