Looking a little pale and angry, her lips pressed together in a straight line, she advanced to a chair and sat down. She gave Bryony a cold look. “My nephew desires to speak with you, missy. He awaits you in the library.”
Bryony’s heart sank, and very slowly she rose from her seat.
The library was in semidarkness, being lit only by an ornate candelabrum on the carved stone mantelshelf. The gold-embossed spines of countless books gleamed richly all around, and there was an indefinable smell in the still air; she thought perhaps it was of old leather. She paused in the doorway, afraid suddenly to go right in, for once this interview commenced, it would not be long before the match was brought to an end. Across the room she could see her reflection in the tall windows. Outside all was in darkness. She thought suddenly of Liskillen.
Sebastian was standing by the fireplace, his golden hair brighter than ever beneath the glow of the candles. He rested one foot upon the polished brass fender, and in his hand he held the miniature which her father had sent to him all those weeks before. He was studying it closely, and did not look up until he heard her close the door. Their eyes met then.
“The artist who painted you was no novice, Miss St. Charles, for this is accurate in every small detail. It is a perfect likeness.”
“Of an imperfect subject?” She couldn’t help saying it.
He put the miniature on the shelf. “I did not say that.”
“No, not in so many words.”
“Not in any word.”
“Sir Sebastian, the duchess informed me that you wish to see me. I can only presume that you do not wish merely to discuss the finer points of my portrait.”
She hoped she was being dignified, for that was how she wished to be in the midst of her unhappiness. He was about to discard her, and he was doing so for reasons manufactured by his mistress, but Bryony St. Charles had no intention of allowing him to see how devastated she was by the way things had gone in so short a space of time. But it was very hard to be dignified when all the time thoughts of Liskillen intruded so cruelly ...
His blue eyes were thoughtful. “Please sit down, Miss St. Charles.”
“I would prefer to stand.”
“On ceremony, I presume?”
“Something of the sort.”
“There is no need.”
“On the contrary, sir, I think there is every need.”
“Why?”
She stiffened. “Please don’t patronize me.”
“I promise you that I am not, just as I promise you that there is no need whatsoever to stand on ceremony. I do wish you would sit down, madam, for to face each other as we do at present smacks rather too much of confrontation, which is the last thing I want.”
“What is it that you want, Sir Sebastian?”
“Strange as it evidently must appear to you, I wish to discuss the future.”
“Then there isn’t anything to discuss, is there?”
“There is the small matter of our marriage, or have you now decided to cry off?”
“Have
I
...?” She stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
“If you don’t, Miss St. Charles, I begin to wonder why you left Liskillen to come here. I admit that tonight we have got off on a very poor foot, but as far as I am concerned that has not changed anything. I still wish you to become my wife. Is that still
your
intention?”
Bewildered, she gave a small nod. “Yes.” The word came out as little more than a whisper.
“Then we have things to discuss.” He gestured toward the chair again. “Perhaps now you will oblige me by sitting down?”
Silently she obeyed, sitting on the very edge of the chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap to hide how they were suddenly shaking. He still wished to marry her? She felt stunned, for she had been so convinced that the opposite was the case.
He sat down on a sofa facing her, lounging back with that easy grace which seemed to be so effortless. She was very aware of him, and conscious of being affected by the compelling blueness of his eyes as he looked at her. “Miss St. Charles,” he said softly, “why are you so damned prickly with me?”
“ ‘Prickly’ is not the word I would have used, sir.”
“Very well, defensive.”
“You surely are not surprised, sir, for I have told you I am innocent of a liaison with Mr. Carmichael, but you have made it quite plain that you do not believe me. Now you seem disposed to be agreeable, you speak as if very little has happened, and yet throughout dinner you spoke not one word to me. Maybe you do not find it all discomforting, sir, but I most certainly do.”
“For that I apologize. I admit to having been cold toward you, but I confess to being caught a little off guard. I am attempting to put matters right now, Miss St. Charles, and I would very much like to forget what has gone before and begin again.”
She looked away.
He
would like to forget and begin again? Oh, how she would have liked that luxury too, but how could she forget his mistress? Or the fact that he was marrying her simply to gain another fortune? She lowered her eyes then. Was she any better than he? Liskillen was her reason for entering into the marriage, her
only
reason. But as she raised her eyes to his face again, she knew that but for the cruel intervention of fate, she would have entered into the contract for so very much more.
“Have you nothing to say?” he asked.
“I too would like to begin again, Sir Sebastian, if that is possible.”
“Why should it not be?”
She didn’t reply. Earlier in the evening she had been angry enough to want to show him Petra’s letter, but now common sense prevailed. Mentioning his relationship with Petra would not be the done thing; it was as Delphine had said, something of which everyone knew but which no one ever brought out into the open. She wished to marry him in order to save Liskillen, and so she must observe that unwritten rule.
Her silence seemed to puzzle him. “Are you doubtful because you are uneasy here at Polwithiel? I know that Felix and I behaved reprehensibly earlier, and I know that my aunt has been far from helpful so far, but I am still sure that this is the best place for you.”
He paused. “It is my fault that you are here, Miss St. Charles, but I swear that my reason for suggesting Polwithiel was consideration for you. I knew that at Liskillen you had had very little opportunity to learn the ways of high society, and so I thought it would be wise for you to stay here for a while in order to learn. The alternative would be to thrust you straight into the heat of a London Season, which is an ordeal even for someone like Delphine. Perhaps it was arrogant of me to force this upon you, and perhaps I am not as considerate as I imagined ...”
Considerate? Was that how he saw himself? She remembered the tone of his mistress’s letter. “I am sure you did the right thing, sir, for I could have embarrassed you most dreadfully.”
“It wasn’t my embarrassment I was thinking of, Miss St. Charles, it was yours—or rather, my wish to spare you such possible discomfort.”
Oh, how clear his eyes were, and how believable his tone. How good it would be to trust him. But she knew that she couldn’t. “I will stay here at Polwithiel, Sir Sebastian.”
He got up then, leaning one hand on the mantelshelf and looking down into the hearth, the blackness of which was relieved by a closed potpourri jar filled with soft pink rose petals. “There is something I must tell you, Miss St. Charles, something I do not relish mentioning at all.”
Her breath caught. He was going to mention Petra!
“It concerns your maid.”
“My
maid!”
she repeated in astonishment.
“My aunt insists that your maid must return immediately to Ireland—tomorrow morning, to be precise. She is of the opinion that the maid is not at all suitable for a lady of your position and must be replaced with one who is.”
Bryony leaped to her feet. “No!” she cried. “No, I will not agree to it!”
“My aunt is quite adamant.”
“And you uphold her, I suppose!”
“No, Miss St. Charles, I do not, but I
do
accept that she has the right to insist. She has undertaken to coach you, and she is firmly of the opinion that your maid is a bad influence who will inevitably hinder your progress. I am not particularly in a position to argue the point one way or the other, and if it were left up to me I would allow your maid to stay, for I do not think she influences you in the slightest. However, my aunt is knowledgeable on these things, and perhaps she is right that you would benefit from a more suitable maid. Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, my advice is that you agree to the demand.”
Bryony was suddenly close to tears. She had been very controlled so far, but the thought of losing Kathleen threatened to destroy her composure. “Is ...is there nothing I can do?” she asked.
“You can make a battle of it, if you wish.”
“Which would not achieve a great deal.”
He came to her then, suddenly putting his hand to her chin and raising her face a little. “No, it wouldn’t achieve a great deal, and it would also make things even more fraught than they already are. I’m going to Town in three days’ time and will be away for about two weeks, but I intend to be back here in time for the summer ball.” He hesitated. “It is my sincere wish that we will be betrothed on the night of the ball, Miss St. Charles.”
“That does not seem very far ahead—”
“I am sure all will be well by then, indeed I’m sure all will be well before I leave for London.”
She moved away a little. “Will you stay at Tremont when you return?”
“Yes.”
Yes, you will, for in spite of your apparently kind words now, it’s Petra that you love and Petra that you care about ... “‘Why do you wish to marry me, Sir Sebastian?”
“The time isn’t yet ripe for confessions, Miss St. Charles.”
She said nothing more, and after a moment he took his leave. He paused at the door. “With your permission, I will call on you again before I go to London.”
She nodded, and then he had gone. The silence of the library seemed to fold over her. She heard the carriage leaving shortly afterward, the sound carrying so clearly in from the quadrangle that it hid the rustle of the duchess’s skirts as she entered the room. It wasn’t until the door closed that Bryony heard and whirled about. “Your grace!”
“So, missy, by some miracle you are still set to be Lady Sheringham. Well, I’ve come to inform you that I thoroughly disapprove of my nephew’s foolish decision tonight. He could so easily have rid himself of you—you gave him cause enough—but instead he wishes to be lenient and allow you more time. I did my best to dissuade him, but he would not listen. I am a woman of honor, Miss St. Charles. I gave my word to my dying sister that I would treat Sebastian as if he were my own son. I stand by that promise, even if it means, as it now does, taking one such as you under my wing. I doubt if even I will be able to turn you into a lady, for it seems to me that you have no idea at all of how to go on in polite society, but I will do what I can. I’ve already begun by demanding that your wretchedly unsuitable maid be sent back to Ireland. Has my nephew informed you?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then perhaps her departure will go some way toward convincing you that I mean everything I say and that I do not intend to brook any more misbehavior of any kind. By misbehavior, I mean many things, missy, not only your questionable activities tonight. For instance, it has come to my notice that you are in the habit of addressing your maid by her first name.”
Bryony bit her lip and kept her eyes fixed to the carpet.
“Such familiarity may do in a place like Liskillen, but it will
not
do here! Is that quite clear?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Good. Your tuition will commence directly after breakfast tomorrow and will cover absolutely everything, even such simple matters as how to enter and leave a room. If it is humanly possible to get you up as a lady, then I will do it, but I will not hesitate to inform my nephew of any failings. There is just one thing more.”
“Yes, your grace?”
“You will surrender to me the miniature of your lover.”
“He isn’t my lover!”
“That is impossible to believe. The miniature, if you please.”
Bryony took it from her reticule and gave it to her.
“I will have it destroyed immediately. Have you any letters or other mementos?”
“I have nothing, your grace, because I have never indulged in a liaison of any kind with Mr. Carmichael.”
“I do not like lies, Miss St. Charles. However, I will not mention the matter again, unless I discover you in some deception. If I suspect you of continuing this affair with Mr. Carmichael, then I will immediately inform my nephew. He will not be lenient again.” The taffeta skirts rustled again as she left the library.
Bryony looked up at the slowly moving flames of the candles. Tonight her fortunes had swung from side to side like a pendulum, but somehow she had still emerged as the future Lady Sheringham. She had thought Sebastian was bound to declare off, but she had reckoned without his overwhelming desire to secure his kinsman’s fortune. That was
all
he was concerned with, and she must not allow herself to be influenced by the charm of his smile or the softness of his voice. She must always remember the truth about him, and she had to resist the bewildering sense of attraction she felt toward him. He must never be allowed to guess the effect he had upon her, for that would be too much for her to endure.
She turned to go, meaning to go up and tell Kathleen that she was to leave again in the morning, but somehow that was a task she wished to postpone. She needed to be alone for a while, somewhere where no one could intrude. Pulling her shawl around her shoulders, she hurried down to the great hall and then out beneath the porch into the quadrangle, where the moon shone clearly down from a starry sky.
She made her way to the ruins of the old abbey, so peaceful in the summer night. Ivy leaves whispered together in the light breeze as she leaned back against an ancient wall, gazing across the sloping land toward the woods which filled the valley behind the house. In the far distance she could see some lights; perhaps they were in the village of Polwithiel, on the shores of the Helford River. The silver moonlight cast an almost unearthly sheen over the land, making it look like something seen in a dream, to be forgotten at dawn.