Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) (22 page)

Another shrill cry—not Hetty’s—punctuated the silence, broken by the hoot of an owl and the gentle lapping of the water against the shoreline.

“Help me!”

Lady Julia’s wail was drowned by Hetty’s more urgent, “Where is he?” as she stepped forward, up to her knees in water, still dressed in her evening clothes, her hair and eyes wild.

Stephen had cast off his boots and was already striding in, pushing Hetty gently back toward her mother as he launched in, making for the boat.

“Edgar’s in the water! Someone’s got to find him!”

Sybil had to hold Hetty back from diving in after Stephen, soothing her as she noted her wildly shaking body. “He’ll find Edgar.”

“Save me! I can’t swim!” came Lady Julia’s anguished cry as Stephen reached her.

Yet there was no triumph in his delivery of her thrashing body back to shore before he turned back. Edgar was missing still.

Sybil forced her attention to the water-logged young woman at her feet while Hetty kept vigil.

Instead of comfort she could only mutter, “Quiet, Lady Julia! You are the one who’s been saved!”

For in the next moment Stephen dragged Edgar’s body from the reeds and placed it, ominously still and pale, beside the thrashing, hysterical Lady Julia.

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I
t was Hetty’s sobbing that wakened the house. That and her cries for a stable boy to be roused to fetch Dr. Marsh.

As if he would be able to do anything.

“We can’t just leave him here!” Hetty had shrieked before Stephen had torn her away from her cousin’s prone body, half carrying both her and Lady Julia, soaked and now silent with shock, towards to the Grange.

They’d done everything they could. They’d pounded his chest, Hetty had implored him as she’d shaken him, her hysteria rising, to wake up. But Edgar had gone. He was not coming back.

They stumbled up the stairs of the portico, hammering on the heavy oak front door, which miraculously opened when Stephen pushed it.

So much for security.

A flickering candle carried by a trembling housemaid was followed by a branch of candles brought by the butler, and then Humphry, his gray hair sticking out from his nightcap, eyes bleary with sleep. Araminta appeared like a wraith by his side, the two of  them  staring  silent, uncomprehending,  at  the sodden, bedraggled troupe at  the bottom of the stairs before Hetty broke away from Stephen, screaming, “Edgar’s by the lake. Fetch Dr. Marsh. He fell in and now he can’t breathe. He wasn’t under the water for long. Not so very long. Someone must summon Dr. Marsh.”

It was Stephen who had the wits to soothe her while directing one of the servants to the stables. Thomas, the most trustworthy of the stable lads, was to be dispatched to fetch the doctor.

It was Stephen, also, who pushed Hetty before him toward the study, saying, “We need brandy,” before ordering dry linen and hot drinks to be brought directly.

“Why was everybody at the lake except me?” Araminta trailed after them, her tone suggesting affront at the implied insult to her rather than concern for Edgar, though she added as an afterthought, “I’m sure if he wasn’t under for long he’ll sleep it off. Dr. Marsh will do something for him. Edgar loves to gammon everyone.”

Stephen pushed Hetty into a chair, saying to Araminta under his breath, “There’s nothing Dr. Marsh can do for Edgar. Now see your sister drinks this.”

“Sybil...?” Humphry followed them into the room, removing his nightcap to rake his hands through his thinning hair.

She turned, tensing for whatever was to come, glad to have Stephen in her sights, admiring his deft handling of the situation while reminding herself that neither through inference nor gesture must she incriminate him. She’d pay twofold for her crimes if it would protect Stephen. She had no idea how Humphry might react to the truth.

“Yes, Humphry?” She did not look at him, distracted, she knew, absentmindedly covering the front of her torn nightdress with her shawl as she hovered over Hetty, who was still convulsing with sobs.

Then with a sigh, Sybil straightened and forced herself to attend to Humphry’s obvious confusion.

When she finally met his gaze, it was like looking at a stranger. Who was this man who’d sought her bed two hours earlier? Yes, he was the man who’d fathered her four children. The man she’d dutifully loved for twenty years despite knowing he did not love her. The man she’d loved until she discovered what love really was.

Unconsciously, she traced her belly with her hand. If she were with child, she’d keep Stephen’s identity secret if it killed her.

If it were necessary.

Again, as Humphry’s troubled, confused countenance blurred before her, she had no idea what to expect from him. Understanding? Compassion? Gratitude, even? Or rage. Simple rage.

She sighed again and touched the cool, smooth sleeve of Humphry’s silk banyan, as if to ground him as he came closer. “Lady Julia and Edgar went to the rotunda. I don’t know what happened, Humphry. I think Edgar must have fallen out of the boat as they were returning.”

They glanced at Hetty, the center of Stephen and Araminta’s attention as they forced her to drink the brandy. Everyone wanted to know what had happened. Such an extraordinary accident in the middle of the night.

“You must ask Hetty, Humphry,” she said. “I found her by the edge of the lake, up to her knees as she tried to retrieve Edgar herself.” She lowered her voice. “She must have followed Edgar and Lady Julia there.”

“And Stephen?”

Sybil flicked a glance at Stephen, glad he was still clad in evening clothes and that she was the only one dressed for sleep. It made her story as an innocent bystander more plausible. Really, she didn’t care if she had to swing for all their sins, but she must for the meantime concoct a plausible account of all their actions to Humphry.

Sybil shrugged. “No doubt he couldn’t sleep. There was a lot of excitement this evening.”

Humphry stared. Distractedly, he rubbed his eyes. “Lady Julia and Edgar?”

Sybil nodded. “One can only imagine Hetty’s distress. But perhaps you should ask Hetty. She’ll be questioned by the magistrate, no doubt. There’ll have to be an investigation. It’s best if she’s encouraged to tell us everything now.”

They crowded round to hear her tale. Araminta sat beside her and took her hand, stroking it, pretending sisterly solicitude, Sybil thought uncharitably. Araminta seemed more fascinated than shocked by the means of her erstwhile betrothed’s death.

“You  mean  you  saw  Lady  Julia following  Edgar  across  the lawn  after  he’d pretended to  you  he was  going  to  bed?” She sounded outraged. “Then what happened?”

Hetty explained how she had stood at her window, vacillating between quietly retiring for the night or following Edgar and confronting him.

“I decided I had to tell him how I felt,” she said in a small voice. “Cousin Stephen had said it would be helpful—for both of us.”

Araminta made a small, strangled noise in her throat before asking, “It did not occur to you that Lady Julia’s presence might prove an impediment?”

Hetty dabbed at her damp eyes with a handkerchief. “I thought Edgar was heading for the lake because he was miserable about you, Araminta, and that Lady Julia might be thinking she could console him.” She shrugged. “But then I discovered she was there to console him in other ways.”

“What  other  ways?  What  else  did  you  see?”  There  was  a  prurient  gleam  in Araminta’s eye.

Stephen said hastily, “I don’t think Hetty wants to go into too much detail.”

“Since she’ll be asked by the magistrate, surely it’s best she recounts it first here?” Araminta objected. “Come, Hetty. You can tell us.”

On a wail, Hetty replied, “They were in the rotunda when I reached the lake. They were kissing... More.” She shook her head. “It was horrible. I started screaming at them. She looked scornfully at the woman shivering in front of the low fire, rubbing vacantly at her sodden dress with a strip of dry linen the maid had just brought her. “But Lady Julia just laughed at me, then said to Edgar the fun was over and they should return.”

“So you waited, like an avenging angel, to greet them with the full force of your righteousness, only Edgar toppled into the water when he saw how angry you were.” Araminta seemed impatient for the facts.

Hetty ignored her. Her eyes and nose were streaming as she stared at her hands. “Edgar pushed the boat from the shore and then leapt into it. It made quite some distance but he was still trying to regain his balance when it was already halfway across. Then he just simply pitched forward. He didn’t even try to save himself. At least, it didn’t look like it. I didn’t see him again after that. Not...not until...”

Araminta put her arm about her sister’s shoulders. “Edgar was obviously foxed. He’d drunk a great deal and people often simply lose consciousness when they’re bosky.”

Sybil wondered how she was such an authority on the matter as her elder daughter went on with a sigh. “You did everything you could, from what I can tell,” indicating Hetty’s gown, sodden to the waist. “As did Cousin Stephen.”

Sybil exchanged glances with him. She was expecting to be quizzed further on her role. “Araminta, please take your sister to her room,” she said. “Summon Mary to help her out of her wet things and into bed. I shall be up shortly.”

It was a tone that brooked no objection. Araminta had only to look at her mother’s face, and the expressions on the faces of her father and Stephen to know she must obey.

“Lady Julia must be helped to bed also,” Sybil said in an undertone to the men when Araminta and Hetty had gone. “How do you propose we tackle that?”

Humphry looked at his shaking, uncomprehending houseguest with disfavor, indecision in his tone as he asked, “Should her husband be told or do we strive for discretion?”

Sybil looked inquiringly at her husband. “What do you do when your actions are contrary to what you’d wish your nearest and dearest to be privy to, Humphry?”

Brushing off her comment with a grunt, he leaned over Lady Julia and spoke to her in loud, clear tones. “My wife will have her lady’s maid attend to you, madam. It is perhaps wise to put your unfortunate condition down to an accidental dunking in the fishpond when you missed your footing during a stroll about the garden in the moonlight with Araminta, who wished to confide in you regarding a matter pertaining to her London season.”

Stephen raised one eyebrow and Sybil marveled with heavy irony, “My goodness, Humphry, one might imagine you were in the habit of concocting Bunbury tales to cover  your  tracks.” She reached down and helped Lady  Julia rise. “I  shall return shortly, gentlemen,” she said from the door, one arm about Lady Julia’s waist. “Hopefully Dr. Marsh will be here soon.”

Lady Julia’s fear was evident as Sybil led her to her room. “If Edgar has drowned the tale will be all over town,” she whimpered. “What will be said of me?”

Sybil was reassuring. “We want as little scandal as you, Lady Julia. Edgar had drunk a great deal tonight and was clearly not responsible for his actions. This is not the first accident to claim a healthy young man when he’s in his cups.”

She returned to the others after a quick detour to her own room to change her torn nightgown and tidy herself.

Stephen and Humphry had their heads together. They looked up at her entrance. “Dr. Marsh is on his way, according to the stable lad, and Stephen will lead him to the lake,” Humphry said. “I have also reminded Stephen that in the event of Edgar’s death, he reverts, once again, to being my heir.” He cleared his throat and directed Sybil an incisive look. “That is, if we have no more sons of our own.”

Sybil followed Humphry’s gaze, touching her belly as horror ripped through her, but before she could order her thoughts, the sound of Dr. Marsh’s carriage could be heard rolling up the driveway.

As Humphry strode forward to open the double doors of the drawing room, which opened onto the terrace, Sybil gripped Stephen’s sleeve to detain him.

“Dear God, Stephen, what have I done to you?” she gasped, pulling him into the shadows of the heavy curtains that covered the deep window seat as Humphry went onto the terrace speak to the doctor. “You are Humphry’s heir. Yet if you have succeeded in what I begged of you—to plant a seed in my womb—then I have blighted your future.” She was close to tears. “Forever.”

Stephen put a hand on her shoulders and tilted her chin up with a forefinger. His look was grave. So much smoldered in its depths—regret, adoration...and yes, doubt. But she could see no recrimination.

“You acted for the good of the family, Sybil...darling.” Lingeringly, he trailed his finger across her collarbone. Closing his eyes on a sigh, he smiled when he looked at her again. “Only time will tell. But you mustn’t blame yourself—whatever happens.”

They could hear Humphry conversing with the doctor in a low undertone just a few yards away yet Stephen took her in his arms. Although they were part hidden, Henry need only turn and strain his eyes to witness their forbidden embrace.

Sybil wilted against him, joy cutting through every other emotion as he declared, “If striding out there and announcing to His Lordship that I claim you for my own would bring us happiness, I’d do it.” Passion limned his whisper. Sybil had no doubt he meant every word. He shook his head and the pain in his voice sliced through her as he added, “But an adulterous wife can be cast off by her husband too easily. Lord knows I’d gladly have you live with me—forever—but...” He shrugged and for the first time she saw helpless regret cloud his features. “I have nothing to offer you. No money and, if your husband were vengeful, no prospects.” With an anguished cry, he burst out, “God, Sybil, I’d die before I hurt you.”