Sybille's Lord (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Thom
had to admire how Sybille immediately portrayed a sweet young deb who was both
shy and retiring. She fluttered—there was no other word for it. Her hands moved
from her reticule to twist the fingers of her lacy gloves and then swished the
side of her fashionable dress.

“Grief,
this is so not me.” She muttered the words sotto voce and changed a chuckle to
a cough. He agreed with her. Although she’d been subdued for a while the Sybille
he knew and loved was more vital.

Loved? Where did that come from?

“I
deserve a medal. Or something.” As
they approached the shop door, she looked up at Thom from under her lashes.

“Are
you sure you’re au fait with this, my lord? I don’t wish to cause you trouble,
but it will make me so much happier, not to… not to have the responsibility of
looking after such a magnificent thing.” Her stance and her expression conveyed
a young and worried deb. For a fleeting moment Thom hoped Sandeman didn’t
recognize her as one of the Birch girls. Or if he did, he didn’t know of their
reputation for a lack of funk. The Birch girls were renowned for not giving
tuppence for the convention of shy and retiring.

“Anything
for you, my dear.” Thom rang the bell and the door opened immediately. He put
his hand in the small of Sybille’s back and propelled her forward. She shot him
a saucy look and wriggled into his hand just enough for him to know and no one else
to notice.

 
And I once thought her shy and retiring? How
mistaken can a man be?

 
“My lord, and ah, my lady?” Sandeman, a small
rotund man with twinkling eyes, bowed deeply and obsequiously then stood back
to let them enter. He looked like everyone’s favorite uncle. Thom always
thought he wouldn’t be surprised if he chucked everyone under the chin and
offered them some marchpane.

“My
lady will do nicely,” Thom said as Sandeman closed the door behind them, and
they waited to be ushered to a seat.

The
little man bowed. “Of course. So how may I help you?”

Thom
produced the pearl necklet out of his pocket. “My lady is loath to wear this
and lose it. I would like it copied. I believe that will be in order?”

Sandeman‘s
eyes lit up. “Oh yes, indeed. May I?” He held his hand out and Thom passed it
over.

“Ah
yes.” Sandeman fished in his pocket and pulled out a jeweler’s loupe. He proceeded
to screw it into place so he could use both hands to hold the pearls where he
wanted them. Through the magnifying lens, his eye looked overlarge and
fish-like.

Sybille
watched the proceedings with fascination. Thom mentally prepared himself for a quizzing
once they were alone.

“Oh
perfect.” Sandeman sighed with pleasure. “It will be an honor to replicate this.
Say four weeks?”

“One.”

“One?”
Sandeman looked perturbed. “Oh but, my lord.”

“If
you are unable to help, we’ll go elsewhere.”

“Oh
but…” Sybille spoke in a breathy voice and plucked at Thom’s sleeve. “I thought
that lovely man you know said Mr. Sandeman was the best with pearls…oh my. I
wasn’t supposed to mention his lordship was I?” Tears brimmed in her eyes. If Thom
hadn’t noticed the wicked glint she swiftly masked, he’d have been taken. “But
Lord Ban… oh I’m doing it again.” She shook her head and looked down at her
lap. Her shoulders shook, but Thom would wager it wasn’t due to distress. “He
did say, though, to come here.”

“There,
there, no need to get upset,” He patted her back awkwardly, as any man faced
with tears would be wont to do. “Mr. Sandeman is a gentleman of discretion. He
understands that the situation is delicate.” He nodded to Sandeman, who cleared
his throat noisily.

“Of
course, don’t distress yourself my lady. Believe me, I name no names but Lord B
was very interested in my talents. Why, I know he’s helped several ladies to
secure—” He coughed. “Ahem, now where was I? Ah yes, one week, my lord. Now let
me take some measurements.”

 
He bustled around as Sybille watched him surreptitiously,
and Thom himself more openly. Thom wondered if he would be expected to leave
the necklet. If necessary, he would of course, but it went against the grain,
especially as he had no idea just how Bankfoot had discovered Mijo’s deception.
Evidently Sandeman‘s discretion and privacy policy had flaws. Plus, something
in the man’s demeanor didn’t sit well with Thom.

A
scratching noise made Thom look up and glance around the room in careful suspicion.
It didn’t sound like a rodent, more like someone moving stealthily nearby,
intent on not being heard. Neither Sybille not Sandeman seemed to have heard
it.

“Perfect,
just perfect.” Sandeman held the necklet up and turned it this way and that. “A
quite splendid piece.” He raised his voice as he spoke and shuffled his feet on
the wooden floor, as he did so.

To
show someone who was hidden perhaps? Thom had no way of knowing.

“This
is the size you require?” Sandeman removed his loupe, and blinked several
times.

Thom
nodded.

“Then
ah, let me see…” Sandeman hummed and hah-ed and made some calculations on a
sheet of vellum, which he held out to Thom. “Yes, yes, this is the total my
lord, and it will be ready a week today. I ah, won’t need to keep it.”

“Good.”
Thom smiled. Something in his expression seemed to worry Sandeman who visibly
started and swallowed nervously. “For I would be very displeased if I
discovered anyone at all got wind of this.”

Sandeman’s
Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and sweat beaded his forehead. “I understand my
lord, but indeed why would they?”

“Exactly.”
Thom scanned the paper Sandeman had given him. “That is fine. We’ll be back in
a sennight. Come, my dear.” He held his hand out to Sybille who took it, and
gripped it tightly.

Thom
didn’t speak until they were back in the carriage and driving down the street. “What
is it?”

“That
man gives me an unpleasant itch down my spine. At first glance he seems genial
and accommodating, but something about him doesn’t strike me as genuine.” She
laughed nervously. “Oh ignore me, it’s all this high drama, but my skin
crawled. I had a most unpleasant feeling of being watched.”

“I’d
never ignore woman’s intuition,” Thom said. “So, I’ll reiterate. For the next
week, stay with your parents or myself. If you have to invent a megrim, do it.”

The
carriage lurched around a corner, and Sybille slipped toward him. Thom grabbed
her arm to stop her ending up on the floor. Her lips parted and her breath was
warm on his cheek as he held her in place.

Thom
held his body rigid as Sybille melted toward him. The effort of not letting his
arms flex and allow her closer was agony. It he wasn’t sure she had no idea how
tantalizing her innocent plea was, he could have lost his temper. As it was, he
struggled with himself for several seconds before he sighed. “Enough. You are
too much of a temptation for me. Be ready tomorrow for a picnic.”

“A
picnic?” Sybille let him push her to one end of the squab and held onto the strap
for security. “Where to?”

“Somewhere
I hope you’ll appreciate.”
And so will I.
“We’ll take the phaeton.”

“Will
you let me take the reins?”

He
shook his head, not in negation but in frustration. “Do you never give up?”

“No,
I was taught to go for what I want. I just seemed to have lost my way recently.
Now I’m back where I should be.”

“I’m
not sure whether to be pleased or apprehensive.”

****

He
still didn’t the next day, when he tooled the phaeton out of the city with Sybille
sitting next to him, dressed in a soft green dress and a darker green pelisse.

He’d
spent several hours putting his plans into place, including provisions and
necessities to be waiting at their destination, and subterfuges to explain
their absences.

The
weather was clement, the sun shone from a blue, cloudless sky, and the breeze
was light enough to hardly ruffle the leaves on the trees that edged the road as
they drove across the heath. Several times Sybille had glanced at the
horses—his perfectly matched greys—thence to his hands and finally his face,
although she didn’t say what he was sure was on her mind.

Thom
took his attentions away from his horses to have a quick look around the area.
The edge had now been taken off the greys, and they were, for them, remarkably
docile.

“Would
you like to take the reins?” he asked, fully prepared for a ladylike squeal.

“Pardon?
Would I like? Ah no, no thank you.”

Thom
blinked. “No? You wouldn’t like to?”

Sybille
shook her head and the cluster of tiny feathers that decorated her hat waved in
agreement. “Like is not the word. I would love to. Thank you.” She turned
sideways on the seat to grin up at him. “Are you sure?”

It
was worth spending the next five minutes or so worrying about his equipage to
see the way her face lit up and real, genuine pleasure showed.

“I
never say anything I do not mean. Here.” He put the reins into her hands. “Like
that, feed them through your fingers. Let the horses know you have them. That’s
good.” He sat back, happy to see how competent she appeared.

They
continued on in silence for several minutes as he studiously avoided staring or
flinching as he got the measure of her aptitude. Then he didn’t talk just
because he was enjoying himself as he surreptitiously watched her. Her hands
were light on the reins and the pace she kept the horses moving at was perfect.
The look of concentration on her face was absolute.

She
was he realized, content.

“Which
way at the crossroads?”

Thom
had been so engrossed in watching the play of emotions cross Sybille’s face, he
had to concentrate and look around to see where they were. “Left, and through
the village. We turn left again after the church.”

“Perhaps
you’d better take over?”

“Why?”
Thom gave into temptation and untied the saucy bow at the side of her chin and
tugged her hat off her head. It slipped down onto her back and stuck between
the back of the seat and her body.
 
“You
are fine. Slow down before you turn, and watch out for wandering ducks and
chickens as you pass the farm. I have every faith in you.”

Chapter Fourteen

Sybille
risked a glance at him.

“
Every
faith?” She returned her concentration
to the road, as the corner loomed ever closer. In truth it wasn’t too sharp,
and the bend was gentle and more to her favor than if they needed to turn
right.

“In
this case.”

Thom
clarified his comment and laughed when she began to stick her tongue out at
him. Sybille remembered who he was, where they were and the fact she was no
longer a young lady fresh out of the schoolroom but a responsible adult, who,
if she didn’t stop shillyshallying, would be on the shelf in a year or two.

“Stop
fretting,” he said. “If I was worried about anything I’d tell you. Now watch
out for Farmer Cates’s livestock. We get our milk, meat and poultry from him so
we don’t want to be ruining our chances of a nice chicken pie for lunch.”

Sybille
nodded and slowed the horses to a walk as the road they were on narrowed and
became busy with traffic of the feathered kind. Her arms were beginning to ache
with the unaccustomed strain of controlling two such spirited horses.

One
fearless chicken darted into the road, stopped, squawked and dashed back the
way it had come. The horses very properly ignored it and Sybille relaxed. “That
one decided not to be our dinner,” she said as they left the farm behind.

“Just
as well, if my orders have been followed,” Thom said. “If you hand me the reins
I’ll take us through the village and up the lane.”

“Too
demeaning to be seen driven by a mere woman?” Sybille handed control back to
Thom, rolled her shoulders and flexed her hands. They ached and tingled with
the effort of holding the horses in check. “Thank you, I enjoyed that. I miss
the freedom of home when we’re up for the season. Do you spend a lot of time in
the capital, my lord?” She hoped her inference was clear. Where did he consider
home?

“When
the house is sitting. Otherwise no. My principal estate is in the Cotswolds. I
have others scattered around.” He turned the phaeton between iron gates set in
tall stone gateposts. Sybille could see nothing to indicate where they were. While
tooling the horses she hadn’t thought to look at any signposts, and the last recognizable
landmark she’d noticed was an hour or so earlier as they left the city suburbs.
“This is one of them, although not known to anyone except my solicitor, and the
couple who keep it ready for me.”

“They’ll
know who you are then?” Sybille looked around with interest. “Oh look, a fox.”
She pointed to the animal as it slunk along the hedgerow a few hundred yards
away.

“They
know me, but other than them, around here, I’m known as Lord Fulwell as that’s
one of my titles. But worry not, the Tates know not to disturb us. Food will be
waiting, we just need to serve ourselves. And if that fox thinks it’s going
anywhere near the Tate’s hen house, I suspect Mrs. Tate will be cooking fox
stew, and making tippets.”

She
didn’t like the sound of the stew but was interested in the tippets. “Tippets?
Does she sell them? I know several people who would be interested.”

“I’ll
ask her.” Thom turned into a stable yard and drew up. “I’ll have to see to the
horses. Will you wait or do you want to go inside?”

“I’ll
help you, then we can eat in peace. Must we eat inside though?”

Thom
laughed. “No I know the perfect place, it’s only few minutes’ walk.” He began
to loosen the traces and within a few minutes both horses were in the stables
being rubbed down with a wisp of straw.

“I’ll
get oats and water.” He’d discarded his jacket and Sybille her pelisse as they
cooled down the horses. She watched as Thom took up two buckets and headed to
the pump.

Oats?
Sybille shut off the stray thought
from the other usage of the word. The line in that oh so informative pamphlet
which had called a young man’s proclivities as sowing his wild oats. Combined
with the further expression of planting his seeds, it wasn’t the thing she
needed to think about at that moment.

She
bit back a giggle. After all, wasn’t that why they were there? Her mound
throbbed, and after a quick check to make sure Thom was nowhere around she
touched herself over her dress. Perhaps soon it wouldn’t be solely her touch
that helped ease the ache?

She
scanned the stables and spied a lidded bin, which she hoped held the grain. It
looked secure enough that no rodent would be able to help himself. The lid was
heavy, and banded with metal, but hopefully it wouldn’t be too difficult to
move?
 
Sybille walked across to it and managed
to move the cover far enough to one side to check the contents. It was half-full
of oats and on the top of the cereal was a dipper.

 
Perfect.
Before Thom reappeared with two brimming buckets Sybille
had portioned out the grains and made sure the hay nets were full.

Thom
grinned. “Clever, and thank you. Now we can wash ready for luncheon. A late
luncheon, it’s time to eat.”

Sybille’s
tummy rumbled. “My stomach tends to agree with you.”

“Then
I’d better feed it. Come along. Will the pump do?”

“To
feed my hunger pangs?” Sybille chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “It would be
somewhat inedible, I fear.” Here away from the city and the ton, and especially
Bankfoot, she felt all her cares and worries recede. Oh she understood, they
were only in abeyance, not trounced, but somehow it didn’t matter. The
expression ‘carpe diem’—seize the day—was a perfect description of her mindset
at that moment.

“I
was thinking more for changing the state of your hands from farm laborer to
lady of the manor.” Thom patted her bottom as he urged her toward the stable
yard pump.

“And
you fondling my posterior with your oh so clean hands won’t help,” Sybille
said. “But please don’t stop.”

“Minx.”

Oh how I hope so.

He
gave her rear one more pat as they reached the trough under the pump. “Here you
are, I even have something to dry yourself on.” Draped over the stone walls
that held the water was a clean rough square of linen. Thom picked it up and
handed it to her. “Ready?”

Sybille
nodded, somewhat relieved as she took the towel from him, and tucked it around
her neck for safety. She’d washed like this many times in the past and ended up
with water dripping down her cleavage. However, any way to clean herself was
welcome—she’d worried she’d wear the beautiful aroma of eau de horse as they
made love.
 

The
pump was large and she was glad she didn’t have to wield the handle herself. Thom
of course made it look easy, as he energetically allowed water to splash into the
trough.

Sybille
held her hands under the flow and caught water in them to splash on her face.
The linen did its job, and by the time she’d washed and dried both her face and
hands, her body survived generally unscathed with only a few wet marks on the
bodice of her dress. They would dry easily in the sun.

She
handed the towel to Thom who grinned and pulled his shirt over his head, and
threw it toward her. “Here, hold this please.”

It
sailed through the air and she automatically stretched up to catch it.

“Careful.”
Thom grabbed the linen towel, as she let go of it to hold onto his shirt. He
secured it as it floated perilously near to the brimming trough.

“Well
caught, sir.” Sybille held her hands in the air. “My hero. Can we persuade you
to play in the Birch family cricket team? Then we might beat the Birch Village
team in our yearly match.”

 
“I’m not family.” He plunged his head
underwater, and came up dripping water everywhere.

No wonder he took his shirt off.
Rivulets streamed down his torso,
creating wet paths through the hairs in his chest, heading ever downward to
where his pantaloons sat snug around his waist and drawing Sybille’s gaze. All
too soon, it seemed to Sybille, Thom swiped the linen over his midriff and
patted himself dry.

“Yet,”
he said as he rubbed the towel over his hair. “However it’s in your hands to
change the status quo. And incorporate me into the winning team.”

“I’m
not marrying you just so you can play cricket for us,” Sybille said
indignantly. “What on earth do you think I am?”

“Perfect
for me,” Thom replied as he took back his shirt and put it on. “And you’re not
even sure if you’re going to marry me anyway, are you?” he asked shrewdly. “Even
if your parents were told we are betrothed. Although I suspect they know you
well enough to understand your ‘with qualifications’ are, in your mind, well
founded and render your promise non-binding.” He tucked his shirt into his
pantaloons. “I need to go inside and get our repast. I won’t be long.”

He
strode, long legged across the yard to a green painted door and disappeared.

Sybille
looked around with interest as she got her first chance to really take in her
surroundings. The yard was neat and well cared for, with no weeds growing
through the cobbles. The trim over the stables was freshly painted and the
house behind her looked warm and welcoming. She itched to go inside to explore.

However,
Thom appeared almost immediately, detoured to the phaeton and rejoined her. “Ready?”

“Yes.”
But for what?

“Let’s
go. Oh you might need this, the sun is hot.” He plonked her bonnet on her head.

 
Sybille tied the ribbons loosely, so it slid
down her back. “If I do I’ll put it on, for now, I want to enjoy that warmth.
It seems so very much nicer than in town. Fresher, more uplifting.”

He
nodded. “Less soot and unpleasant aromas. Here it’s cattle and fresh manure. In
town, well, sometimes you wonder.”

“True,
so I intend to savor it. Which way?”

Thom
pointed to the corner of the yard, where the cobbles stopped and a grassy track
began. “Through there. It’s only a few minutes’ walk to our destination.”

It
was oh so hard not to bombard him with questions. The only way Sybille managed
not to do so, was to nod, let him take her hand and bite her lip on her
questioning. It could come later.