One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 41

  Cybelline’s eyes followed her brother as he returned to the bench. “Let us agree that Becky shall have choices and leave it at that.”

  Sherry arched an eyebrow at her. “That is impressively fair-minded of you.”

  “I intend to bribe her, of course.”

  “Have you forgotten? I’m accounted to be as rich as Croesus.”

  “Ferrin’s richer.”

  Sherry glanced at Ferrin, looking for confirmation.

  Wincing slightly, Ferrin nevertheless agreed. “I’m afraid so.”

  Cybelline’s satisfied smile was so cat-in-the-cream that it moved Sherry to laughter. When he cut himself off abruptly, the silence that followed was uncomfortable.

  Cybelline looked over at Anna, saw her daughter was paying them no heed, and said quietly, “I think we should speak of it. Of all of it. Avoiding the discussion is painful, at least I find it so.”

  Lily stabbed her needle into the fabric stretched taut in the hoop and set the whole of it aside. She also turned briefly in Anna’s direction. “I agree with Cybelline.”

  When Sherry and Ferrin said nothing, Cybelline plunged ahead. “I should like to know what charges will be leveled against Sir Richard. Sherry, you and Ferrin spoke at length to the men who came here.”

  Seeing that Cybelline meant to have her answers, Sherry reluctantly obliged. “The attempts at abduction and murder will be the most grievous charges. There are the harassing letters also, although their existence will not be made public, just as the entire nature of his association with Nicholas will not be revealed. I believe we can depend upon the discretion of the authorities, and Sir Richard understands the benefits of remaining silent in certain matters. There is little chance any of it will become fodder for endless gossip.” He continued to watch Cybelline closely. “You are relieved?”

  “Yes, of course…for all of our sakes.” Cybelline regarded her folded hands a moment, then her brother. A measure of color returned to her face. “Thank you. You had no small influence there.”

  “On the contrary, Sir Richard was cooperative almost from the outset and made a complete confession of every one of his actions.”

  “A confession?” Cybelline was immediately wary. “I cannot not imagine it. He is entirely too arrogant.” She slipped her fingers free of Ferrin’s and considered him suspiciously. “I detect your fine hand, my lord. What did you say to him to provoke a confession?”

  “I said very little, actually.”

  Cybelline did not waver in her suspicious regard.

  Ferrin chose his words carefully. “The demonstration was persuasive on its own.”

  “Demonstration?”

  “Yes. Of Berzelius’s work. Perhaps you recall that I was studying his Theory of Chemical Proportions and the Chemical Action of Electricity.”

  What Cybelline recalled was the jolt Anna had received touching the leads of Ferrin’s voltaic pile. Her eyes widened. “You attached him to a voltaic pile?”

  “No. I merely threatened to.”

  Before Cybelline could make a response, Sherry interjected a broader explanation. “It was effective, though some might say badly done of us. Sir Richard was susceptible to Ferrin’s suggestion, having witnessed a more powerful display of the same when his sister was struck down. Ferrin had only to show that he could create a similar charge and Sir Richard found his voice.”

  Lily’s glance swiveled from her husband back to Ferrin, then came to rest on Cybelline. “They are not remorseful,” she said, “and I cannot say that I am properly appalled by their methods. Indeed, it is difficult not to applaud them.”

  “Sir Richard is no innocent,” Sherry said when Cybelline remained silent. “His confession means there will be no public trial.”

  “I understand,” Cybelline said. “It is rather more than I expected to hear. As you say, Sir Richard is no innocent.” She quietly reached for Ferrin’s hand again and threaded her fingers through his. “What is to be done about me?”

  “You?” Ferrin asked. “What do you mean?”

  “In regard to Sir Richard’s sister.” With Anna present, it was not possible to speak of the woman as Nanny Baker. “When I left you with Sir Richard, I meant only to retrieve the twine that was securing the kite so we might restrain him. Coming upon the horse and rider was quite unexpected, but surprise was my advantage this time. I caused the horse to rear by poking it with a stick. I couldn’t unseat the rider, but she hit her head hard on a heavy branch, and I had time enough to retrieve the kite and bind her hands. Afterward I led her out into the open. That is where she was finally thrown when her horse bolted, and that is when…” She fell silent a moment, remembering. Her head came up, and she said quite frankly, “It is understood, is it not, that I am responsible for her death?”

  “What is understood,” Ferrin said, “is that you apprehended Sir Richard’s accomplice and used what means were available to secure her after capture. The lightning strike was a phenomenon of nature.”

  “It was providence,” Lily said.

  Sherry smiled at the certainty in his wife’s tone and inclined his head, deferring to her judgment, then responded to his sister. “No responsibility has been attached to you, Cybelline. If that were the case, where would it end? Should Pinch, Midge, and Dash be made accountable because they put keys on the kites? Mayhap I should hold Ferrin’s feet to the fire for telling them the story of Franklin’s discovery. Is Lily culpable? She did not observe what the scoundrels had done to their kites, and she underestimated the speed of the approaching storm.”

  Ferrin’s thumb lightly brushed the back of Cybelline’s hand. “You acted to protect your child. No one faults you.”

  Cybelline worried the inside of her bottom lip. “It is all such a turmoil of feeling. I am not remorseful, yet I am guilty. I didn’t recognize her beneath her man’s outerwear and muffler, but I do not like to think on what I would have done if I had. I doubt I would have led her so calmly back to the clearing.”

  “She betrayed you,” Lily said quietly.

  “Nicholas betrayed me. He hired that woman to care for our daughter. He allowed Sir Richard to believe he had certain privileges of parenthood.”

  Ferrin recalled Sir Richard’s taunt to Cybelline: Do you not yet comprehend that you were merely a brood mare? She is in every way more my daughter than yours. From the very first I’ve made her care my responsibility, and Nicholas indulged me. Ferrin said nothing as the ache in Cybelline’s heart gave rise to anger.

  “It was at Nicholas’s urging that I hired her. I mistook his interest in the applicants as further proof of his thoughtful attention. Attention? What he did was encourage me to take a spy into my home. I do not fault the care she gave my daughter, but we know that her most excellent oversight had another purpose. I believe it was always in Sir Richard’s mind to take my daughter from me, and Nicholas humored him.”

  Ferrin shook his head slightly. “I am less certain than you how much your husband supported Sir Richard’s imaginings. Sir Richard turned on Nicholas. He threatened to publicly reveal their affair.”

  “He told you this?”

  “Yes.”

  “He wouldn’t have done it.”

  “I don’t think so, either, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t convince Nicholas. We can only guess at what provoked Sir Richard to make the threat. It might not have been any one thing, but it is likely that Anna figured largely in whatever brought it about.”

  Hearing her name, Anna noisily scattered the blocks as she scrambled to her feet. She skirted Lily’s chair, stepping carefully over the basket of floss and material on the floor, and went to her mother. She climbed onto the chaise in the space that Ferrin and Cybelline made for her between them. With little urging, she let herself be cradled in the crook of Ferrin’s arm.

  Cybelline brushed back a lock of hair that lay against Anna’s temple so that it curled around her ear. Almost absently she asked, “Did Sir Richard confess to the letters?”

  It was Sh
erry who answered. “Yes. As you might suspect, his sister assisted in their delivery.”

  “I have seen his handwriting many times. It is vastly different than those notes he penned.”

  “A minor subterfuge. He used his left hand to record his accusations and address the missives. That is why each letter seemed so painstakingly formed. He told us that he did not correspond with his sister but that she wrote regularly to him. It was learning of the interests of a certain Mr. Wellsley that alarmed him enough to make him leave London for Penwyckham.”

  “Then he was never interested in the artifacts.”

  “It would be truer to say that his interest was not entirely feigned,” said Ferrin. “He did not want to pay for what he believed was always meant to be his. The shield, for instance, was a discovery he and your husband made together. The collection gave him a reason to visit you and determine what threat Mr. Wellsley’s attentions were to his own plans. His sister did not know I was Ferrin, but if you will recall, both she and Sir Richard saw—”

  “The book,” Cybelline said softly. “Pride and Prejudice. They saw your name on the bookplate.”

  “That’s right. She did not know the significance of it when I lent her the book, but one cannot accuse Sir Richard of being a slow top. He was able to gather enough information about Mr. Wellsley from his sister to reliably confirm that we were one and the same.”

  A small crease appeared between Cybelline’s eyebrows as she considered this. “It explains why he was not at all surprised to see you in the wood. I do not even think I comprehended it at the time.” She darted a sideways look at Ferrin. “And you knew who he was, even before he revealed himself. How?”

  Ferrin glanced at Sherry, who nodded once, indicating he should explain. “The scoundrels pointed it out to me.”

  This bit of intelligence brought Lily to a forward position in her chair. She spoke before Cybelline could. “The scoundrels? How is that possible? They know nothing at all of Sir Richard Settle.”

  Sherry admonished his wife gently. “Allow Ferrin to explain, dearest, and I promise you will be as astonished as I was.”

  Lily settled an accusing glance on her husband for making her wait to hear something he already knew.

  Unnoticed by either her brother or her sister-in-law, Cybelline tugged on Ferrin’s sleeve, urging him to account for himself quickly.

  “It’s true the lads do not know Sir Richard, but they know about magnets,” Ferrin told Lily. “Do you recall what happened during the science lesson when I was teaching them about attracting and repelling forces?”

  “Indeed, I do,” Lily said. “I thought I would have to restrain Midge and Dash before they hurt each other. They were…oh, I see…well, yes, I suppose they did lead you to…how extraordinary.”

  “Well, I don’t see,” Cybelline said. “I was not there, was I?”

  Ferrin tamped down his smile. “Midge and Dash decided they would demonstrate the repelling forces by bumping chests into each other. They were like roosters strutting about, puffing themselves up, then”—he brought his hands sharply together and let them fly apart—“they prattled on about how they—”

  “How they were alike,” Cybelline said softly as comprehension came to her. “Two boys, of course. Yes, they told me when I ran into them after I left the gallery. I didn’t understand then, but it opened your eyes to a new possibility, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you understood what it meant.”

  He shrugged. “Where human beings are concerned, the forces that act on attraction are not so easily understood.”

  A faint smile lifted the corners of Cybelline’s mouth. “He is being modest,” she told her brother and Lily. “He knows everything. It is really a very serious fault of his.”

  Sherry looked to his wife. “Why do you never make such pretty compliments on my behalf?”

  “Because your most serious fault is not that you know everything, but that you think you do.”

  “Oh, Sherry,” Cybelline said, “you deserved that. You know you did.”

  “Indeed.” He gave Lily a wry look. “At least my sister knows what I know.”

  Lily held her retort as Anna yawned widely. Her smile was immediately indulgent. “I think someone is telling us she is quite ready for bed.”

  Cybelline looked down at her daughter. “Is that right, darling? Shall I take you upstairs?” The surest sign that Anna was prepared to go was the lack of protest as Cybelline got to her feet. She bent to pick up her daughter, and Anna held out her arms. “Goodness, you are a sleepyhead.” Cybelline straightened and hefted Anna against her breast and shoulder. “Say goodnight, then we’re off to your bed.”

  “Your bed,” Anna said.

  “You want to sleep with me tonight?”

  Anna nodded. “And Misterlee.” Turning her head sideways, she flung out a hand in Ferrin’s direction. “Come!” she ordered imperiously. “We sleep in the same bed. Like your house.”

  Anna’s disclosure hung heavily in the air. For a long—very long—moment, there was only silence.

  Sherry held up his hand, palm out, forestalling Cybelline’s explanation. “It is as Lily says,” he told his sister. “I only think I know everything. It will be better, I believe, if this last revelation remains in that uncertain realm.”

  Lily left her chair and went to her husband’s side. She laid a hand on his shoulder. “I am never so in love with you as when you step down from your high horse.” She bent to kiss him on the mouth. Behind her back she waved Ferrin, Cybelline and Anna off, encouraging them to make their escape.

  They were slipping out the door when Sherry broke the kiss long enough to call after them. “I should very much like to learn in the morning that a wedding date has been set.”

  “Soon,” Cybelline said, pulling Ferrin across the threshold. “It will be soon.”

  Ferrin closed the door behind them. He bent his head toward Cybelline and whispered, “It will be sooner.”

  She never doubted that in this, too, he would be proven right.

  Epilogue

  London, June 1818

  The bride was radiant. Everyone in attendance would remark later that her feet did not quite touch the ground on her way to the altar. The groom, they would say, seemed unaware of anyone in the crowded church save for his bride, and that was exactly as it should be.

  Were there ever two people so in love? the wags asked.

  Cybelline had the question posed to her several times. Ferrin also had the same query put to him. No, they assured the family, friends, and guests, they certainly had never seen the like before, and did it not strain the bounds of propriety the way they looked at each other? Then Ferrin and Cybelline would exchange that very same propriety-straining glance.

  Lady Rivendale witnessed such an exchange and left her circle of friends to deliver a scold. “Oh, that is very bad of both of you,” she said. “Poor Mrs. Palmer does not even realize you were having her on. You must save your wit for someone who is at least conscious of it.”

  “Or who is at least conscious,” Ferrin said in wry accents.

  “My lord!” Cybelline tugged on the cuff of Ferrin’s black frock coat. “Have a care. You will be overheard.”

  Lady Rivendale brought up her fan quickly. It hid her smile and softened her laughter. She required a moment to compose herself. “You must realize, Cybelline, that your husband can say or do almost nothing that will place him beyond the pale, and you have only yourself to blame.”

  “I cannot imagine how that came to be,” said Cybelline. She leaned toward her aunt as though to impart a confidence. Her look of mischief was all for her husband. “He has faults, you know.”

  Ferrin grinned. “Your spirited defense of my character never fails to move me.”

  Lady Rivendale used her closed fan to give Cybelline a lightly reproving tap on the wrist. “You have reformed the rake, my dear, so it is useless to speak of his faults. He no longer has any that merit comme
nt. Indeed, everyone agrees he is a paragon.”

  Cybelline laughed when she saw Ferrin was disconcerted. “What is it, my lord? You object to being named such?”

  “Reformed rakes are notoriously dull.”

  “Also high in the instep,” Cybelline said. “Do not forget they are high in the instep.”

  Lady Rivendale offered her own observation of the species. “And they are completely tiresome in their devotion to family.”

  Ferrin sighed. His glance in Cybelline’s direction was faintly accusing. “You must allow that Aunt Georgia is right: You have only yourself to blame.”

  She stepped closer to him and wound her arm around his. “It is only proper that society finally acknowledges the gentleman you have always been. I do not mind accepting responsibility for that, but in private, if you wish to play the rogue, I would not mind that, either.”

  Lady Rivendale’s eyes darted between the pair. Of a sudden, she felt a need to fan herself. Tongue firmly in cheek, she asked, “La! Have there ever been two people so much in love?”

  Laughing, Cybelline and Ferrin pointed as one to the bride and groom.

  Lady Rivendale looked over her shoulder to where Wynetta and Wellsley stood not ten feet distant. Enrapt, they were oblivious to her scrutiny. “Well, of course, they are, but the ink is barely dry on their license, while I have it in my mind that you have been wed these past three months.”

  “And a sennight,” Cybelline said. “Three months and a sennight.”

  “She has also become astonishingly dull,” Lady Rivendale told Ferrin. “You deserve each other.”

  He bent and kissed her cheek. “You flatter me.”

  Lady Rivendale made a dramatic surrender, throwing up her hands when Cybelline and Ferrin playfully regarded each other with perfectly adoring glances. “You will excuse me, won’t you?” she asked dryly. “I am for finding Sherry and Lily. They are no longer wholly absorbed in each other.”