One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance) Read online

  “She was unmarried?”

  “Yes. And childless. Friendless, too, I think. It should not have been so surprising that she named me the foremost beneficiary in her will. I was a logical choice since I was her closest blood relative, yet I remember being shocked when I learned of it. The Sharpe house was mine along with a tidy sum for its upkeep. I thought at first I would sell it, but upon going there, I found I could not. Whatever the source of melancholia, it was not reflected in the house she kept. The rooms were bright and cheerful, and I remember that she was never tightfisted with candles or wood for the fires. The furniture was in good order, polished and freshly upholstered. The linens were all of fine quality. Still, while I could not bring myself to sell, neither could I remain there overlong.”

  Lady Rivendale sighed. “I have told you perhaps more than you wanted to know, but there you have it. I fear I have not been a good steward of the property by leaving it for so long in the hands of others. The Henleys are not the first to care for the house and grounds. There was a Mr. Younger and a Mrs. Ayres before them. They were excused from service when I last journeyed to Penwyckham. It is putting it too mildly to say that the home came to a sad state while in their care. I promised myself that I would not allow it to suffer neglect a second time, yet I have done little to ensure that hasn’t come to pass.”

  “Anna and I will set your mind at ease. After we have settled and made ourselves happy there, you will come to the country and see for yourself that the Sharpe house has all the light and life one might wish for.”

  Lady Rivendale looked at Cybelline with some surprise. “I believe you mean it.”

  “You doubt me?”

  The countess was long in responding. She finally waggled one hand to indicate that what she was going to say was no longer of any consequence. “I have been possessed by the oddest thought since you told me you are ready to quit London.”

  “Oh?”

  “You will think me ridiculous since I have been encouraging you to leave for the country for well on five months now. It is only that I cannot rid myself of the notion that you are bolting.”

  Cybelline’s features remained perfectly unchanged until a small smile reshaped her mouth. “You are right once again, Aunt Georgia.”

  “Then you are bolting?”

  “No, you’re right that I think you are ridiculous.”

  Viscount Sheridan set his quill aside as the door to his study opened. That this breach of his sanctuary occurred without a warning knock was enough to indicate who would be there when he lifted his eyes. He smiled warmly, inviting the interruption to continue.

  “Forgive me, Sherry,” Lily said, “but the post has arrived and I knew you would want this immediately.” She held up a letter between her thumb and index finger, waving it gently. “And I knew you would want to share its contents with me, so I have saved you the bother of hunting for me.”

  “That was very good of you, though I like the hunt well enough.”

  “Do not raise that eyebrow at me, my lord. I am able to understand your meaning without having it underscored in that particular manner.”

  Chuckling, he lowered the offending eyebrow. The last time he’d hunted for his wife, he had finally run her to ground in a hayrick. She’d burrowed deep, and he’d burrowed deeper. All things considered, it had been a lovely way to spend the afternoon. But that was yesterday. Apparently Lily had other thoughts to occupy her for the nonce.

  “Allow me to see what you have there,” he said, extending his hand. “Is Rosie napping?”

  Lily laid the letter in Sherry’s palm. “Rose,” she said deliberately, “was playing with her toes when last I looked, and Nurse Pinter was sleeping. It seemed to satisfy them both.”

  Sherry nodded absently. He was already looking at the elegant copperplate handwriting. “It’s from Cybelline.”

  “Yes.”

  He took a knife from his desk and slit the seal. “Will you not sit, Lily? Or would you prefer to read over my shoulder?”

  “Do not tempt me.” Her smile held a hint of mischief that was reflected in her green eyes. She sat, taking the delicate Queen Anne chair on the opposite side of Sherry’s desk. Sherry, she saw, was already skimming the letter. A crease had appeared between his dark eyebrows, and he was tapping the knife tip against the edge of the paper, rattling it. Her heart sank a little. “She is not coming to visit, is she? What does she say, Sherry? Pray, do not keep me on tenterhooks.”

  “I have not gotten so far. She says first that she is well. Anna also. Aunt Georgia is enjoying better health, having recently recovered from a stomach ailment. It seems she—Aunt Georgia, that is—was unable to attend the masque given by Sir Geoffrey and Lady Gardner in honor of their daughter’s debut. You will not credit it, but Cybelline attended.”

  Lily did not credit it. “Are you certain you have not mistaken what she’s written?”

  Sherry read it again. “She is quite clear. She attended without Aunt Georgia.”

  “Even more extraordinary.” Lily pointed to Sherry’s knife. “Do put that down. I am in fear that it will slip, and you will do me grievous injury.”

  He frowned. “I am more likely to do injury to—” He stopped, glancing down to where the knife was certain to meet the sticking place squarely between his legs. “Oh, yes, I see. That would be too bad for you.” He carefully set the knife aside and ran one hand through his dark cocoa-colored hair. His attention returned to the missive. “She writes that Aunt Georgia was adamant that she should attend, and since it was a masquerade, Cybelline persuaded herself that she had the courage to do so.”

  “It was her come-out, then,” Lily said. “After a fashion.”

  “She writes the very same.” Sherry turned the first page over and continued to read. “A shepherdess. That was her costume. Again, Aunt Georgia’s fine hand at work. Cybelline was gratified to see so many other shepherdesses present, though when Aunt Georgia learned of it she was understandably less than pleased. Apparently Aunt thought her idea a complete original.”

  Lily pressed three fingers to her lips to tamp her smile. She noticed that Sherry was smiling as well. It was not difficult for either of them to imagine Lady Rivendale being most put out to discover her original idea was so common. “Go on. What does she say about the evening? Did all go well?”

  Sherry reported all of Lily’s observations about the masque, then mused aloud, “She seems to have enjoyed the anonymity. I wonder that no one recognized her.”

  “She has rarely been about in society since Nicholas’s death. Perhaps if she had accompanied Lady Rivendale someone would have guessed her identity. Your aunt merely has to laugh, and she would make herself known to the assembly. Cybelline would be caught out for the company she keeps.”

  Sherry considered that. “You are most likely right.”

  “And then there was the costume. If Cybelline was the shepherdess from the Gainsborough hanging in your aunt’s London home, even you might have passed over her for all the flounces and furbelows.”

  “I think I would know my own sister.”

  “Do not underestimate your aunt’s design. The fact that there were so many there of a similar mode could have confused you.”

  “I would know you in any manner of costume.”

  “I think you flatter your powers of observation. I could fool you. In fact, you have forgotten that I did. On the occasion of our first meeting you mistook me for a lad.”

  “I would not make the same error again.”

  Lily did not argue the point. She indicated the letter. “Please go on. What has she to say about joining us for Christmas?”

  “I am not come to that yet. She writes that she made an unfortunate decision before the masquerade to wash her hair with henna.” Sherry’s eyes widened, and he read the passage a second time. “Henna. That is what she says. What could she have been thinking?”

  “Mayhap she did not wish to wear a powdered wig.” Lily fingered her own penny-copper hair. “Or
mayhap she wished to copy my own coloring—and the disposition that accompanies it.”

  “God’s truth, I hope not.”

  Both of Lily’s eyebrows lifted. “It is just that sort of thinking that you will want to keep to yourself if you expect to find me in your bed this evening.”

  Sherry was uncertain if he was being teased or warned. He decided to tread carefully. “I only meant that your sweet temperament cannot be forced by trying to capture the rare beauty of your hair. I would have thought Cybelline would know that.”

  “Prettily said. You recover quickly from your missteps.”

  “The scoundrels’ influence.”

  Lily was certain there was some truth in that. She smiled. “Does Cybelline say how the henna worked?”

  “Since she tells us at the outset that it was an unfortunate decision, I think it is safe to say it did not work well.” He read on. “The color, she says, prompted Anna to throw porridge at her, Webb to cluck her tongue many times over, and Aunt Georgia to make unflattering comparisons to a cyprian.”

  “Oh my. It must have been ghastly.”

  “She mentions here that it was the red-orange of a popping ember.”

  “Goodness.”

  Sherry withheld comment and continued to read. “I gather the henna is coming out with repeated scrubbing, and there will be a return to her honey-colored tresses within a sennight.”

  “Then no permanent harm has been done.”

  “Apparently, that is the case.” He began the second page of Cybelline’s letter, and it was here that his frown deepened. “She is going to Penwyckham. I cannot believe it.” Looking up, he saw that Lily was not following. “Penwyckham is several days’ journey northeast of London, still south of Norfolk. It’s a village—a hamlet, actually, if that is the smaller. Aunt Georgia inherited a home there years ago. It was her aunt’s, Lady Beatrice Sharpe. Aunt Georgia never spent any significant time there, though I’ve always understood her to care for it.”

  “Care for it? How do you mean?”

  “What? Oh, I see. I was ambiguous. She cared for it in the sense of hiring people to keep it in decent repair and tend the garden. She has never, I believe, had any special affection for the house. At least she has not intimated as much to me.”

  “But why is Cybelline going there?”

  Sherry regarded his sister’s handwriting again and read on quickly. “She writes that remaining in London gives her no peace. She wishes to retire to the country and set up a house for herself and Anna. She will stay the winter there, perhaps longer. Cybelline believes Penwyckham will offer what she has not had in town: solitude.”

  “Solitude? But she is often alone there.”

  “No,” Sherry said softly, shaking his head. “She lives with Nicholas. I do not think she is ever by herself.”

  “Oh, Sherry.” Lily’s shoulders sagged. “Is there nothing we can do?”

  “I don’t think so. It seems she is set on the matter. I have never been able to persuade her to do anything different than what she will. Once turned in a particular direction, Cybelline is single-minded to a fault.”

  “Then there will be no inducement that will bring her to Granville at Christmas.”

  “Not Rosie, not the scoundrels. Certainly not you or me.”

  Lily heard something in her husband’s voice that gave her pause. How hard it was for him to accept that Cybelline did not come immediately to his side. Until her marriage, Sherry was the man his sister put before all others. She still asked for his opinion about a political interest or looked to him for guidance in matters of finance, but nothing was as it ever had been. Nicholas Caldwell had absorbed most of Sherry’s critical responsibilities when he married Cybelline, then abandoned them when he put a pistol to his head.

  “She loves us, you know,” Lily said. “Her decision to go to Penwyckham is not because she does not love us, you above all.”

  “I know.” He had to work the words past the lump in his throat. Sherry could not quite meet his wife’s eye. “God forgive me, Lily, but I find a measure of relief knowing she will not come here—and a greater measure of guilt because I am relieved. Will there ever be a time when any of us is unburdened with regret and pain and guilt?” His voice dropped to a strained whisper. “Cybelline most of all.”

  “Yes, there will be such a time.” Lily felt Sherry’s gaze shift to her. He wanted to believe what she was saying; she could sense the hopefulness of his expression. “I don’t know when, Sherry, or how it will come about, but each of us will make peace with what happened. Perhaps you and I cannot do so because Cybelline has not found it yet. I know it is what we both wish for her.”

  “Above everything.”

  “Yes, above everything. If Nicholas’s death had been in the course of an illness, an accident, mayhap even foul play, all of us would not be at the loose ends that we are now. But it was a suicide, and we both know, Sherry, while Cybelline does not, what profound consequences that has had for you.”

  Sherry laid his sister’s letter on the desktop. He stood and crossed the room to the small drinks cabinet, where he selected a decanter of whisky. “Will you take something with me?” he asked, pouring two fingers for himself. He glanced in Lily’s direction and saw her refusal. It was only when his first swallow settled in the pit of his stomach that he spoke.

  “I know better than anyone how a man might be persuaded to kill himself. I also know how it can be arranged to look like one thing while the reality is quite another.”

  Lily nodded, though she said nothing.

  “I could find no evidence that either of these things was true, and I cannot say whether I would be better or worse for knowing. If I accept that Nicholas’s suicide was precisely as it appeared, then the why of it troubles me as it does Cybelline. You have reason to know that he was a most amiable fellow. He doted on Cybelline and was elated at the birth of his daughter. He was a man with varied interests and a true scholar of antiquities. He provided more than adequately for his family. He did not gamble, keep a mistress, or entertain himself with whores. How did it escape us, then, that he was possessed of demons?”

  Sherry took another short swallow of whiskey. “I made a point to learn all I could about Mr. Caldwell before he married my sister. It is not something I would admit to anyone save you, but I am not ashamed of it, either.”

  “Do you think Cybelline would really be surprised to learn you made inquiries about her betrothed? I am certain she knows how seriously you take your responsibilities toward her. And if she thought scruples would restrain you from doing such a thing, she would not acquit Lady Rivendale of having the same.”

  Sherry returned to his desk but not his chair. He hitched one hip on the edge closest to Lily and rolled the tumbler of whisky between his palms as he considered what she’d said. “If you are right, then Cybelline depended on me not to allow her to make a mistake, and—”

  Lily interrupted. “I did not say she depended on you. I said she would not be surprised by your actions. It is not the same thing at all.”

  He went on as if she had not spoken. “And it does not relieve me from the knowledge that my inquiry failed to bring something dark in Nicholas’s past to light.”

  “Why do you think it must have been in his past? Could circumstances not change after his marriage? It might have been something in his present that troubled him enough to kill himself. How can you expect that you should have known that? Or warned Cybelline? Or prevented it? I love you, Sherry, and have thought upon occasion that the sun rises and sets by your pocket watch, but you are not all knowing.” She paused and under her breath added, “Your pocket watch is not even always accurate.”

  Sherry blinked. After a moment, one corner of his mouth twitched. “You are damnably good at taking me down a peg. Two pegs in this instance. To discover that I am no visionary and my pocket watch is off the mark, well, it is most definitely lowering.”

  Lily stood and stepped into the vee made by Sherry’s splayed
legs. She took the tumbler from him and finished it before setting it aside. Taking his wrists, she drew his arms around her waist in a loose embrace. She felt his hands lock behind her and his double fist rest against the small of her back. Lily leaned forward just enough to brush his lips with hers.

  “Cybelline is fortunate, indeed, to have you for her brother. You are in every way a good man, no matter that you do not always believe it. This strain will not last. I think her journey to Penwyckham is a first step in ending it. When you favor her with a reply, tell her that we miss her and Anna, that we wish her peace and joy of the season, and that we understand her decision to leave London. Write to her of what is in your heart, Sherry. She will find relief there, not more pain. I have to trust that you will find the same.”

  Sherry lifted his head just enough to rest his cheek against Lily’s hair. She fit herself more closely to him, and he closed his eyes. “It is good advice,” he said quietly.

  “I have not overstepped?”

  “No. No, not at all. I cannot tell Cybelline what is in my heart without telling her of you. There is no part of you that is separate from it.”

  She placed her palm over his chest and felt the steady beat. “It is no different for me,” she said. “No different at all.”

  Restell Gardner regarded his brother from his half recline on the chaise longue. “I say, Kit, you have been in a dark mood of late. I don’t believe you’ve been attending me at all.”

  Ferrin did not turn away from the shelf of books he was studying. “Good for you, Restell. I am not attending you. In fact, I am ignoring you. I believe you are bright enough to understand it is of a purpose.”