Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) (19 page)

Now, as he drained his coffee cup while Lord Partington, Edgar and Sir Archie drained the port decanter, his cause seemed very hopeless.

“Gentlemen, the fairer sex has departed, but I wonder if we are any the better for it.” Lord Partington steepled his fingers and smiled expansively at them. “Edgar, you’re looking very down in the mouth, boy. I think you’re only too glad to see the back of a certain young lady. Have you been bested?”

Edgar glared and Sir Archie looked surprised. Lord Partington turned to him, the corners of his mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “Perhaps you think the male of the species the superior of the sex in every way and that it’s not possible to be bested by a mere female, eh wot?”

Stephen  chuckled  and  Sir  Archie swung  round  to face Stephen,  his  cheeks blooming. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion but as an answer was required, turned back to Lord Partington, muttering, “Males are superior to females, there’s no doubt of that, my lord.”

“That glossy wife of yours looks like she leads you a merry dance.”

Archie bristled. “Lady Julia is spirited but she is biddable. She’d not dare do something not countenanced by myself.”

“Good to hear. Like my Sybil. Can’t allow these ladies too long a rein, can we?” Although  Stephen  was grateful  to  His Lordship  for  helping  him  overcome  his pecuniary difficulties, his hackles rose at his words and was glad when Lord Partington indicated they should repair to the drawing room to join the ladies.

When they did they were met by a mixture of curiosity, excitement and revulsion, for lined up on a low table in the center of the room were four glass domes, each containing a web with two spiders.

Sybil greeted the newcomers with pleasure. “What fun!” she exclaimed, stepping forward, clapping her hands. “Stephen collected these yesterday. Oh yes, and Hetty helped. Look! Aren’t they quite superb? You won’t find these in every drawing room but my husband is quite the man of science and I’ve become used to the odd things he likes to display. Do you like spiders, Lady Julia?”

Stephen wished he could hug his darling Sybil. Lady Julia had a greenish hue to her skin and her eyes skittered between her clearly uncomfortable husband, His Lordship and Stephen.

“No, my lady,” Lady Julia replied with a shudder, following Her Ladyship back to their chairs at the other end of the room. “I wish they were not so prominently displayed. In fact...in fact...” She put a hand to her forehead. “I don’t feel at all well.”

Lord Partington went to the table and picked up a glass dome, which he eyed with satisfaction. “We’ll take them away shortly but first we’re going to stage a little bet. Indulge me. I know you’re a betting man, Sir Archie. I am too. Who’s going to come off second best? The large, glossy female? You agree that it is a female?” He paused meaningfully. “Good, good. Or will the male display to advantage? You declared the male could never be bested.”

Archie  raised his  chin. Clearing  his  throat, he  declared, “I  believe  there  are occasions. In fact, I’d bet the opposite tonight.”

However, the smug grin plastered on his face soon disappeared as the double doors were opened to admit the young Earl of Barston.

Stephen, seated near Lady Partington, let his breath out in a low, admiring whoosh. The Earl of Barston. He’d mentioned Barston’s presence only in passing to His Lordship, knowing that Barston was an ally of Sir Archie’s and would never champion Stephen. However, Lord Partington was obviously more influential than Stephen and had seen the main chance.

Now, here was Barston, looking very down in the mouth. He’d sat in on the supposed invincibility of the male spider when Stephen had been entertained by Lady Julia in a closet just up the passage, and it was clear that he was now here on sufferance. Had Lord Partington used threat or inducement? It seemed His Lordship was adept at having matters arranged just as he liked them, Stephen thought bitterly as he inclined his head in greeting.

But Lord Partington was going to see justice prevail and Stephen owed him some gratitude for that.

“You’d declare the opposite of your recent vociferous protests, Sir Archie? I don’t think that’s wise, do you?” There was a warning note to Lord Partington’s caution before he turned his attention to introducing the two men. “Ah, so you know each other. Stephen, I think you mentioned you were in company with young Barston the evening you wagered a large sum in similar circumstances. Now, Sir Archie, which way did you say you were going to bet? Of course. That the male is superior in all species. This will be most interesting. Stephen, you bet the opposite? The odds? A thousand? No, no, let’s make it two. As for myself, I shall refrain. So it’s just you two gentlemen for the best out of three. It couldn’t be fairer, now could I? Another drink? It might be a long night.”

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A
s she sat quietly sewing at the other end of the drawing room, Sybil felt like a woman torn between two lovers—ridiculous thought though it was. Her husband required her for what her womb might provide, having no feeling for her in any other respect; her lover had taken up with alacrity her offer that he enjoy her body for the purpose of planting a seed in her womb on condition he could bring her pleasure in the process.

As Sybil watched Humphry conducting proceedings like a puppet master, she was conscious of a dawning realization that her life, too, had been managed by him during the past twenty years, purely for his satisfaction.

Humphry had readily acknowledged his mistake in acceding to his parents’ wishes by forsaking Lizzy Hazlett to marry Sybil.

But in twenty years a few words of regret were all he’d offered to ease Sybil’s burden. They meant nothing when it came to the fact that he neglected her and spent every possible moment with Mrs. Hazlett.

Where did that position Sybil?

As nothing more than a pliant, miserable, doormat of a wife. The clothes she wore were fine enough for a woman required to reflect a man of Humphry’s station, yet what pleasure did they  afford her  when she was  constantly  derided for  wishing  to experiment with colors and styles she hoped might suit her?

Why she should want to bother was another matter.

She’d only ever received one compliment from Humphry and she didn’t care to dwell on what had prompted that. Stephen’s value of her was like a pain she couldn’t bear. A joy that could never be fully realized.

Now Mrs. Hazlett had returned after less than a fortnight. No doubt she’d been pining. They both had. Humphry’s true love had been restored to him.

But what of Sybil? Must she simply and pliantly accede to whatever role Humphry dished out to her? Either the consistently ignored wife... Or the wife who must uncomplainingly part her legs and suffer the humiliation of allowing herself to be nothing more than the vessel of her husband’s determination that the status quo was not convenient. That a new heir must be created, however distasteful the requirement to produce it.

Edgar’s coarse exclamation brought her back to the present. “Gad’s teeth, she’s set upon him! That’s the second one!”

Sybil raised her hand to prevent Hetty rushing from the cluster of comfortable seats around the fire to the scene of action at the far end of the room where the men were gathered,  while  Araminta  said  testily,  “I  can’t  imagine  why  you  allowed  such  a distasteful charade to be played out in the drawing room, Mama.”

Sybil was glad Lady Julia had left pleading a megrim for she was now able to agree, mildly,  “Yes,  it  is quite  a  charade,  Araminta,”  not looking  at her  daughter  as she continued with her needlework. “It is not, however, the most outrageous charade being conducted under this roof, I’d like to point out. Look at you and Edgar.”

She raised her head at Araminta’s gasp of outrage.

“Come now, Araminta, you know very well you felt nothing for that cousin of yours, yet you persisted, despite the pain you knew it would bring you both in the future, not to mention the pain suffered by your sister.” She arched an eyebrow, adding with quiet directness, “Why?”

Araminta’s  color  had  grown  very  high.  Her  bosom  heaved.  “How dare  you, Mama?” she said under her breath.

Sybil returned her attention to her sewing, aware that Hetty was staring at her, open-mouthed.

“I haven’t dared terribly much over the years,” she admitted. Lord, she thought, she’d been the most undaring, undemanding of wives. What an easy time of it Humphry had had. “I’ve simply allowed things to happen because I thought I had no choice in the matter.  I’ve  always  considered  myself  the  rather  ineffectual  wife  of  a  rich  and influential man; that as a woman I have no say in how my life is directed.”

Araminta and Hetty were looking intently at her. It was rare she had their complete attention. She was not about to squander her opportunity.

“As women it is true we have little influence.” She paused significantly as she locked eyes with them. “But where we are in a position to exercise our rights to do right, it is our duty.”

Araminta leapt in self-righteously. “It was duty that directed me to engage Edgar’s affections. I did it purely for the good of the family.”

“You did it with no thought for the sensibilities of anyone else other than yourself, Araminta. You did it for your own power and ambition.” Sybil’s tone gentled. Araminta was young. She had no idea of the pain she was inflicting but if a few words of caution could redirect her she might in fact find happiness and in doing so leave the way clear for her sister to do the same. “All I’m asking is that you be true to yourself.”

Araminta glared and her nostrils flared. She looked as if she were about to rise out of her chair through an excess of outrage. “Mama. I was prepared to sacrifice everything—my own happiness included—for the sake of this family!”

Sybil held up her hand. “For this family’s sake? Or for your sake? Because of the glory and power you thought it might bring you in years to come? Your motives might have started out well enough but you ignored your heart, Araminta, and you persisted in making Edgar fall in love with you, despite your scorn for him, despite knowing it was going to break your sister’s heart and despite the fact that you harbored feelings for Stephen.”

Araminta’s  breathing  had  become  very  rapid.  Her  eyes were  like  pinpricks of malice. Sybil thought she’d never been as hated in that moment and yet she felt no regret at having spoken so frankly.

Hetty looked distinctly shaken. And tongue-tied.

After  a  quick  glance  at  the  men,  busy  settling  their  wager,  Araminta  leaned forward. “What about you, Mama?” she hissed. “If you believe everything you’ve just said, what does that make you? You don’t love Papa. He certainly doesn’t love you! Yet you live under his roof and spend his money and entertain him and his friends with...cloying civility.” She looked on the verge of tears. “Now you’re to have a baby. You hate Papa! Yet you call me names and accuse me of hooking my claws into a man I don’t love just because it suits me. I think you’ve some hide, accusing me of behaving exactly as you have yourself. You order me to be true to myself. When were you ever true to yourself?”

Sybil stiffened. She hadn’t expected Araminta capable of a defense that would hit home like that but before she could defend herself—if indeed that were even possible— Humphry and Stephen stood before them, their expansive beams proclaiming the fact they’d enjoyed the past half an hour a great deal more than the ladies.

“Sir Archie and young Barston are feeling a little the worse for wear,” Humphry reported under his breath, with a sideways glance at the two men approaching them; as it turned out, to offer their excuses and retire to bed.

Edgar remained staring gloomily at the jars on the table. For the first time Sybil felt a small stab of compassion for the young man. It was not his fault he was stupid, or perhaps even cowardly. He was just a very young man who had not had the advantage of a good example, as evidenced by his dissolute mama and papa. Araminta would have been a disastrous match but if Hetty believed she could make something of him and be happy in the process, Sybil would never stand in the way, and she doubted Humphry would either.

* * * * *

“V
ictory, my boy!”

Stephen nearly lost his balance, so fiercely did Lord Partington clap him on the shoulder.

“You might be leaving the Grange tomorrow without the grand expectations you harbored when you arrived—and for that there’s none sorrier than I—but at least you leave a thousand pounds richer with a promise from me to put in a good word for you in the Foreign Office.”

Stephen managed to return his smile. There was some small consolation in what His Lordship said but his heart was suddenly as heavy as a stone at the reminder that tomorrow signified a break with all he held dear.

“I’m grateful to you, my lord,” he said, flicking his tongue over dry lips. He’d not drunk much but he was consumed by a sudden desperate desire for the comfort of his bed. Of course, the comfort of Sybil’s arms would be much more agreeable and he’d happily forgo the sleep he craved to enjoy that. He cleared his head of the scandalous thought as, smiling politely, he declined Lord Partington’s offer of another brandy.