Page 27 of The Earl's Demure Spinster
CHAPTER 13
The morning sun streamed through the lace curtains of Sylvia’s bedchambers, casting delicate patterns of light across the room. Sylvia sat by her bed, her gaze fixed on the rose resting in a vase on her night stand. The rose brought with it a sense of calm, that Sylvia was sure reflected the way that Lord Wesley made her feel. When it was just the two of them that was. If anyone else was around, things were much more strained, but alone it was wonderful.
Sylvia reached out and gently touched the petals, recalling the moment that Lord Wesley had handed it to her, while also calling her beautiful. That was the happiest she had felt in a very long time. Memories of the previous evening flooded her mind: the game of whist, the shared glances, the quiet conversations. Lord Wesley’s kindness, his genuine interest in her thoughts and feelings, had created a bond that felt both exhilarating and frightening. She had enjoyed every moment spent in his company, feeling a sense of belonging that was rare in her social circles.
But alongside these cherished memories came the haunting recollection of Lady Victoria’s stern warning. Sylvia could still hear his mother’s voice, sharp and unyielding, echoing in her mind, bringing her back to earth with a thump, and reminding her of her station.
“Stay away from my son.”
“I know your type. You are nothing but a fortune seeker, hoping to ensnare a wealthy husband. You will not succeed with Wesley, so I suggest you walk away now.”
“I see right through your charade. Mark my words, Lady Sylvia, you will not be welcome in our family. You are notwelcome to even talk to my son. If you ruin his chance at a suitable connection, then the consequences for you will be dire.”
She did not think she would ever be able to forget those words, especially as she was quite sure she knew who the ‘suitable connection’ was. Lady Arabella, the woman who looked perfect on Wesley’s arm, who brought out the worst jealousy and self doubt within Sylvia. The woman who was everything that Sylvia had never wanted to be, until now.
Sylvia sighed, her fingers still caressing the rose’s petals. The conflict within her was palpable. On one hand, her heart longed to explore the connection she felt with Lord Wesley, to see where it might lead. On the other hand, she was terrified of the ‘consequences’. She did not know what that meant, but she was all too aware that Lady Victoria was a very powerful woman within the circles of the ton. Sylvia did not know how far that power stretched. What she was capable of and likely would do.
Perhaps she should have taken the easy road out and stepped away from the Season after all. It was a lot more challenging than she thought it would be. Even with the friendships she had built along the way, it was not enough. She did not feel safe and secure, and she knew that she never would.
Eventually, Sylvia made her way down the stairs and she sat opposite her aunt, her smile carefully fixed in place as she sipped her tea. The breakfast spread was as lavish as ever: freshly baked scones, clotted cream, an assortment of jams, and a vibrant medley of fresh fruit, but Sylvia was not sure if she had an appetite for any of it.
Despite that, Sylvia tried to maintain a façade of cheerfulness as they chatted about the day ahead. Aunt Grace spoke of visiting the fish markets and attending a tea shop that she wished to see. Yet, Sylvia’s mind was elsewhere, ensnared by the memories of the previous day. She could not shake it off however hard she tried.
And she really tried. She did not want to be lost in the pain of the day before.
Eventually, her eyes drifted to the scandal sheet lying on the table, its bold headline demanding attention. Aunt Grace subscribed to it out of a sense of morbid curiosity, often dismissing its contents as mere drivel. But today, Sylvia felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach as she saw her own name mentioned. Again. There, in print, was a biting commentary about her appearance at the party, labeling her as an outsider. A pang of discomfort tightened in her chest.
They will never accept me, she thought, the words echoing in her mind. The realization was like a cold slap to the face. She had tried so hard to integrate, to become one of them, but high society’s walls seemed impenetrable. The scandal sheets only reflected what everyone else seemed to think of her – that she was a pretender, just trying to fit in.
Aunt Grace noticed the shift in her niece’s demeanor. She put down her knife and looked at Sylvia with a mixture of concern and understanding. “Sylvia, dear, what is troubling you? You look like you have seen a ghost.”
Sylvia hesitated, glancing at the scandal sheet again before meeting her aunt’s gaze. “The scandal sheets… it seems that I have been mentioned again. I can not seem to escape it.”
Aunt Grace frowned as she picked up the paper. It was obvious from the expression on her face that she had not seen this until now. Perhaps she would have hidden the paper if so. But would that have been better? She might not feel so sad right now, but she would also be walking around unaware of what people thought about her. That would probably not be for the best either.
Aunt Grace frowned, anger flashing in her eyes. “Gossipers only have the power you give them, my dear. People will always talk, especially when they see someone as bright and promisingas you. You must not let their words affect you. I know this is horrible, but just know that it will not be long until the ton has moved onto someone else.”
Sylvia nodded, trying to absorb her aunt’s wisdom. “I know you are right. It is just difficult. I want to be accepted, to feel like I belong. I do not wish to stand out at these events, I want to blend in. To be barely noticeable. I wish someone else would do something to draw all eyes off me.”
“You will get there,” her aunt assured her. “But a Lady as beautiful as you… you do not deserve to blend in.”
It was nice to have her aunt being so kind to her, but Sylvia was still not convinced. She did not trust any kindness because deep down, she believed everyone who said she did not belong. Their opinions were always going to win out, because it was how she felt about herself too.
***
Later that morning, Sylvia reluctantly accompanied Aunt Grace on a shopping trip through the bustling streets of London. Before now, she had always tried to be fascinated and intrigued by the noise and chaos of the city, but today she succumbed to the overwhelming intensity of the streets. The clatter of horse drawn carriages, the chatter of pedestrians, and the vendors’ calls created an agonizing symphony that did not help the stress rolling endlessly through her mind. Sylvia felt the weight of the stares and heard the whispers of passers by, each glance and murmur making her feel more conspicuous and uncomfortable.
All she wanted to do was go back home where she could hide away from the world.
How on earth had her aunt convinced her to do this?
Eventually, they arrived at Madame Duval’s modiste shop, which her aunt had described as ‘a haven of elegant fabrics and delicate designs’. Aunt Grace greeted the staff warmly as ifthey were old friends of hers, and they returned in kind. Sylvia followed Aunt Grace inside, grateful for the temporary refuge from the streets, if just for a moment. The shop was a flurry of activity, with seamstresses bustling about, carrying bolts of fabric and pin cushions, all of them with furrowed brows of concentration.
It was obvious that the Season was a busy time for them.
As they browsed through the latest fashions, Sylvia heard a familiar voice calling out to her. “Lady Sylvia! How lovely to see you.”
Nervously, she turned but thankfully it was a warm face greeting her. “Lady Harriet, it is so good to see you.”
