Page 94 of Never Love a Lord
“Yes. It was very kind of you to think of us. Thank you.”
The air in the chamber grew exponentially thicker with awkward tension, as if the two adults not looking at each other had never entertained more than tolerable company for each other.
“I was very sorry to hear of Lady de Lairne’s passing.”
Sybilla had nothing to say.
Lucy gave an impatient squawk.
“Are you not going to speak to us at all?” Julian finally asked.
Sybilla swallowed, unable to bring herself to look at them again. “Forgive me, Lord Griffin. I’ve a lot on my mind. Perhaps later this evening . . .” The excuse trailed away into nothing.
“You are not alone any longer, Sybilla,” Julian reasoned in a quiet voice. “Let me help you with whatever it is that’s troubling you. Your burdens are to be mine once we are married.”
“We are not yet married, Lord Griffin.”
There was a heavy pause in which not even small Lucy dared breach the silence. “Will we ever be married?” he asked finally.
“I don’t know,” Sybilla whispered. Then she blinked away the sudden wetness in her eyes and drew upon her vast stores of cool experience. “After Lady de Lairne’s burial, I shall arrange with the clerk to have my fine separated from Fallstowe’s accounts and readied to send to the king. I’ve already ordered a draft of service for the men owed under my obligation at Midsummer. Once I’ve put my signature to those tasks, I do believe the running of the hold will be officially at your command.” She paused again to swallow. “Congratulations, Lord Griffin.”
“Sybilla—” Julian began.
“I’m really quite harried this morn, Lord Griffin,” Sybilla interrupted stridently. “If we could please continue our conversation later this evening as I’ve requested, I would be grateful.”
“Very well,” Julian said, and the wounded tension in his tone was clear. “I shall seek you after the ceremony.”
“Good day,” Sybilla said crisply.
Julian did not reply, but as his crunching footfalls retreated from the chamber at her back, Lucy began to cry.
Once they were gone, so did Sybilla.
Julian saw Lucy to a maid in the small chamber at the bottom of the tower steps for her morning nap before carrying on to the great hall once more. He could barely contain his frustration long enough to see his daughter lovingly to sleep.
He was angry. He was hurt. He was confused.
What had happened in the short time of his and Sybilla’s separation, besides the death of the de Lairne woman, to have so radically changed Sybilla’s demeanor?
It’s not really changed, though, has it?a voice spoke inside him.This is the Sybilla who greeted you upon your initial arrival at Fallstowe. It seems only that the woman has returned after her holiday.
No, Julian would not allow that. He loved her. He knew she loved him, and Lucy. They were to be married. They had survived royal condemnation by the skin of their teeth, had come through a tempering fire to have the fantastic dream of Fallstowe within both of their grasps. He would not let her throw it away in some pique of melancholic mourning for an old woman she hadn’t ever known.
He arrived in the hall on stomping boots, in the back of his mind seeking Graves for whatever insight the old man might offer. He should not have been surprised to find Sybilla’s sisters and brothers-in-law just arriving in the cavernous room, but he was.
The youngest, blond Alys, wasted no time, striding through the hall leading the quartet. “Lord Griffin, good day. How is Sybilla?”
Julian stopped in the center of the hall. “What the bloody hell happened in London after I left?”
The two sisters exchanged looks as they came to a halt before him.
“She’s not well then,” Cecily sighed.
“The three of us were present at the moment of Lady de Lairne’s passing,” Alys supplied. “Some rather . . . strange events transpired, which we think have led Sybilla to call into question the truthfulness of Lady de Lairne’s testimony.”
Julian was still frowning. “I don’t understand.”
The sisters exchanged looks again before Cecily explained. “Sybilla believes that our mother was not a titled lady of the de Lairne hold, as Lady de Lairne attested. She thinks perhaps that everything Mother confessed to was the truth.”
