Page 58 of Never Love a Lord
“Mother didn’t betray the king or Papa,” Sybilla said. “I did.”
Oliver Bellecote sat down on the bench near his wife’s hip. “Fuck me,” he breathed.
“Sybilla,” Cecily whispered. “That can’t be true.”
“It is, though,” Sybilla said on a sigh, better able to control herself now that the bulk of it was out. “In my defense, I was not quite sixteen, and not at all sure of what I was doing that night. I thought I was . . . helping.”
“That’s what she led you to believe, wasn’t it?” Piers suggested. “Amicia.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sybilla said. “It was I.”
Cecily slapped the table with her palm. “It does matter!”
“It matters very much, Sybilla,” Oliver said gravely. “You were only a girl, coerced into what you did with no malice or ill intention of your own. For Christ’s sake—your own father was killed in that battle!”
“He wasn’t my father, though,” Sybilla reminded him lightly. “And Amicia did not think him to be in the thick of the fighting. She never expected him to be endangered by what she had set in motion.”
“I remember,” Alys said softly. “I remember the night we received word that Papa was dead. How distraught everyone was, Mother included.” She turned to Sybilla, confusion in her eyes. “Except you. You never wept. I remember thinking that was when you became so . . . cold. But it wasn’t that you didn’t care, was it?”
“It was that you had realized what you had done,” Cecily supplied. “What she had persuaded you to do.”
“I thought I had killed my father. I didn’t know all the truth until the months before she died.”
“The king is a reasonable man,” Piers said suddenly, although his attention was focused on the tabletop, as if studying it, contemplating its nature. “He is just.”
Sybilla took a deep breath, focusing her thoughts. “Although Julian is under oath to take his evidence to the king, he has also promised me that he will stand up on my behalf. He’s . . . he’s offered me a life after all this is over. A life with him and Lucy.”
No one gathered around the table spoke. They only stared at her with wild shock. And so Sybilla expounded.
“But he doesn’t know about Lewes yet. He still thinks it was Mother. Perhaps if I tell him—”
“No!” Cecily shouted, and stepped toward Sybilla, grasping her by her shoulders. “No, you mustn’t tell him! You mustn’t tell him that!”
“I have to, Cee!” Sybilla insisted.
“What do you mean, he’s offered you a life?” Oliver asked, staring at her intently. “He wants to marry you?”
“He’s mentioned marriage, yes,” Sybilla said calmly, with a nod. “I don’t know where we would go. I don’t care, really.” She paused, looked around the table at the wary and concerned faces regarding her. “I think I’m in love with him. With him and his daughter.”
Cecily brought her hands to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
To Sybilla’s left, Alys once more laid her head upon her arms and sobbed. “Oh no! All these years she’s waited! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” she wailed.
“Sybilla,” Oliver said carefully. “I don’t know how it’s happened that you’ve come to trust a man you barely know, let alone love him. You’ve always been so cautious, so careful. I . . . don’t know. But there is something you need to know about Julian Griffin before you tell him anything more. Something I learned from his own general the morning after his army arrived at Bellemont.”
Cecily’s hands still covered her mouth, making her words barely audible as she stared, motionless, at Sybilla. “Don’t tell her, Oliver.”
“I must,” Oliver insisted grimly. “Sybilla, the handsome payment Edward has promised Julian Griffin is Fallstowe itself.”
Alys’s continued sobs filled the cool air of the hall. Sybilla stared at Oliver Bellecote as if he’d just told her that the sun would never shine again. She could think of nothing to say. She didn’t wish for him to repeat it—she’d heard him clearly, understood his words completely.
One like Fallstowe?
Exactly like Fallstowe, I hope.
His endless questions. His intense interest in the grounds and industries. The way he walked about as if... as if it were already his home.
Itwasalready his home.
