Page 93 of Never Love a Lord
For your accounts.
The gifts were thoughtful, and in Sybilla’s generous mind, likely highly practical. But why had she not waited to give them in person? Had she not missed Lucy?
Had she not missed Julian?
His troubled thoughts were interrupted by a smiling kitchen maid who brought a tray of food and warmed, spiced wine, as well as a bladder of milk for Lucy.
“Good morrow, milord,” the girl chirped as she set the offerings in their precise place on the table. “Lady Lucy.”
Julian did not mince words. “Where is Lady Sybilla?”
The girl paused in her chore, giving him a kind if curious glance. “Madam doesn’t take breakf—”
“I know Madam doesn’t take breakfast,” Julian said with as much patience as he could muster.
“Of course, milord,” the girl apologized. “Madam arrived very late in the night. I would think her still at her rest.”
Julian’s temper darkened even further. As far as he knew, Sybilla did not have a bed to rest in any longer, as the splintered remains of the black monstrosity that took up the surface of her chamber still lay in ruined pieces on the floor.
And she certainly hadn’t sought the tower room in the night.
“Where is Graves, then?” he barked.
The serving girl blinked, and then crossed herself, owl-eyed. “Seeing to her ladyship’s grave, I believe, milord. Shall I have him fetched for you?”
Julian shook his head as he sat Lucy back against his chest in her luxurious robe and settled in to feeding her her breakfast.
“No. I shall find them myself.”
The serving girl bobbed a nervous curtsy before turning quickly away from the table.
Julian was not completely sure, but he thought he’d heard her whisper, “God be with you, milord,” as she’d scurried back toward the safety of the kitchen doorway.
Chapter 30
Everything was the same. And yet nothing was the same.
Sybilla sat at her wide table before the bank of windows in her chamber, her knees drawn up to her chest, her toes curled into the cushion. Her tray of tea and bread sat untouched off to the side, and she had quietly dismissed her maids soon after their enthusiastic arrival. Sybilla would attend to no business today besides the burial of one enigmatic old woman next to another. The impending funeral was all she could handle today, and that made her both angry and sad. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would approach the idea of her future.
Or perhaps not.
She heard the creaking of what was left of her chamber door—it had never creaked before Julian Griffin’s violent attack on it, and she had not ordered it repaired.
“Welcome home.” Julian Griffin’s voice was low and easy, as if he was approaching a skittish animal that might become spooked at any moment.
The analogy was quite fitting, she thought.
She turned her head slightly to look over her shoulder at him. “Thank you.” He was standing on the far side of the ruin of her bed, holding Lucy high on his chest. The sight of the infant caused Sybilla’s heart to skip. She seemed a little queen in her velvet robe, and Sybilla was pleased that it fit her so well. “Good morrow, Lucy.”
The baby squealed and waved her fist excitedly, as if she would direct her father.
“I believe she’s missed you as much as me.”
Sybilla was not certain of Julian’s meaning, and so she let the comment pass unanswered, turning her gaze back to the hills beyond the bailey.
“I’d hoped you would find me upon your return,” Julian continued.
“It was late,” she answered. “I didn’t wish to wake you. I see you found the gifts I left for you both.”
