Page 95 of Never Love a Lord
Julian looked to the heretofore quiet men standing behind their wives, in the hope that they would be able to translate this feminine explanation into something he could understand.
“So?” Julian prompted. “The king’s ruling still stands, does it not? Sybilla is cleared of all charges. The records will forevermore reflect Sybilla’s right to Fallstowe and to the title of lady.”
No one said anything, but the sisters looked at each other meaningfully once more.
“Why do they keep doing that?” Julian pleaded with the men.
Oliver Bellecote quirked an eyebrow. “Vexing, isn’t it?”
Julian rubbed a hand across his forehead and then placed his fists on his hips. “She won’t talk to me. And when she does . . . she’s giving me reason to think she has reconsidered our marriage. She’s so . . . so cold.”
Alys shrugged. “I’m sorry, Lord Griffin. But that’s Sybilla.”
“No,” Julian snapped. “No, it’s not. Perhaps it is who she has played to be to the majority of persons, but I know her better than that. I have seen her caring and vulnerable. I have seen her in weakness. I know how kind she is.”
“We all do,” Cecily said, trying to console him. “But Sybilla has always been very . . . solitary. The last several years, that has been of necessity. She has always had something to fight for, something to prove or defend. And now, well . . . now the fighting is all over, and yet there is still some question about her role in it all. I think she feels rather at a loss. And so she is behaving how Sybilla always behaves. She fortifies her defenses and battles her demons. Alone.” Cecily’s face was sad.
Julian shook his head. “I don’t understand why she can’t simply let the past be over.”
Alys laid her hand on his arm lightly. “Sybilla’s very survival has depended on the past for a very long time,” she explained. “It’s the essence of who she is. In her mind, her history defines her.”
Something in Alys’s statement tickled at Julian’s brain, but he was too frustrated to flesh out the meaning thoroughly just then.
“We are to discuss our future after Lady de Lairne is laid to rest,” Julian said on a sigh. “I do hope I have something encouraging to report to you all on the morrow. I won’t be so pompous as to invite you ladies to make yourselves at home—you have greater privilege here than I.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true anymore,” Cecily said with a kind smile. “Good luck, Lord Griffin.”
Alys suddenly brightened. “May we see the baby now, please?”
It drizzled softly while Sybil de Lairne was laid in the deep, rich dirt of Fallstowe. Sybilla was barely present, and she could not have recounted the majority of the short, solemn ceremony, either in Fallstowe’s chapel or now, on the knoll. She did know that Julian Griffin had stood at her side throughout. Lucy was conspicuously absent, likely for the damp chill, and Sybilla told herself it was just as well. The child would have demanded that Sybilla hold her, and she did not think that was in either of their best interests at present.
She barely noticed that the few gathered had begun to move away in the gloomy rain, signaling that the ceremony was over. Then Julian Griffin leaned close to her ear.
“In the solar,” was all he said, and then he turned and left her in the cold drizzle.
She remained there for quite some time, Graves silent at her side. She knew she made the burly men charged with the task of lowering the box and filling in the hole uncomfortable, but she didn’t care. She needed to see the end of this. The very end. By the time she parted company from Graves in the hall and found herself walking down the corridor and pushing at the solar door, she was thoroughly damp. But she didn’t care about that, either.
Julian Griffin stood at the hearth, his back to the door. By the way his elbow was cocked, Sybilla guessed him to be partaking of strong drink.
She longed for a cup of her own.
He turned as the door latch clicked shut. “I wasn’t certain you’d come.”
“I told you I would.”
“No, you didn’t,” he argued as he slowly ambled around the low couch toward her, chalice in his hand. “You didn’t say anything.” He handed the cup to her. “I thought you might need this.”
Sybilla stared at the chalice and frowned, before taking it hesitantly. “Thank you.” She took a sip and found greater pleasure in the warmed honey liqueur than she would have thought herself capable of at the moment. It seemed to seep into her frozen, brittle bones and glow. Much like the sensation she had felt after making love with Julian in the tower room. She missed that feeling.
“I miss you, Sybilla,” Julian said.
The tender words caught her so thoroughly off guard that she turned and walked to the hearth so as not to face him.
“The monies and the soldiers’ orders are finalized,” she said instead.
“Are we going to talk about what happened in London?”
She took another long drink and then licked her lips, staring at the flames for a moment. “I don’t think I can marry you, Lord Griffin.”
