Bella—I mean Sydney.” Marybeth’s tone was very serious as she sat on the stool in front of Sydney’s dressing table. “That would not be proper at all. At a wedding, the bride must be the prettiest girl.”
“I see.” Sydney assumed the same serious tone. “Then you will be the bride’s prettiest sister.”
Marybeth giggled. “That’s silly. I’m your only sister.”
Sydney knelt in front of her. “Once I am married, Lady Amy and Lady Anne will be my sisters too. You must think of them as yours as well.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Will they like me for a sister?”
“I’m sure they will love you just as I do.” Sydney crossed her fingers and silently prayed this would be true.
Marybeth jumped from the stool and said in her best grown-up tone, “I must go and arrange with Mrs. Travers for tea for Rebecca and me. Would you like to join us?” Rebecca was her favorite doll.
“I should be delighted,” Sydney said, silently thanking God yet again for this joyful child in her life—even though her birth had cost the life of their mother.
“We’ll be in the playroom.”
CHAPTER 7
Z achary watched from a secluded doorway as Sydney and the Carstairs family settled into a hired traveling coach. He chastised himself as a lovesick schoolboy, but he couldn’t help himself. He had imagined all last night a number of melodramatic scenes in which he dashed in to rescue her from a dastardly devil who could not possibly appreciate her as he did. Common sense quashed that foolishness.
But he could not stay here in Bath where it seemed every site, every shop, every brick brought to mind something she had said or a certain expression in her face—a raised eyebrow, a dazzling smile. He returned to his quarters, ordered his batman Charlie to pack the few belongings he had there, left notes for Pelham and Harrelson, and he and Charlie set off for London to visit Zachary’s parents. With luck the city would provide sufficient diversion until it was time to report to Devonshire for his cousin’s wedding.
Devonshire. Sydney was from Devonshire. Might he find her after Henry’s wedding and—and, what? Spirit her away? To where? The Peninsula? Ridiculous. Besides, he did not even know her direction and Devonshire covered a vast amount of territory. The Carstairs servants might know where she was, but in light of what he perceived to be Sydney’s own wishes, he could not ask them. No. Best leave matters as they stood.
In time this pain, like that in his leg, would surely fade to a little regretted memory.
In London he visited with his family—his parents and his fifteen-year-old sister Julia. His two brothers were away at school. His other sister, two years older than Zachary, was about to present his parents with their second grandchild. His mother, especially, was preoccupied with this event.
He loved his family dearly, but he was finding the whole domestic scene somewhat oppressive. He tried to avoid doing so, but he kept imagining Sydney in this or that setting: Sydney at dinner with his family, Sydney riding or walking in the park. In unguarded moments images of Sydney intruded—her face, her laugh, the way she toyed with a lock of hair when thoughtful. Never had he been so obsessed by a woman. Good God! Was he in love with her? On three weeks’ acquaintance? Ridiculous.
On his third night in town, he went first to White’s, his father’s favorite of the gentlemen’s clubs, then to Brooks’s. In each of them he encountered men he knew—old schoolmates and fellow military officers who greeted him warmly. He played several hands of whist at Brooks’s, but in general found this night on the town less than satisfying. He told himself it was probably just as well that, immediately following Henry’s wedding, he would report directly to Plymouth to board a ship back to the Peninsula.
Return to the war would shake this out of him.
He had intended to arrive at Paxton Hall in the early
“I see.” Sydney assumed the same serious tone. “Then you will be the bride’s prettiest sister.”
Marybeth giggled. “That’s silly. I’m your only sister.”
Sydney knelt in front of her. “Once I am married, Lady Amy and Lady Anne will be my sisters too. You must think of them as yours as well.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Will they like me for a sister?”
“I’m sure they will love you just as I do.” Sydney crossed her fingers and silently prayed this would be true.
Marybeth jumped from the stool and said in her best grown-up tone, “I must go and arrange with Mrs. Travers for tea for Rebecca and me. Would you like to join us?” Rebecca was her favorite doll.
“I should be delighted,” Sydney said, silently thanking God yet again for this joyful child in her life—even though her birth had cost the life of their mother.
“We’ll be in the playroom.”
CHAPTER 7
Z achary watched from a secluded doorway as Sydney and the Carstairs family settled into a hired traveling coach. He chastised himself as a lovesick schoolboy, but he couldn’t help himself. He had imagined all last night a number of melodramatic scenes in which he dashed in to rescue her from a dastardly devil who could not possibly appreciate her as he did. Common sense quashed that foolishness.
But he could not stay here in Bath where it seemed every site, every shop, every brick brought to mind something she had said or a certain expression in her face—a raised eyebrow, a dazzling smile. He returned to his quarters, ordered his batman Charlie to pack the few belongings he had there, left notes for Pelham and Harrelson, and he and Charlie set off for London to visit Zachary’s parents. With luck the city would provide sufficient diversion until it was time to report to Devonshire for his cousin’s wedding.
Devonshire. Sydney was from Devonshire. Might he find her after Henry’s wedding and—and, what? Spirit her away? To where? The Peninsula? Ridiculous. Besides, he did not even know her direction and Devonshire covered a vast amount of territory. The Carstairs servants might know where she was, but in light of what he perceived to be Sydney’s own wishes, he could not ask them. No. Best leave matters as they stood.
In time this pain, like that in his leg, would surely fade to a little regretted memory.
In London he visited with his family—his parents and his fifteen-year-old sister Julia. His two brothers were away at school. His other sister, two years older than Zachary, was about to present his parents with their second grandchild. His mother, especially, was preoccupied with this event.
He loved his family dearly, but he was finding the whole domestic scene somewhat oppressive. He tried to avoid doing so, but he kept imagining Sydney in this or that setting: Sydney at dinner with his family, Sydney riding or walking in the park. In unguarded moments images of Sydney intruded—her face, her laugh, the way she toyed with a lock of hair when thoughtful. Never had he been so obsessed by a woman. Good God! Was he in love with her? On three weeks’ acquaintance? Ridiculous.
On his third night in town, he went first to White’s, his father’s favorite of the gentlemen’s clubs, then to Brooks’s. In each of them he encountered men he knew—old schoolmates and fellow military officers who greeted him warmly. He played several hands of whist at Brooks’s, but in general found this night on the town less than satisfying. He told himself it was probably just as well that, immediately following Henry’s wedding, he would report directly to Plymouth to board a ship back to the Peninsula.
Return to the war would shake this out of him.
He had intended to arrive at Paxton Hall in the early
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