Page 47 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

“We must convince her to have a rest,” Julia said firmly. “Beginning with a drive this afternoon. You must insist upon it, Mrs. Dinwiddy.”

Mrs. Dinwiddy nodded obediently. “I will tell her, my lady. I did hope she would stay in the country with you a bit longer, though I cannot deny that her return home was a godsend. My megrims, you know. And Mrs. Poole is not as skillful with the girls. Why, I’ve often—” She broke off at the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. “Ah!” she exclaimed with relief. “That will be them at last.”

Sebastian’s pulse quickened. He stood from his chair, giving one uncharacteristically agitated tug to smooth his black waistcoat. He was not naturally a gentleman prone to unsteadiness of the nerves. Indeed, he had frequently been accused of having ice in his veins. But hearing Sylvia’s voice echo out in the hall, knowing now what she had written to him in that letter, he felt more nervous that he had ever felt before in his entire life.

“Do you each have your leaf intact?” she was asking.

The high-pitched squeaks of two little girls answered, followed by what was, unmistakably, a childish sob of anguish.

“Oh, my dear,” he heard Sylvia respond. “Don’t fret. Give that to me. Now take this in its place. You see why I gathered two extra? We must always plan for these sorts of catastrophes.”

Mrs. Dinwiddy rose from her chair and went to the door of the parlor. She cracked it open. “Mrs. Poole? Take Clara and Cora up to the schoolroom. Miss Stafford? Join us, if you please.”

Sylvia entered a moment later looking flushed. Her thick hair was pinned up in an untidy braided coil, the hem of her modest gray gown a bit smudged with dirt. Her eyes flew straight to his. She stilled, color rising in her face. “Lord Radcliffe!”

Sebastian was frozen where he stood. “Miss Stafford,” he said. It was all he could do to offer her a bow.

Thank goodness for Julia. Before the silence could become awkward, she was on her feet and rushing at Sylvia with outstretched hands.

“My dear Miss Stafford.” She clasped her hands and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Were those the two little girls that you teach? How very energetic they sounded! But whatever was the matter? I hope no one was hurt?”

Sylvia gave Julia a bewildered look. “Hurt? Oh no, Lady Harker. No indeed. We…We have been collecting leaves to trace for our art project this afternoon. Cora’s crumbled in her hand. She was a bit distraught…” Her gaze flickered back to his, her blue eyes uncertain. “Forgive me, but I had not expected—”

“Lady Harker and Lord Radcliffe have come to call on you,” Mrs. Dinwiddy interrupted with a brittle laugh, “and have been made to settle for my company this last quarter of an hour!”

“We are come to take you for a drive with us, Miss Stafford,” Julia said. “Will you need to change your gown or repair your hair before we leave? Shall I come up with you to your room and help you?”

“A drive? With the two of you?” Sylvia asked weakly. She looked at him again, her blush deepening to scarlet, and in that brief moment Sebastian knew—he simply knew—that she was recollecting the passionate kisses they had shared in his library.

He held her gaze until she looked away.

“It is perfectly acceptable,” Julia assured. “And Mrs. Dinwiddy has insisted that you come.”

“That I do, Miss Stafford,” agreed Mrs. Dinwiddy. “And you needn’t fret over the children. Mrs. Poole shall manage them quite well while you are gone.”

Sebastian watched Sylvia’s face. He could see the battle she fought between a lifetime of good breeding and the instinct for self-preservation. When her expression composed itself into a mask of polite civility, he knew that good breeding had won out.

“Yes, of course,” she said to Julia. “You are most kind. If you will but allow me a moment to change? I muddied my skirts during my walk with the children.”

Julia cheerfully assured her that they had all the time in the world. A moment later she departed the room with Sylvia, chattering gaily the whole way.

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief.

As if a drive in the park in a closed carriage were not peculiar enough, Sebastian and Lady Harker had arranged themselves on the seat across from her, one saying absolutely nothing and the other at great pains to fill the void of silence with an endless stream of trivial remarks.

Sylvia could not imagine why they had both come to London, let alone why they had both called upon her. Sebastian did not come to town anymore, did he? Indeed, to her knowledge he did not even leave Pershing Hall. And yet here he was. First in Cheapside and now in…

But she did not know where they were now. They had been driving for some time, navigating the city streets and, as far as she could tell from her brief glances out the carriage window, were nowhere near anything that resembled a park.

“I do not understand,” she said when Lady Harker paused to draw breath. “What are you both doing here? Why have you come? I thought I explained…” She looked between them both helplessly. “Did you not find my note?”

“The one you left on your pillow when you disappeared without a word?” Sebastian asked.

It was the first thing that he had said to her since speaking her name in the Dinwiddy’s parlor. Sylvia’s heart thumped heavily in response to it. She had never thought she would see him again, nor ever again hear his voice.

“Yes,” he said. “We did find it, Miss Stafford, and read your explanation for leaving us, too. Inadequate as it was.”

Her lips parted. She would have liked to snap back at him, but found she could not. She had the sinking feeling that something was very wrong. That feeling was intensified when the carriage slowed to a halt. She peered out the window only to turn back to her two companions with an expression of mingled shock and outrage. “We are in Grosvenor Square!”