Page 52 of To Follow her Heart

Her father had crushed any spirit she might have had, and she was a faded creature now, afraid to speak unless she must, so her determination to converse with him alone was alarming.

“Is it your father?” he asked. “Is his condition worse?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head with such vigour that Luke’s surprise only deepened. “No, Father is well enough, better than he deserves to be, and that is why I wanted to speak to you.”

Luke stared, astonished. He had never heard her voice the slightest criticism of her father.

“I… I overheard Papa talking to Lady Frances.” A tinge of colour rose on her pale cheeks. “And… and I got the impression that perhaps you and Miss Connolly were… were thinking of eloping.”

Luke stiffened, and she reached out, grasping the sleeve of his coat.

“Go,” she said, shaking his arm with surprising force. “You love her, and she loves you. If you don’t go, someone will stop you. Lady Frances, or her father perhaps, if not my own. They’ll do something, they’ll ruin everything. Don’t feel sorry for him, don’t change your plans. Go now and don’t look back.”

“Sybil,” he said, stunned by her outburst, for though the words had been spoken in a hushed tone, coming from Sybil they may as well have been screamed from the rooftops.

He was dumbstruck.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I count on you, Luke. I count on the fact that one day Trevick and Father will be gone, and you will set us free. We need you, Luke, all of us. You are our only hope for any shred of happiness in the years to come, but how can we be happy if you have lost the woman you love, the woman you’ve loved all your life?”

Luke felt his throat grow tight. “He’ll go mad when he discovers it. It might—”

“Go,” she said, her face taut with determination, more strength behind that one word than Luke had heard from her in all the years he’d known her. “Father has made his choices, made his bed… now he lies in it, as he lied and schemed and manipulated you and my mother, and my sisters and me. Go, Luke, go and marry your beloved Kitten, and don’t you dare spare a moment’s thought or concern for that… that monster.”

She was trembling now, her eyes filling with tears, and Luke leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered, giving her a brief hug. “I won’t forget this, and I will see you happy too, Sybil. My word on it.”

Sybil let out a little breath of sound, somewhere between and sob and a laugh, and then made an urgent shooing motion. Luke did as he was told and hurried downstairs.

Breakfast was a rushed affair, though no one said it must be, but everyone seemed conscious of the need to get out of the house, and to do it quickly. Kitty did not know of last night’s debacle, that much was clear. He wouldn’t tell her either, not yet. There was time enough for such revelations. He assumed Jasper had not told his mother, as she had long since retired when they’d gone to bed last night. Miss Hunt and Miss Stanhope spoke to him warmly, and he knew they would not have told a soul, just as they’d promised.

Luke had blushed a little when Lady St Clair greeted him at breakfast, thoroughly aware she knew what he was about. The lady was gracious, though, and did not tease him; she just received him with a warm smile, her beautiful face full of mischief.

What might it have been like to have a mother like that, he wondered? It was obvious Lady St Clair regarded her children as the sun and the moon. From what the other guests had told him, her sweet nature hid a ferocious maternal instinct, and you criticised her beloved sons at your peril. Did Jasper and Jerome have the slightest idea how lucky they were?

His parents had ignored him, sending him away to boarding school at the first opportunity until the scandal which had found them banished to Ireland. He’d not realised how lucky he was then. He’d enjoyed school and done well there. There were rules he understood and could follow, and he’d had lots of friends. His home was a place where little made sense and his parents were either screaming at one another or ignoring each other. He’d never been certain which was worse. The screaming was interminable, and his mother’s weeping worse still, but then being sent back and forth with brittle messages, tell that insipid creature I married that… or tell your brute of a father that… was not a great deal more comfortable either.

He’d thought perhaps his mother might be happier when his father died. She’d wished him dead often enough, so it was a reasonable supposition. She wasn’t happier. With no one else to focus on, all her bitterness and dissatisfaction had been aimed at Luke, and things had become unbearable.

Kitty had saved him. Kitty had told him he was her knight errant and they would have a thousand adventures together. Sometimes, when Luke had crept from his home before his mother woke and decided she must tell him how woefully life had treated her—for the tenth time in as many days—Luke would think that it wasn’t him that was the knight at all, it was Kitty. It was she who took him on adventures and he merely followed in her wake, a lowly squire. He hadn’t cared a jot. He’d followed her then, and he’d follow her now, wherever she led… well, within reason.

Luke smiled as he realised he was no longer the biddable boy he’d been then, not by a long chalk, but he would never squash Kitty’s sense of adventure. It was why he loved her so. He would, however, make certain that neither of them drowned.

Jasper was on horseback today, as was Miss Stanhope. Lady St Clair, Kitty, Miss Hunt, and Luke were in the barouche. They were going to a picnic at Mitcham Priory—or at least the others were, once Luke and Kitty had left their company. This was a rare treat for them as the reclusive Baron Rothborn owned the place, which was an historic and romantic building. He rarely tolerated visitors, but was a friend of Jasper’s and allowed him to visit with guests if Rothborn was not in residence.

They’d left bright and early and were making excellent time, yet impatience sang in Luke’s blood. He wanted to be far from Holbrooke, far from Mr Derby and Lady Frances.

“How fortunate we are to be allowed to visit the Priory,” Miss Hunt said, drawing his attention back to the conversation. Her smile was brighter than Luke had seen it since they’d arrived. “I’ve heard so much about it. It’s dreadfully ancient, but Lord Rothborn detests visitors and rarely leaves the place.”

“Yes, he’s a prickly character,” Lady St Clair agreed. “But once you know how to deal with him, he’s not so bad.”

“Don’t they call him Solo, on account of him preferring his own company?” Kitty asked, to which Lady St Clair smiled.

“Not entirely,” she said with a soft laugh. “His name is Solomon, but it is rather apt all the same.”

“Lord St Clair?”

Luke glanced up at the sound of Miss Stanhope’s voice, she’d been riding a little behind Jasper since they departed, but now she moved up beside him.