Page 10 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

“No,” she said. “I cannot claim perfect contentment, my lord. I do not know many who can. But I am a good deal more content than I was in the months following Papa’s death. Those were very bleak days indeed. I might have been overwhelmed with grief if I had not had to immediately seek my living. In any case, I soon discovered that melancholy was no match for industry. The busier I kept myself, the easier it all became. And now, though I’m not perfectly content by any means, I can say that yes, I am happy in my new situation.”

“Your new situation being a merchant’s house in Cheapside.” He made no effort to hide his disdain. “Tell me, Miss Stafford, did the scandal of your father’s death prevent you from finding employment with people of quality?”

“People of quality?” she repeated, astonished. The Sebastian she remembered would never have used such a phrase. Had he become so toplofty now that he was the earl? Or was this yet another attempt to put her in her place? “As opposed to Mr. and Mrs. Dinwiddy, do you mean?”

He gave a curt nod.

“I don’t know, really,” she admitted. “I did not attempt to find employment amongst my former acquaintance.”

“Too proud?”

“Yes. Perhaps a little. But it was not only my pride. To own the truth, I can imagine nothing more uncomfortable for my former friends than having me in their home as a paid employee. Not that they would ever have considered hiring me. I’m accomplished enough to instruct the daughters of a merchant, but I doubt there are many parents of what you call the quality who would find my limited talents acceptable. And then there is the matter of Papa’s death…”

“After which, all of your friends deserted you.”

“That’s right.”

“And all of your suitors, too, I imagine.”

That startled her. “Suitors? What suitors? Do you mean…” She was sorely tempted to laugh. “Surely you do not intend to blame your behavior on my father’s unfortunate actions?”

Sebastian frowned. “My behavior?”

“If so, I suggest you reconsider the timing. You were in India nearly a year before my father took his own life. Nearly a year, my lord.”

She would not have thought his gaze could grow any colder, but at the look he now gave her, Sylvia was astonished that she did not instantly transform into an icicle.

“I am well aware of the time I spent in India, madam,” he said with awful civility. “Every minute of it. But what my service there can have to do with either you or your father is, I confess, a mystery to me.”

She flushed. “You willfully misunderstand me, sir. It has nothing to do with your service and everything to do with—”

“Oh dear! Is it half past already?” Lady Harker’s cheerful voice rang out from the doorway, bringing an abrupt and altogether merciful end to their conversation. “How thoroughly vexing,” she said, “when I made such an effort to be punctual!”

Sebastian glowered at his sister. He knew very well that she had contrived to leave him alone with Miss Stafford. He suspected that Miss Stafford knew it too. And if her expression of relief was any indication, she had no more interest in renewing their relationship than he did.

“I do hope you are hungry, Miss Stafford.” Julia entered the room, the servants close behind. “Though how you could not be, I do not know, for you scarcely touched your food at the inn.” She turned to address a footman. “Put the tea tray there, Thomas.” She gestured to the cluster of furniture near the fireplace. “Yes, that’s right. I shall ring if we need anything else.”

Sebastian had risen at his sister’s arrival, but now resumed his seat. “You dined at a coaching inn?”

“I would hardly call it dining,” Julia said. She fluffed her voluminous skirts out around her as she settled into her chair. “The man at the Bull could offer us no more than a cold pasty and some warm ale.”

“The Bull?” His temper flared. “What in blazes were you thinking to stop at such a place?”

“That we were hungry,” Julia said, adding candidly, “and we needed to use the necessary.”

The color rose in Miss Stafford’s cheeks at Julia’s indelicate reply. “Your sister was in no danger, my lord,” she said. “I engaged a private parlor for us and we stayed only long enough for the coachman to tend to the horses.”

“There, you see.” Julia occupied herself with pouring out their tea. “We were perfectly safe.” As she filled Sebastian’s cup, she glanced up at him, her lips parting as if to speak. He returned her gaze, silently daring her to mention his inability to drink in company. After a heavily weighted moment, Julia’s mouth closed again and she handed him his teacup.

“Why in God’s name didn’t you take the train?” he asked.

Julia shrugged. “Harker does not like it. Not after the derailment at Tottenham station in February.”

Sebastian frowned. The derailment had claimed the lives of five passengers and two of the railway men. He could well imagine Harker forbidding his wife from train travel in the aftermath. Though how his brother-in-law thought that it was any safer for Julia to be careening around the countryside in a coach and four, Sebastian had no idea.

“The Bull is suitable for changing out your horses and nothing more,” he said. “The Inn itself is far from respectable. No lady should ever cross its threshold.” He cast a stony glance at Miss Stafford. “Not even a governess.”

Miss Stafford returned his gaze, her blue eyes flashing briefly with something very like indignation. Something very like hurt. It was gone before he could decipher it, her expression once again reverting into lines of polite indifference.