Page 39 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

“She will be hours and hours away by now. And all I have in explanation is this note she left for me on her pillow, which says—” Julia let out a short yelp as Sebastian swept it from her hand.

He unfolded it, reading Sylvia’s words with something akin to desperation.

My Dear Lady Harker,

I am returning to London. Forgive me for not taking proper leave of you and your brother. I realized last night that it was a mistake to have come and wished to depart at first light. My life is in London now. As a governess. Indeed, I am very happy there. One cannot revisit the past, no matter how much one might wish to do so. It can bring nothing but pain. I hope you will understand and accept my apologies for any inconvenience my departure may have caused you.

Yours Sincerely,

Sylvia Stafford

Sebastian read it again, deeply shaken. One cannot revisit the past. She had said that last night in the library. Had she known, even then, that she was going to leave him? Had she ever had the smallest intention of staying? Of discussing their future together? He had not formally proposed yet, it was true. She had been far too upset. But surely she must have known his intentions.

Was being a governess so much more desirable than being his countess? And was he such a monster that she must flee his home in secret at the first light of dawn?

Good God, he felt like a prize fool.

Julia fluttered around his dressing room wringing her hands. Her hair was still in its nighttime plait and she wore an elaborately printed dressing gown buttoned up to her throat. “If you will only finish dressing, you might ready a horse and go after her. You could still catch her if—”

“I am not going after her.”

Julia watched, eyes widened in dismay, as he turned back to the mirror and yanked off his cravat. “What? I thought that you wished her to stay! And why aren’t you getting dressed? Oh, where is Milsom? Milsom!”

“Milsom is away on an errand.”

“Then I shall help you! Where is your coat? And a fresh cravat? You must hurry, Sebastian. I insist upon it.”

“I am not going to London,” he said roughly. “I have not left the estate since I returned from India. You, of all people, know why.”

She reddened. “Yes, but surely you would be willing to go now. If it means you might win Miss Stafford.”

Sebastian looked at his reflection in the central mirror of his dressing table. In the bright light of day, it was difficult to believe Sylvia had covered the heavily scarred face he saw with kisses. Indeed, the more he thought of it, last night seemed to him nothing but a wishful, desperate dream. “I am not going to London,” he said again.

She spun toward the door of his dressing room. “Then I shall go—”

His hand shot out to catch her wrist. “You will do nothing of the sort,” he said in a voice of dangerous calm.

Julia’s eyes filled with frustrated tears. “Someone must fetch her back! I want you to marry her. And why can’t you? Surely anything is preferable to being a governess in Cheapside!”

He visibly flinched.

“What did you say to her?” she demanded.

“Nothing.” No, he thought bitterly, he had just kissed her. Held her in his arms. Told her that he cared for her so, so much. Bloody hell. He had panted and groaned over her like an uncivilized brute. How in blazes had he thought she would react? She had left the library in tears, for God’s sake. He had probably repulsed her.

“You must have done else she would not have left! And I know that she was not frightened of your injuries. To be sure, she did seem a little sad, but she—” Julia’s mouth fell open. “Oh no! Was it my fault? Was it something I said? But what could I have said?

“Aside from telling her that at any moment I might blow my brains out just as her father did?”

Julia jerked her hand away, making a dramatic show of rubbing her wrist. “Do you think it was because I said that I wished her to be my sister? To marry you and make you well?”

Sebastian groaned. “Good God.”

“I admit, it did seem to alarm her. Though I told her right away that it was nothing but a foolish fancy.” Julia’s brow creased. “Do you suppose she has another sweetheart? She said that she was not married, but she never said anything about a beau. And she is ever so pretty, Sebastian. Which is even more reason you must go at once to Cheapside and fetch her. If she knew she might be a countess, I daresay she would throw over whoever it is that is courting her now.”

He dropped his face into his hands. Again, the specter of those other men! Her suitors had cut her acquaintance after her father’s suicide. He had been reminding himself of that fact ever since they parted last night in the library. But just because the gentlemen of polite society had shunned a connection with Sylvia Stafford did not mean that she had been sentenced to a life of lonely spinsterhood. She was a governess now, true. But a beautiful, well-bred governess. No doubt there was a line of suitors stretching from Cheapside to Mayfair. Solicitors. Doctors. Merchants. Gentlemen schoolmasters. Sebastian conjured them all in his mind, each one handsome and elegant, soft spoken and kind.

“Out,” he said to his sister.