Page 45 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

“Up you come, girls,” she said. “Show me your best curtsies. You will need them if ever you are presented to Her Majesty.”

The girls obeyed and, after a short, but spirited dialogue on whose curtsy was prettier and whether or not one of them might indeed one day meet the queen, they resumed their seats. And their questions.

Thanks to the gossiping servants and the unguarded tongue of their mother, Clara and Cora had always been extraordinarily knowledgeable about Sylvia’s former life as a ‘fine lady.’ This, however, had been the first occasion that the household had had indisputable proof that once upon a time their very own governess had rubbed shoulders with viscountesses and earls.

Sylvia did not know what else they had been told about her trip to Hertfordshire. It was no secret, certainly, but she would rather not have discussed it at all. She had left Pershing Hall in an emotional fog, panicked and confused by what she had shared with Sebastian. As far as she was concerned, the least said about the experience the better. In time, she hoped her heart would hurt a little less. Until then, she was determined to keep herself so busy that there would not be a single moment free in which to fall into a blue melancholy.

“No more questions, girls,” she said briskly. “We have wasted quite enough of this morning on the nobility.” She used a cloth to erase the word Earl from her slate. In its place, she wrote a series of numbers. “Take out your slates, if you please, and we will address ourselves to a much more interesting subject. Arithmetic.”

It was less than thirty miles from Pershing Hall to the Earl of Radcliffe’s town residence in Mayfair. Only half a day’s journey with stops to change horses. Had they taken the train, they could have made the trip four times as quickly. However, Julia was adamant that she could not disobey her husband’s wishes in respect to avoiding train travel. Sebastian was skeptical as always of Harker’s notions about his wife’s safety, but he did not argue with his sister. Instead, he used the extra time to his benefit, explaining to his overexcited sibling exactly what he would require of her once they arrived in London.

“Harker won’t like it above half,” Julia said as she wiggled her toes on the hot brick that Sebastian had procured for her at the last stop.

He had forced himself to get out while the horses were being changed. Forced himself to go into the taproom and order a tankard of ale. The innkeeper had stared at his face, his eyes riveted to the scars even as Sebastian spoke to him. It had been a sobering experience. And yet, at the same time, it had been a relief. The innkeeper had stared in horrified fascination, true, but he had not appeared afraid and he had certainly not succumbed to a fit of the vapors.

Not that that meant anything. A rough innkeeper on the road to London was no doubt accustomed to unpleasant sights. The real test would come when they arrived in town and Sebastian was forced to interact with his peers.

“He will expect me to come home,” Julia said. “I shall explain to him, of course, and I daresay he will understand. But you know how Harker can be, Sebastian. He was already quite irritable that I should wish to come back to Pershing so soon. And now, to tell him that I must stay with you at your townhouse…” She grimaced. “He will read me a lecture, I am sure of it.”

Sebastian was gazing numbly out the window of the carriage, but at this he turned his head to look at his little sister. For all her silliness, Julia had been more than happy to accompany him on his impulsive journey, immediately dashing off a note to Lord Harker informing him that he was not to come to Hertfordshire, but to remain in London and she would meet him there.

He had been used to thinking of her as a confounded little nuisance. He had already been at Eton when she was born. Then came university and the duties of his regiment. He was rarely home and, as a result, had never really got to know her. Nor had he particularly wanted to. The brief moments spent in her company during school holidays or while on leave had been unpleasant in the extreme, filled with high-pitched chatter and youthful nonsense. His father and elder brother had spoiled Julia—praising and petting her for the very qualities which Sebastian deemed the silliest.

It had not occurred to him until now how she must have felt to lose them both in one fell swoop. And then to have her only remaining sibling return from India damaged almost beyond recognition. Yet she had continued to visit him at Pershing, forcing her company on him despite his grumbled threats and the occasional book or trinket thrown in her general direction.

And now, in what was perhaps the most affecting display of sisterly regard he had yet been subjected to, she had found Sylvia Stafford for him and unwittingly revealed a three-year-old misunderstanding that could, quite literally, change the course of his whole life.

“I will speak to Harker,” he told her.

Julia brightened. “Will you? I must say, I think that is wise. There are precious few members of the family left, you know. And we must draw them all into the cause.”

Sebastian resumed staring out the window at the passing countryside. He would have far preferred to handle everything on his own. Whatever happened next was between Sylvia and himself. No one else need have anything to do with it.

But that was the crux of the matter. If what he had in mind was to work, he would need the support of his friends and family, both of which were going to be a bit thin on the ground at present.

“Aunt Araminta and Aunt Sophie will still be in town,” Julia said as if reading his mind. “And Harker’s elder sister, Maria. And Lord and Lady Wilding. I can think of ever so many more.” She smoothed a carriage rug over her flounced skirts. “I shall make a list and then we may send our cards round. They will all wish to call upon you, Sebastian. You are Radcliffe now.”

“So I am,” he said.

They arrived in the early evening, greeted by a skeleton staff who did their best to hide their dismay at the unexpected appearance of the new Earl of Radcliffe. Sebastian had not been to London in three years. The last time he had visited the townhouse, his father had been earl and his brother had been the heir. He felt a twinge of grief to see it now in all its stately grandeur. But there was no time for melancholy. He removed himself to the earl’s chamber to wash and change, leaving Julia to take up the mantle of mistress of the house.

Geoffrey Randall, Viscount Harker arrived two hours later to dine with his wife. Sebastian did not join them for dinner, but after they had finished their meal, he convened with Harker in the library over a glass of port.

He had not been privy to the marriage negotiations between his father and Lord Harker; however, he strongly suspected that the late earl had thought to wed his only daughter to a gentleman of a serious and sober nature, capable of exerting some measure of control over her high spirits. To the untrained eye, Harker would seem to fit the bill. He was in his middle thirties, fifteen years Julia’s senior, and a highly respected Member of Parliament. But Sebastian had been evaluating the character of men under his command for over a decade and, though he was not insensible to his brother-in-law’s merits, he could see plainly that Harker was the last person on earth to exercise restraint over Julia.

He loved her, poor fool, and as a consequence, indulged her quite shamefully. It was no wonder she was free to roam about the town calling on governesses in Cheapside and making up stories about suicidal elder brothers.

Sebastian did not know if his sister returned her husband’s feelings. As a girl, she had fancied the golden splendor of Thomas Rotherham. While Harker was a man of, at best, middling looks, with a perpetually sad, drooping expression that put one in mind of a rather mournful bloodhound.

“Suppose I’ll have to stay here,” he said, frowning into his glass of port. “If Julia won’t come home…That is…Can’t very well command her, can I?”

“I need her, Harker,” Sebastian said. “Without her presence…”

“Quite right. Quite right. Perfectly understand.” Harker raised his head. “But you’re not to shout at her, Radcliffe.”

Sebastian was familiar with this particular lecture. Harker had delivered it several times before. “I have a temper,” he admitted. “It has become somewhat worse since I came back from India. But I would not hurt my sister or any woman.”

This assurance seemed to satisfy Harker. “Best thing for it is to marry, Radcliffe. Settles the spirits. Home. Hearth. All that sort of thing. I’m pleased to hear—” He paused, frowning again. “But I won’t be precipitate. The situation you propose is…difficult.”