Page 49 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

He nodded. “I sent Milsom to London to make enquiries. He returned yesterday after having talked to Miss Button. It seems that your father instructed your maid to burn all the letters that you wrote to me.”

His words struck Sylvia like a physical blow. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, her breath catching in her throat. “She burned my letters?”

“All but one,” Sebastian said, “which she kept back for future blackmail purposes, apparently. According to Milsom, your former maid is at great pains to secure a retirement cottage in Hampshire.”

Sylvia swallowed. “Which letter?” she asked

Sebastian met her anxious gaze. “The first letter,” he said.

She briefly closed her eyes as a fiery blush crept into her face. “The first letter,” she repeated. “Of course it would be.”

“Milsom bought it from her for fifty pounds. He brought it back to Pershing with him. I read it yesterday morning. And now I am here, Miss Stafford. I have come to tell you…that the overland journey was unremarkable. My new horse settled admirably, though I regret to say that I lost him at the siege of Jhansi. I love you. I have always loved you. And we may be married as soon as you please. I resigned my commission. You can no longer follow the drum, but I sincerely hope you will settle for being my countess. I did not propose to you that night in the garden because I was afraid of being rejected, damn me. You were not shameless and the kiss you gave me then sustained me through two years of hell.” He paused, plainly shaken. “Forgive me, I did not stay safe. And I have come back to you three years too late and not in the best of looks, but I—”

Sylvia did not realize that she was crying until she heard Sebastian break off his speech with a muttered oath. In seconds, he was at her side on the sofa, gathering her up in his strong arms just as the first sob shook her frame. She turned her face into his shoulder and wept.

“Ah, my dear,” he murmured.

The husky endearment caused her tears to fall that much more quickly. “H-how could he have done it?” she asked, choking back another sob. “All that t-time. When he knew that my heart was b-breaking.”

Sebastian’s large hand moved on her back. “Your father wanted better for you.”

And for himself. The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Papa had told her she might marry whomever she wished, but it had all been lies. He had never intended for her to wed a soldier—not even a soldier who was the second son of an earl. No. He had wanted a son-in-law who was wealthy enough to pay his gaming debts.

“He wagered everything in that last game,” she had told Sebastian that afternoon in the window embrasure. “I daresay he would have wagered me, too, if he had thought of it in time.”

But he had thought of it. It was what he had been doing all along. Gambling with her life, with her very future, just as surely as he gambled over a hand of cards. All so she could have someone better. But not better for her. Better for him.

“There was no one better,” she said through her tears. “There n-never has been.”

Sebastian tightened his arms around her. She could feel the heavy thundering of his heart against her chest. He was soothing her, but he was far from calm himself. “You do me too much honor.”

“It is the truth, merely. But Papa would not have seen it that way. If he was set on my marrying a fortune he would have been looking elsewhere. At Lord Goddard, I suppose.”

“Very probably.”

She pulled back from him with a sniffle, fumbling about her for a handkerchief. Before she could locate the one in her reticule, Sebastian pressed his own large handkerchief into her hand. She used it to dry her face and to blow her nose. It was all quite unromantic. “I have ruined your cravat,” she said.

“To hell with my cravat,” he replied.

Sylvia blinked up at him. How grave he appeared. As if he were waiting for something. “Lord Goddard proposed to me before Papa died,” she confessed.

His expression betrayed a flicker of surprise. “Did he?”

“I told him that I could not marry him. That I loved someone else. ‘Colonel Conrad, I gather,’ he said. And I said yes. That I was waiting for you to come home.” She blotted the fresh tears that welled in her eyes. “If I had accepted him…If I had not been waiting for you…Perhaps Papa would not have been forced to such drastic measures. Lord Goddard could have paid off his debts. He may still be alive today if I had only—”

“I doubt it would have made a difference. And in the end…if you had accepted his offer…Would you have been happy as Lady Goddard, do you think?”

“I would have been miserable.”

Sebastian reached out to smooth a stray lock of hair from her damp cheek. “And would you be happy as Lady Radcliffe?”

She exhaled a tremulous breath. “I am a governess now.”

“Much that I care.”

“You cared that night in the library.”

“That you are a governess? My God, Sylvia…You can’t still believe that what happened between us—”