Page 45 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

She sniffled, then met his gaze with resolve brimming in her eyes. “But if your lovesick wandering this week is any indication, you’ve found that devotion on your own. It’s a wonderful blessing, my dear, and I give you my full support in returning to Ohio to convince that girl to marry you right away. Or perhaps as soon as I’m able to travel to attend your wedding.”

“But your health could fail again, Mother. A time will come when you and Mr. Brown can’t handle the estate any longer. What if God is bringing me back here for that purpose?”

Arching an eyebrow, his mother tilted her head. “Who says we haven’t already considered that? There are several young men in the village we’ve been working with to teach them how to care for the buildings and property. It will still be here for the children I hope you’ll have someday, even if I’m not. God made you with a passion for the work you’re doing. If you look, you’ll see His hand leading you there, not here.”

Miles’s heart stuttered at the implication of her death, but she smiled and took his hand in hers.

“My dearest, I want more than anything for you to live the life you want to have. I shouldn’t have made you feel as if you needed to be here when your heart is elsewhere. And I shouldn’t have been so selfish in my prayers. I only ask that you bring that wonderful young woman—and any children you may have someday—back here to visit when you can. The villagers can fling their opinions into the creek.”

Chuckling at her vehemence and overcome with the sudden freedom of knowing she didn’t expect or want him to leave the life he’d built behind, Miles rose and wrapped his mother in a gentle embrace. If she continued to improve, he would hasten back to Ohio in another couple of days and explain everything to Sylvie in person. Then, if she wouldn’t have him, at least he would know for certain. Perhaps in time, he would be able to move on from his feelings for her.

But until that moment, there was still a chance he could win her heart. God hadn’t abandoned him, after all, but was allowing him to correct his mistakes. This time, he wouldn’t waste the opportunity testing out theories.

CHAPTER 22

While Sylvie loved summers on the island, returning to their home on Euclid Avenue was usually a relief, a fresh start after months away. Their gothic-style house in Cleveland rivaled any of the others on what was often called Millionaires’ Row, the wide, elegant street lined with mansions built by oil, steel, and railroad tycoons. Of course, Sylvie didn’t enjoy being paraded through endless balls and dinners thrown by Cleveland’s elite, which was what most of her time in Cleveland consisted of. But she did take some comfort in the familiar routine of the social season.

This year, though, returning home felt empty. And it was all Miles’s fault.

As soon as they’d gotten settled and the drudgery of her expected future hit her anew, Sylvie escaped outside, to the lawn behind the stable where her archery targets were set up. September arrived, and she continued to spend all her free time practicing, sending arrow after arrow after arrow into the row of three targets, then returning them to her quiver and beginning again. It was repetitive and mindless, exactly what she needed to keep her hands busy while allowing her thoughts to roam.

Since they’d been back in town, her mother had left her alone. They both knew Sylvie had no choices anymore, so what was there to talk about? But that Saturday afternoon, Mother appeared at the end of the stable, stopping to watch Sylvie release her last three arrows. Without looking, Sylvie greeted her mother over her shoulder. “I’m almost done practicing for today. I’ll come inside as soon as I put away my things.”

Not entirely true, as she preferred to practice for as long as she was allowed. But she’d been making her most concerted effort to be a dutiful daughter since they returned. She had no other option, after all. The opportunity to earn her own living through her performances was gone, along with any hope she had of being able to stand up to her parents and make her own decisions. She’d failed. Not only was the summer over, so was her one brief taste of freedom. It felt as if God had looked at her hopes and dreams and, like everyone else, had decided they weren’t acceptable.

When Sylvie lowered her bow while blinking back tears, her mother stepped up to her side. “Don’t mope, Sylvia. It isn’t becoming. Now, it’s past time to dress for the Moreaus’ ball tonight. Take extra care to look your best. Mr. Kinsey will be there.”

Sylvie knew from experience that hearing the name of a man one fancied should cause a woman’s heart to leap in her chest. It should bring flutters of anticipation to know he would be there waiting for her. That’s what had always happened with Miles, anyway.

Hearing Mr. Kinsey’s name made almost no impact on Sylvie. Oh, he was kind and handsome enough. She liked his company, and most ladies in her position would be thrilled to have his attention. He was a good catch, even if he wasn’t as sought after as a marquess. But Sylvie found she was no longer like most ladies. She’d experienced love—wild, unexpected, overwhelming love—and mere like paled in comparison.

But that love was now out of reach. Miles had been gone for a month, and Sylvie hadn’t heard a word from him. Upon returning to town, they’d learned from the Loftons that his mother was gravely ill, which was a good reason for him to have left. Sylvie had prayed often since then for her to recover to full health. But in her mind, there was no good excuse for his lack of effort to communicate with her in all that time. She could have supported him in his grief, if the worst had happened, or celebrated in his joy if not. But Sylvie had come to the harsh realization that hope was no longer suitable. She needed to be sensible instead. “I’ll change and meet you downstairs right away.”

Mother’s face pinched into a frown. “Don’t you dare rush. You need to look your very best.”

That sharp tone stopped Sylvie in her tracks. In the face of losing her hopes for the future, what did it matter if she looked prettier than all the other women? Why couldn’t her mother see that Sylvie wanted her love, not more instructions and pushing?

But there was no reason to think that speaking those things aloud would change her mother’s behavior. She’d tried and failed to explain those feelings too many times to count already. “Mr. Kinsey knows what I look like, Mother, and he doesn’t seem unhappy with my dressing habits in any way.”

With a huff, Mother lifted her chin and met Sylvie’s eyes with an unexpected intensity. “Mr. Kinsey put a great deal of effort into wooing you with those letters. He was quite patient with the marquess situation. You should give him an honest chance. He might be your last one, after all.”

The harsh reminder that Sylvie was all but an old maid stung. “I know, Mother. You’ve reminded me of that for the last month.”

Mother’s expression softened, and she placed a hand on Sylvie’s arm. “I want to see you securely married with a comfortable life ahead of you. Mr. Kinsey can provide that.”

Hopelessness left Sylvie too weak to argue. What was the point? Miles was gone, and Mr. Kinsey was her only realistic future. The bow in her hand felt heavy. Perhaps it was time she put it away and set her mind to following the course God had placed before her. The Bible said He worked for the good of those who loved Him. Was there something good in a future with Mr. Kinsey that Sylvie simply couldn’t see right then?

Two hours later, after bathing, dressing, and riding the three blocks in Father’s new automobile, Sylvie followed her parents into the Moreau mansion. Set far back from the street on a sprawling lot, the brick house was smaller than some, but still impressive by most standards. Tall, arched windows and a tiled roof set it apart from the older houses dotting the lots on the street. Inside, Sylvie’s mother all but dragged her to the stairs while her father was whisked into conversation with another gentleman about business Sylvie had no interest in.

On the third floor of the house, which was completely dedicated to the ballroom, Sylvie didn’t have to look hard to find Mr. Kinsey. He hovered near the wide double doors, looking quite nice in a well-tailored black formal suit, with his hair combed to perfection. But Sylvie’s heart didn’t move an inch, unlike when she would first glimpse Miles in a crowded room.

Would she ever stop comparing her reactions to the two men? At some point, her infatuation with Miles would have to end.

Wouldn’t it?

Mr. Kinsey strode over with confident purpose and took her hand, kissing the back of it like a gallant knight of old while grinning at her with a teasing glint in his eye. “Good evening, my lady. I started reading Idylls of the King, as you recommended. After learning about the actions of Arthur and his knights, I realized I’ve been sorely lacking in chivalrous behavior.”

As often happened when she was with him, Sylvie found herself giggling. He had a lovely sense of humor, at least. “I quite look forward to seeing the Holy Grail when you obtain it, then.”