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When Araminta voiced a learned opinion on the prime minister, Edgar’s echoed, “Yes, dreadful man, Lord Liverpool,” would have been comical had it not been indicative of how easily led the boy was. It boded ill for all of them and the future of the estate.
Stephen kept his thoughts to himself. Perhaps he’d schooled his expression so as not to betray the contempt, which Sybil saw on her husband’s face. Hetty wore a mask of despair. She’d never been able to conceal her feelings and Sybil’s heart bled for her youngest. Edgar might not have been the husband she’d have chosen for Hetty but at least they might have made one another happy. Together, Araminta and Edgar would be a disaster.
After dinner the party broke up and the young people went to the billiard room. Again, Sybil was surprised when Humphry joined her in the drawing room after he’d had his port and coffee. He’d been a far better companion since Lizzy Hazlett’s departure.
It was a bolstering thought.
“Well, my dear, we’re living through interesting times,” he remarked. “My guess is there’ll be an announcement before the week.”
“My guess is sooner. Oh, Humphry.” She sighed as she put down her drink and sent him a searching look. “What can we do? I deplore the situation as much as you do. When Stephen first arrived I admit I was angry and upset. Here he was, taking George’s place. Now I’m utterly devastated that his position has been usurped.”
“He is so like his father Reginald, my cousin, an excellent man. A little wild in his youth but a good, steady fellow with a clever head on his shoulders. Reginald’s biggest mistake was his eye for the ladies. The crafty piece he married tricked him into it. Stephen’s mother. I feared Stephen might have taken after her. However once I met him I realized he’d inherited his father’s traits. He’d have made an excellent job of managing the estate, both in my dotage and when I die.”
Humphry poured them both another drink. “Now I’m all but staring at the young man who will destroy everything my forebears worked so hard to build up. Even with Araminta guiding Edgar, he won’t know how to curb his impulses. Indeed, I’m not sure I have that much faith in Araminta’s level head. No, it’s a disaster all ‘round.”
“And Hetty,” Sybil added sadly. It was Hetty’s bruised and broken heart that concerned her the most.
“And Hetty. But there you are. There’s nothing to be done.” He spoke with the finality of one about to excuse himself for the night. In a sudden burst of bravery, Sybil detained him with, “We could try one last time, Humphry.”
His puzzled frown suggested he wasn’t sure what she was saying.
She felt herself color up and explained, “I’m not too old to have a child, Humphry. We both know that.”
What remained unsaid was that they both knew how difficult it was for Humphry to do what was necessary. When he began to dissemble Sybil knew the time had come for plain speaking.
Studying the openwork design on her skirts, she said carefully, “The last time we tried, Humphry—three months ago, as I recall it—you said the fault lay with you and there was little point in trying again. But I can be as patient and forgiving as you like if it’ll provide an heir that will remove Edgar. Mrs. Hazlitt has gone away to have a baby. No, there’s nothing to be said. I know it’s scandalous of me to mention it but I have to say my piece if I believe it’s for the good of the estate. If Mrs. Hazlitt can have your baby, Humphry, surely you can bring yourself to try...” She swallowed. “Surely you could try and give me one too.”
Clenching her hands, desperate expectation rose within her as her husband stared at her. Nothing was more important to Humphry than the future of the estate. Surely he could bring himself to sufficiently overcome his aversion toward intimacy with Sybil to at least try for a solution.
The regret in his face was almost more than she could bear. She had been rejected many times in her life but this was the most painful.
She rose and walked towards the Argand lamp. “I will not let you see me cry— again,” she whispered as she dimmed the light. “Do I disgust you so much?”
He understood the depth of the pain he inflicted on her. She could hear it in his voice though she could no longer bring herself to look at him. He was not a bad man but in that moment she hated him, a feeling quickly tempered by sorrow. She could never truly hate Humphry, who now said, “You have never disgusted me, Sybil. Other men have complimented me on my lovely, easy-tempered wife and their admiration has always fuelled my self-disgust, for I’m not insensible to what I’ve denied you. But I cannot bring myself to regard you as other than a companionable helpmate. My affections were engaged before I met you and I find myself utterly unable to perform as a husband to any other than the woman I fell in love with. The fault is not yours. Please, Sybil, don’t cry. I can’t bear it.”
Wearily, she lowered herself into her chair and put her forehead into her hands. “So I’m to grow old, watching Edgar drive the estate into the mire, denied love because of your loyalty to your mistress.”
Clearly he could take no more such talk. On his way to the door, he hesitated by the back of her chair as if he might reach out and touch her. He did not but his words were thick with regret. “I’m sorry, my dear. I wish it were different. I wish you could find happiness in the position to which I condemned you.”
She swallowed painfully. “I cannot even take a lover, though lord knows I’ve never been tempted since all I ever wanted was to be a good wife to you.”
He hesitated on the threshold, his hand on the doorknob. “If George had not died I’d have had an heir and yes, Sybil, I’d have sanctioned a liaison that would have made you happy. It’s what you deserve and I know your loyalty prevents that, just as my loyalty is my own noose. But we cannot change the situation in which we find ourselves.” He turned the knob, adding under his breath, “God knows, I wish we could.”
After Humphry had gone Sybil remained in the dim drawing room. Finally, like an old woman, she dragged herself out of her chair and wended her way through the corridors toward her private apartments.
In the Long Gallery, she stopped by the casement and stared out into the darkness, h
er candle casting a soft glow over the red plush cushions and the heavy brocade curtains. When she stared at the row of family portraits, Humphry’s proud forebears seemed to glare their disapproval from walls that disappeared into the distance.
What would they make of all this?
Edgar, a simple, stupid boy was to become custodian of the small empire they had built. He would squander it all. Humphry all but acknowledged that. And Edgar would do so while breaking her youngest daughter’s heart.
She turned at the sound of a soft footfall.
“I did not mean to disturb you, Lady Partington.”
“Stephen.”
