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“Good to hear. Like my Sybil. Can’t allow these ladies too long a rein, can we?” Although Stephen was grateful to His Lordship for helping him overcome his pecuniary difficulties, his hackles rose at his words and was glad when Lord Partington indicated they should repair to the drawing room to join the ladies.
When they did they were met by a mixture of curiosity, excitement and revulsion, for lined up on a low table in the center of the room were four glass domes, each containing a web with two spiders.
Sybil greeted the newcomers with pleasure. “What fun!” she exclaimed, stepping forward, clapping her hands. “Stephen collected these yesterday. Oh yes, and Hetty helped. Look! Aren’t they quite superb? You won’t find these in every drawing room but my husband is quite the man of science and I’ve become used to the odd things he likes to display. Do you like spiders, Lady Julia?”
Stephen wished he could hug his darling Sybil. Lady Julia had a greenish hue to her skin and her eyes skittered between her clearly uncomfortable husband, His Lordship and Stephen.
“No, my lady,” Lady Julia replied with a shudder, following Her Ladyship back to their chairs at the other end of the room. “I wish they were not so prominently displayed. In fact...in fact...” She put a hand to her forehead. “I don’t feel at all well.”
Lord Partington went to the table and picked up a glass dome, which he eyed with satisfaction. “We’ll take them away shortly but first we’re going to stage a little bet. Indulge me. I know you’re a betting man, Sir Archie. I am too. Who’s going to come off second best? The large, glossy female? You agree that it is a female?” He paused meaningfully. “Good, good. Or will the male display to advantage? You declared the male could never be bested.”
Archie raised his chin. Clearing his throat, he declared, “I believe there are occasions. In fact, I’d bet the opposite tonight.”
However, the smug grin plastered on his face soon disappeared as the double doors were opened to admit the young Earl of Barston.
Stephen, seated near Lady Partington, let his breath out in a low, admiring whoosh. The Earl of Barston. He’d mentioned Barston’s presence only in passing to His Lordship, knowing that Barston was an ally of Sir Archie’s and would never champion Stephen. However, Lord Partington was obviously more influential than Stephen and had seen the main chance.
Now, here was Barston, looking very down in the mouth. He’d sat in on the supposed invincibility of the male spider when Stephen had been entertained by Lady Julia in a closet just up the passage, and it was clear that he was now here on sufferance. Had Lord Partington used threat or inducement? It seemed His Lordship was adept at having matters arranged just as he liked them, Stephen thought bitterly as he inclined his head in greeting.
But Lord Partington was going to see justice prevail and Stephen owed him some gratitude for that.
“You’d declare the opposite of your recent vociferous protests, Sir Archie? I don’t think that’s wise, do you?” There was a warning note to Lord Partington’s caution before he turned his attention to introducing the two men. “Ah, so you know each other. Stephen, I think you mentioned you were in company with young Barston the evening you wagered a large sum in similar circumstances. Now, Sir Archie, which way did you say you were going to bet? Of course. That the male is superior in all species. This will be most interesting. Stephen, you bet the opposite? The odds? A thousand? No, no, let’s make it two. As for myself, I shall refrain. So it’s just you two gentlemen for the best out of three. It couldn’t be fairer, now could I? Another drink? It might be a long night.”
Chapter Twelve
As she sat quietly sewing at the other end of the drawing room, Sybil felt like a woman torn between two lovers—ridiculous thought though it was. Her husband required her for what her womb might provide, having no feeling for her in any other respect; her lover had taken up with alacrity her offer that he enjoy her body for the purpose of planting a seed in her womb on condition he could bring her pleasure in the process.
As Sybil watched Humphry conducting proceedings like a puppet master, she was conscious of a dawning realization that her life, too, had been managed by him during the past twenty years, purely for his satisfaction.
Humphry had readily acknowledged his mistake in acceding to his parents’ wishes by forsaking Lizzy Hazlett to marry Sybil.
But in twenty years a few words of regret were all he’d offered to ease Sybil’s burden. They meant nothing when it came to the fact that he neglected her and spent every possible moment with Mrs. Hazlett.
Where did that position Sybil?
As nothing more than a pliant, miserable, doormat of a wife. The clothes she wore were fine enough for a woman required to reflect a man of Humphry’s station, yet what pleasure did they afford her when she was constantly derided for wishing to experiment with colors and styles she hoped might suit her?
Why she should want to bother was another matter.
She’d only ever received one compliment from Humphry and she didn’t care to dwell on what had prompted that. Stephen’s value of her was like a pain she couldn’t bear. A joy that could never be fully realized.
Now Mrs. Hazlett had returned after less than a fortnight. No doubt she’d been pining. They both had. Humphry’s true love had been restored to him.
But what of Sybil? Must she simply and pliantly accede to whatever role Humphry dished out to her? Either the consistently ignored wife... Or the wife who must uncomplainingly part her legs and suffer the humiliation of allowing herself to be nothing more than the vessel of her husband’s determination that the status quo was not convenient. That a new heir must be created, however distasteful the requirement to produce it.
Edgar’s coarse exclamation brought her back to the present. “Gad’s teeth, she’s set upon him! That’s the second one!”
Sybil raised her hand to prevent Hetty rushing from the cluster of comfortable seats around the fire to the scene of action at the far end of the room where the men were gathered, while Araminta said testily, “I can’t imagine why you allowed such a distasteful charade to be played out in the drawing room, Mama.”
Sybil was glad Lady Julia had left pleading a megrim for she was now able to agree, mildly, “Yes, it is quite a charade, Araminta,” not looking at her daughter as she continued with her needlework. “It is not, however, the most outrageous charade being conducted under this roof, I’d like to point out. Look at you and Edgar.”
She raised her head at Araminta’s gasp of outrage.
“Come now, Araminta, you know very well you felt nothing for that cousin of yours, yet you persisted, despite the pain you knew it would bring you both in the future, not to mention the pain suffered by your sister.” She arched an eyebrow, adding with quiet directness, “Why?”
Araminta’s color had grown very high. Her bosom heaved. “How dare you, Mama?” she said under her breath.
Sybil returned her attention to her sewing, aware that Hetty was staring at her, open-mouthed.
