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“An anarchist, you say?”
“That’s how the papers put it, madam,” Sylvia explained. “But they were more interested in creating salacious headlines than printing the truth. I advocated for universal suffrage and more aid for working women. And I don’t believe the current government has any interest in meaningful reform.”
“So you think the whole system should be blown to bits, then?”
“Only in a metaphorical sense,” she pointed out. “I’ve never called for violence.”
Mrs. Crawford eyed her for a moment. “You remind me of a woman I knew who was part of the Paris Commune. Onlyshedemanded blood. Frequently. Different generations, I suppose.” Then she shrugged. “Did you really go to all this trouble just to hide your opinions from me?”
Sylvia and Georgiana exchanged looks of surprise.
“Well, yes,” Georgiana replied. “It was a terrible scandal, Aunt. Sylvia’s name was dragged through the mud. The viscount never would have allowed her to work for you if he knew the truth, but it was still wrong of us to deceive you so.”
“And I understand if you no longer wish to use my services,” Sylvia added.
Mrs. Crawford blinked. “Why on earth would I do that? You’re the best secretary I’ve ever had!” Then she turned to Georgiana. “I know it’s uncouth to speak ill of the dead, and he was my dear sister’s only child, but your husband was a brute and a fool. I never understood how you put up with him all these years. And with such grace. I only wish you girls had told me the truth much sooner. I would have kept your secret.”
“Thank you, madam. I wish we had,” Sylvia answered truthfully. “I’ve been slow to trust anyone these last few years. I’ve let fear rule so much of my life. And my choices. But not anymore.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Mrs. Crawford nodded. “Now, then, about chapter four…”
Sylvia had never been so grateful to work on those memoirs. They had kept her blessedly occupied these last weeks. For her mind wandered whenever it was given the slightest opportunity. Always to the same few memories. Always of Rafe: his wicked smile, teasing words, and the moments of unexpected tenderness she had found in his gaze.
Mrs. Crawford was still planning their trip to Egypt, and Sylvia had eagerly begun to count the days. She needed new memories to fill her mind. And space. Thousands and thousands of miles’ worth. Then she might begin to forget.
Sylvia was so lost in thought that it was several minutes before she realized someone was calling after her. She turned around, expecting to see one of the people she had just met at the meeting, but then her heart plummeted to the pavement.
Bernard was practically hanging out the window of a very fine carriage. He looked mostly the same, apart from the addition of a patchy beard that did not suit him.
“What do you want?” she hissed as the carriage pulled alongside her.
He seemed taken aback by the cold greeting. “Come inside. I will take you home.”
She shot him a scowl. “I suppose you’ve been spying on me again?”
Bernard grimaced, which meant it was true. “I need to speak with you. Sylvia, please,” he murmured.
Sylvia let out a huff and looked around. For the moment the street was nearly empty. “Fine,” she said tightly, praying none of the people from the meeting came around the corner as she was climbing in.
She didn’t look at Bernard as he gave the driver Georgiana’s address. But as she settled herself in the seat across from him, she could feel his gaze on her. It made her skin crawl.
“What a lovely carriage,” she said as she glanced around before finally meeting his eyes. “I see you’ve put your wife’s dowry to good use.”
He at least had the decency to look guilty. Now that his eyes were lowered, Sylvia allowed herself to look at him more closely. Bernard wasn’t unattractive, but he had never been particularly handsome, either. His defining features were perfectly regular. Unassuming. With light brown hair and eyes to match. He wasn’t short or tall, and his body was a bit soft around the middle. All in all, he was the kind of man she might have overlooked until he spoke. He had always seemed so confident, so determined, that it had been hard not to be flattered by the respect she thought she found in his gaze. But now Sylvia was struck by just how very average he was. And always had been.
Bernard folded his hands on his lap and looked up. “So then, how are you?”
Sylvia laughed. This situation was veering dangerously into the absurd. “I think that question is two years too late, don’t you?”
Bernard bit his lip. An admirable show of contrition, but it was far from enough.
Nothing would be.
“I did want to see you. Afterward.”
A convenient excuse. And no admission that he had even once considered coming to the jail for her. Why, he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words.
“After myarrest, you mean?”
