“Sybil.” Anthea’s words cut through her rambling with surgical precision. “You’ve rearranged your calling schedule three times this week. Even Rosalie has noticed.”
Of course, she noticed. The girl has inherited her father’s unfortunate talent for observation.
“What exactly happened during that Richmond outing?” Cassandra leaned forward from her position on the settee, blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Only the most earth-shattering kiss of my entire life, followed by three days of complete confusion about what it means.
“Nothing happened,” Sybil lied. “We had a pleasant drive, enjoyed the countryside, and returned home. Perfectly ordinary.”
“Perfectly ordinary,” Anthea repeated dryly. “Yes, I can see how ordinary it was by the way you’re gripping that saucer like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.”
Sybil looked down to find her knuckles white against the delicate porcelain. She forced her fingers to relax though her pulse continued its frantic rhythm.
Why did I think I could hide anything from these two? They’ve known me for years.
“Perhaps something slightly… unexpected occurred,” she admitted reluctantly.
“Such as?” Cassandra prompted gently.
“We may have…” Sybil stopped, color flooding her face. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I kissed him. There. Are you satisfied?”
The words hung in the air like a confession. Anthea and Cassandra exchanged one of their meaningful looks—the kind that spoke volumes about shared understanding and barely suppressed amusement.
“Kissedhim,” Anthea said slowly. “Your husband. The man you married three months ago.”
When she puts it like that, it sounds perfectly reasonable.
“Yes.”
“And this is problematic because?” Cassandra’s confusion was genuine.
“Because we agreed this would be a practical arrangement,” Sybil said finally. “A marriage of convenience with clear boundaries and no romantic complications.”
“Whose idea was it to maintain these boundaries?” Anthea asked. “Yours or his?”
Mine. Definitely mine. Hugo has been remarkably… flexible about boundaries.
“Mine,” Sybil admitted quietly.
“And now you’re confused.” Cassandra’s observation was gentle but pointed. “Because you’ve been remembering that you’re a woman with desires of your own.”
“Desire is precisely what destroys women,” Sybil’s laugh was bitter. “Look what happened to Emmie when she followed her heart instead of her head.”
Silence fell over the drawing room. Both her friends knew the story of Emmie’s tragic end and understood the scars that particular loss had left.
“You can’t possibly believe your situation is comparable to your sister’s,” Cassandra said softly.
“A woman allowing emotion to override practical considerations? It seems remarkably similar to me.”
“How is it similar in any way?” Anthea’s words were sharp now, cutting. “I see a woman whose husband is offering her everything Emmie’s seducer promised and never delivered.”
“I made a vow?—”
“A vow made by a grief-stricken girl who blamed herself for tragedies that were never her fault.” Anthea interrupted with unusual heat. “Tell me, Sybil, do you honestly believe Emmie would want you to spend your life punishing yourself for her choices?”
Emmie’s wishes. I never got to hear what she wanted for me.
“I don’t know what she would have wanted,” Sybil whispered.
