“Has something happened?” she asked, her heart leaping as it occurred to her that his mien was as somber as a mourner’s at a funeral. “Have you had word of my mother?”
Her mother’s health was frail at best and poor at worst. Part of the reason that Sybil had finally strayed from Riverdale Abbey—convenient for its proximity to her mother at Eastlake Hall—had been that her mother had recently seemed much improved. She had been out of her invalid chair and meandering for walks in the chilly gardens. But if Mother had become swiftly unwell in her absence, Sybil would never forgive herself.
“This does concern your mother, yes,” Riverdale said, doing nothing to temper her rising panic.
She clutched his tweed coat, which still bore the damp of the outdoors. “Has she taken ill?”
“Calm yourself. It’s nothing of the sort.” He cast a glance around the hall as he pulled her down the Axminster.
“Then why do you look so grave?”
“Because I paid a call to Eastlake Hall earlier today, and I am newly returned,” he said, as if the revelation should explain everything.
In truth, it only left her with further questions.
She swallowed hard. “You called upon my mother and father without me? Whyever for?”
“Hush,” he muttered grimly. “I’ll explain when we have privacy.”
It was an excellent point. Their fellow houseguests were underfoot in the hall, some moving toward the dining room, others to various salons, and others still away from the bustle, no doubt in search of assignations and heaven knew what other sins they could find.
Sybil held her tongue as he found them an empty sitting room and led her inside. The door had scarcely closed at their backs when she released his arm and turned on him, demanding answers.
“What is it, Riverdale?”
“I thought we agreed that you were to call me by my given name now.”
She was in no mood for delaying. “Everett. Please tell me why you went to Eastlake Hall and what happened whilst you were there.”
Her mind was still whirling with the news, spinning with worry over what had transpired. But neither could she contain her amazement at such a feat. She estimated that her father’s country seat was a good six-hour ride from Wingfield Hall, if not more. Given the time that had passed, she could onlyassume that he had ridden directly there instead of sleeping, then returned almost immediately. The trains would not have been operational at such a dire hour, and she doubted very much he could have taken one this morning and returned with such swiftness.
“Perhaps you should be seated for this discussion,” he suggested instead of allaying her fears.
“I don’t wish to be seated,” she countered. “I want you to tell me now.”
He passed a hand through his hair, leaving the dark strands mussed, and some errant, wifely urge in her longed to comb them back into place. She stifled it and clasped her hands behind her back instead.
“I went to Eastlake Hall because of what you told me last night,” he said at length.
Sybil reeled, even though it was what she had suspected. She knew the ramifications of such a foolish act. Not for herself any longer, for she was beyond her father’s reach. But for her mother.
“You…” She faltered and attempted to begin anew. “But my father… I shudder to think of how he would react if he knew I had told you…”
“You needn’t fear him,” Riverdale said, an edge in his voice. “You need never fear him again. That was what the call I paid him concerned.”
“My mother,” she protested, her worry gaining speed, like a runaway locomotive veering down the tracks. “You cannot possibly conceive of how she will suffer for this. She is ill, and my father is a cruel man, and if you confronted him, he will unleash his ire on her.”
Tears threatened her vision as the heavy weight of the implications fell upon her.
“Sybil, calm yourself.” His voice was soothing as he took her in a gentle hold. “Your mother is safe.”
“You cannot possibly know that.”
“Yes, I can,” he insisted. “She is on her way here in one of my carriages as we speak.”
She blinked furiously, her vision clearing as his reassurance washed over her. “She’s coming here, to Wingfield Hall? But my father keeps her at his estate because he can have complete control over her there. How would he ever agree to such a thing?”
Everett raised a brow at her. “How do you think?”
