Then, she planned as she sat on the window seat of her stepfather-to-be’s guest chamber, she would sail to India, or somewhere suitably far away. Once there, she would embark on a life that would quite possibly involve drudgery, danger, and mistreatment, but she would never again have to hear Lady Winifred’s sardonic voice pointing out her mother’s many flaws.
Because, for a woman as open and loving as Sybil’s mother was, she hadmanyflaws.
The door opened and her mother sailed in on a whiff of perfume that seemed altogether too exotic for a woman of taste and elegance. Which, of course, her mother was not.
Lady Scarlet Jameson, soon to be Averley, was a woman of impressive stature, both inside and out. Her hair was a shade of gold few could aspire to, her figure was full and rich despite the fact she had passed forty years, and her breasts were perfectly rounded.
And, to Sybil’s chagrin, theyalwaysseemed to be on display.
Why fashion had cursed her with low, dipped necklines that seemedadamantat displaying everything there was to display, and why her mother’s corsets seemed to encourage her to defy gravity, Sybil did not know. What shedidknow was that she hated every aspect of her mother’s taste in clothes and lifestyle. Perhaps she would run away to be a nun. It was certainly closer than India.
“Sybil, darling,” her mother said, spreading her arms and covering Sybil in a hug she did not want. “You look so dull and miserable!”
“Mama, please.” Sybil extricated herself with difficulty. “You know Lord Averley doesn’t like me.”
“Nonsense.”
It wasn’t nonsense at all; he had taken her in dislike the moment he had seen her. Not to mention that as she was standing beside her mother at the time, she had been entirely eclipsed. Considering her mother was theDowagerCountess, she managed to look remarkably youthful, and nothing like the other dowagers that lined the walls of ballrooms and flicked out their fans with disapproving glares.
Beside her mother, Sybil was quite aware, she faded into obscurity. Her honey-blonde hair could not compete with her mother’s flaxen gold, and hazel eyes were no match for flashing blue ones. She more resembled her father, something that she was grateful for and her mother was disappointed by.
“I was thinking about the wedding tomorrow,” her mother said, in a voice of forced cheerfulness. Her bosom, abundant at the best of times, heaved as she sat on the bed. That was another area in which Sybil could not compete. Her mother was voluptuous, and everything she wore was designed to draw more attention to it.
Sybil was slender with no curves, in fact, which served her well in her goal of disappearing from Society entirely, But as her mother frequently reminded her, offered gentlemen no good reason to seek her company.
After all, Sybil knew from experience, men, even gentlemen, wanted one thing. Luckily, it was something she never had, so she had never concerned herself much with it.
Sybil sighed and drew her knees to her chest. “Is this about the dress again?”
“Of course it’s about the dress,” her mother said harshly. “I cannot stand you wearinggrayat my wedding.”
“It’s a perfectly respectable color for an unmarried woman,” Sybil pointed out.
“Be that as it may, there are plenty of other acceptable colors for unmarried women to wear that are less drab.”
If Sybil wore something drab, she wouldn’t have to worry about other things, such as wandering male hands or the barely concealed sneers of all their acquaintance, who despised Lady Jameson for aspiring to be a Marchioness and her daughter for… well, for existing.
In her lower moments, Sybil despaired of the position she was in. Mostly, however, she planned her imminent escape—which somehow never came to happen—to far-off places or situations that avoided this.
Specifically, that avoided her mother.
Her mother rang the bell and summoned her lady’s maid, a grim-faced, jealous woman who was stubborn and loyal enough to ride the waves of scandal without so much as a flicker of an eyelid.
“Bring me the dresses I laid out on the bed,” Scarlet commanded.
“Very good, My Lady,” Hatchet—or at least, that what Sybil had christened her as being—said, and departed.
“Mama,” Sybil said, in as reasonable a tone she could manage considering the circumstances. “No one will be looking at me.”
“Nonsense. You’re my daughter.Everyonewill be looking at you.”
That wasn’t what Sybil wanted to hear. She tried again. “I would rather not be the center of attention at an event that’s so—” There was no unoffensive way of putting this, but she attempted it anyway. “That’s so wholly unconnected to me.”
“Thomas will become your new father,” Scarlet said, frowning slightly. “He will complete our family.”
“He will be your husband, but he will not be my father.” Sybil bit her lip before she could say anything more cutting. Thomas had intended to court her first, before he was dazzled by her mother.Her. Granted, he was older than she would have liked in a husband, and clearly, his disposition left a lot to be desired, considering he had immediately swapped his affections to her mother, but still.
And, oh goodness, the crowds. It was going to be an intolerable affair.
