Sybil, who had done no such thing, sent him a long-suffering look before giving a decisive nod. “That’s quite right, Mama. You know how much I love reading.”
The look on Lady Averley’s face suggested she did not, in fact, know of Sybil’s love of reading, and George decided to interrupt the situation before it could go any further. “I know Lady Windermere would be grateful for another female to accompany her. She has several times told me how deplorable my taste in books is.”
“Well if you will only read about England’s military history.” Penelope waggled a playful finger at him. “You can conceive of no worse partner when it comes to books. He has no interest in poetry. Can you believe he is not a lover of Byron?”
“Oh,” Lady Averley said dismissively. “Byron fancies himself a great lover, but he much mistakes the matter.”
Sybil flushed scarlet and George sent Penelope a warning glance before she could allow her laughter to escape. “Byron is much overrated,” George said, tapping his fingers on his knee. “So, Lady Averley, what say you? Will you grant my cousin the joy of your daughter’s company?”
Lady Averley could hardly say no, especially when her husband entered the room in time to hear the tail end of the invitation and beamed in clear consent. “An excellent scheme,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Come, Scarlet, let us leave the young people together.”
Lady Averley’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she nodded. “Of course. We have a drive planned for this afternoon, so pray don’t be too long.”
“We shan’t be,” Sybil assured her mother. “Thank you.”
Lord Averley waved a hand. “You hardly need to thank us for facilitating time with your betrothed. Go, have fun.” He finally noticed Lady Windermere and he bowed to her.
In as little time as possible, after Sybil ran upstairs to put on her walking coat, the little party left the house, Sybil’s arm firmly in Penelope’s. George followed behind, content to listen to his cousin tell the story of when she tried to buy her first horse until they had passed the corner.
Then, Penelope’s story having come to a natural end and having inspired a weak laugh from Sybil, he came up to her other side. “Thank you, Penelope,” he said. “I can take it from here.”
Penelope raised an eyebrow. “I can’t be too far behind or people will talk.”
“I’m certain you know how to be discreet.”
“I,” his cousin murmured, “am the epitome of discreet.” Without another word, she fell behind, and George could finally turn his attention to Sybil.
“Now,” he said, “what is so urgent that you sent me a message first thing this morning to come and visit—something, I will have you know, I was intending to do anyway.”
Sybil released a long breath. “I sent it last night. Or at least, I wrote it. And it’s about these.” From her reticule, she drew out several letters bound together. One appeared to be in several pieces. “Ever since our engagement was announced, I’ve been receiving these.”
George took them and flicked through, noting the paper—not cheap, but certainly not expensive, either—the handwriting—neat and tidy, but not overly flamboyant—and the content—extremely threatening. His heart sank.
* * *
Sybil watched George’s face as he flicked through the letters, reading them all carefully. The very act of handing them to him was a weight off her shoulders.
Needing to fill the silence, she said, “Mama does not wish me to tell anyone, not even Thomas. But I had to tell you, George. It doesn’t feel right to conceal it from you.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat, of both agreement and something else she couldn’t decipher. “What happened last night to make it so very urgent?”
“The final one—” She took a deep breath. If she gave into the fear that someone truly was seeking to… what, harm her?... then she was giving into hysteria.
“The final one was wrapped around a brick that someone… threw through my window,” she finished.
He stopped his perusal and looked at her, his brows flying up in shock. “What?”
“A brick. Through my window.”
“Yourbedchamberwindow?”
“Yes. Late last night. I was ready for bed and just as I was about to go to sleep, it came crashing through the window. Mama told me to not tell Thomas, but she was shaken, too. We all were.” Her breath hitched. “They knew where Islept.”
His face was grim, but when he stopped and turned her to face him, his fingers were gentle as they brushed across her face. “That is easy enough information to discover if someone truly cares to know.”
“But who would truly care to knowthat much?” she demanded, half fearing the answer. “Why is this happening to me?”
“I suspect,” he said heavily, “because of me.”
