Home > Someone Wanton His Way Comes(5)

Someone Wanton His Way Comes(5)
Author: Christi Caldwell

Resentment lent her heart an extra beat, that organ pounding harder from the unfairness of her lot. Of the lot of all women.

“I have always lived my life above reproach,” she said when she trusted herself to speak through her bitterness. “I am not suggesting I live in a townhouse with two unmarried men. I am going to reside with a lady and—”

“And a woman born of the streets, who also was your husband’s former lover.”

“There is no scandal in our living together,” she murmured, this time not allowing those words to sting. Refusing to be sidetracked by her mother’s matter-of-factness. “No one is even aware of . . . what happened.”

“What happened? As in your mother-in-law having been responsible for organizing a horrific fight society in which children battled to the death for entertainment?”

Sylvia’s entire body tensed, and her stomach revolted, just as it had when she and Lila together had made the discovery and tracked down the head of that heinous group . . . only to discover it had been Lady Prendergast.

“And now, one of the women you are choosing to live with also happens to be a former fighter whom your late husband was in love with?” Her mother spoke in barely audible tones, because of course she’d be aware that only danger would come from anyone overhearing such words. “Have I missed anything?”

Sylvia winced. “I rather think you’ve summed it up quite sufficiently.” Yes, when her mother put it that way, she could certainly see her point. “I have reached an agreement with Lord and Lady Prendergast. No one is going to say anything about . . . about . . . what happened.” All the evil perpetrated by a woman whose mind wasn’t sound would remain secret. Wealth and power could buy anything—and that included sweeping away, into silence, Lady Prendergast’s deeds. “It is in their best interest to say nothing. And few others”—aside from her family and her late husband’s—“are aware of any of this.” Even knowing that hiding the family sins would protect Vallen’s title and future reputation, guilt still reared its head. In her opting for silence to protect her son, Sylvia’s brother-in-law, Hugh, and the other fighters would go without the justice they deserved.

Her mother threw her hands up. “Secrets such as this, they do not stay secrets forever,” she insisted. “And certainly not with you helping it along as you are.”

Nor could there be any disputing the world would devour such a scandal.

As if she sensed a weakening, her mother shifted closer. “Having that woman in your life will raise questions about how you know her, and about her identity.” The dowager countess looked to Lila. “Tell her what I’m saying is true.”

Sylvia glanced over at her youngest sibling.

“Mother is correct, in that you will be closely scrutinized and questions will be asked.” Her younger sister held her eyes. “The question is, do you care?”

Their mother sputtered. “Of course she cares. She has to. If not for herself, then for Vallen.”

As her younger sister and mother launched into a quiet debate, Sylvia sat silently, asking herself Lila’s question: Did she care? Yes, there was merit to their mother’s warnings. Both logic and reason said moving in with these two women was the last thing she should do. And yet, perhaps that was the fuel to her determination. From when she’d been a girl to when she was a young lady out for her first Season, and then through her marriage, she’d always done what was expected of her. This, this was her stand. And despite her mother’s horror over Sylvia’s decision, it remained hers. In a world where men were free to exist in any way and have complete control over their choices and decisions, she should have, at the very least, the right to decide where she would live.

With her resolve firmed, she spoke quietly, interrupting the debating pair. “I’ve told you what I intend to do.”

The dowager countess went absolutely still, and Lila edged closer to Sylvia.

She braced for the fireworks, which was why she was thrown off balance when her mother’s face fell and her words came out not with a shout, but with a whisper. “She hurt you, Sylvia.”

“It was not her fault,” Sylvia said simply. In the immediacy of learning all she had about her husband’s betrayal, that realization had come surprisingly easily to her. “She wasn’t aware he was married.” He’d lied to Valerie Bragger just as much as he’d lied to Sylvia. As such, she’d felt more of a kindred connection to the woman for how she’d been wronged than she ever had resentment at the relationship she’d had with Sylvia’s late husband.

“I knew it was a horrid idea when you insisted on finding this woman,” her mother spat. “No good could come of it, I said. But no. You had to search her out and meet her”—Sylvia bit the inside of her cheek; it was better not to point out that it had, in fact, been Valerie who’d come to her—“and now . . .” The dowager countess gave her head a hard shake. “Suggesting that she live with you? I cannot allow this.” Only, those four words emerged as an entreaty from a woman whose tone indicated she knew she would not and could not win.

“It is already decided, Mother,” Lila said gently.

Sniffling once more, their mother set aside her favorite dessert in favor of the steadying tea.

“That doesn’t change the fact that there will be a scandal,” the countess persisted, her voice restored to its earlier strength. “Is that what you want for Vallen?”

She’d gone there. To Sylvia’s one and only weakness. The child whom she’d sell and barter her soul for.

“That is also unfair, Mother,” Lila chastised.

“Unfair because the truth hurts?” their mother countered. “Because it is true. Do you think society will be kind to a child who lives with a drunkard socialite and a street-born woman who was his father’s lover?”

Sylvia winced. Yes, well, when presented that way, she could see the damning possibilities, and yet, her husband had opened her eyes to one truth.

“He will be fine.” Sylvia’s assurance came from a place of knowing.

“Oh?” Her mother shot a brow up. “And what makes you so very certain?”

“Because he is a male,” she said, “and a future marquess.”

And as such, he would never know the lack of freedom and control of his life that Sylvia and all women did.

Ever.

 

A fortnight later

Waverton Street

Sylvia had done it.

She had moved out and into a new residence, free of her life as a married woman.

The newspapers had been intrigued, but unlike her mother had feared, there’d been no great uproar caused. There’d been, at worst, mild curiosity.

And there was something so splendorous in having a household that a husband or a mother or an older brother truly wasn’t in charge of. For here she had something she’d never known: people who accepted her and allowed her—nay, encouraged her—to speak and think freely. And however worried her mother might be, Sylvia had found herself thriving in this new environment.

“This is all yours,” Valerie murmured. Wrapping her arms about Sylvia’s waist, Valerie hugged her, resting her chin atop Sylvia’s shoulder.

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