Sylvester by Georgette Heyer

Author:Georgette Heyer
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2011-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

Before Phoebe saw Sylvester again she had encountered another member of his family: accompanying her grandmother on a morning visit she met Lady Henry Rayne.

Several ladies had elected to call on old Mrs Stour that day, but the younger generation was represented only by Lady Henry and Miss Marlow. Lady Henry, brought by her mama, was so heartily bored that even the entrance of an unknown girl came to her as an alleviation. She seized the first opportunity that offered of changing her seat for one beside Phoebe’s, saying, with her pretty smile: ‘I think we have met before, haven’t we? Only I am so stupid at remembering names!’

‘Well, not precisely,’ replied Phoebe, with her usual candour. ‘I never saw you but twice in my life, and I wasn’t introduced to you. Once was at the Opera House, but the first occasion was at Lady Jersey’s ball last year. I am afraid it was the circumstance of my staring at you so rudely which makes you think we have met! But you looked so beautiful I couldn’t drag my eyes away! I beg your pardon! You must think me very impertinent!’

Not unnaturally Ianthe found nothing impertinent in this speech. Her own words had been a mere conversational gambit; she had no recollection of having seen Phoebe before, but she said: ‘Indeed I didn’t! I am sorry we were never introduced until today. I am not often in London.’ She added, with a wistful smile: ‘I am a widow, you know.’

‘Oh – !’ Phoebe was genuinely shocked. It seemed incredible, for she had supposed Ianthe to be little older than herself.

‘I was hardly more than a child when I was married,’ explained Ianthe. ‘I am not so very old now, though I have been a widow for several years!’

‘I thought you were my own age!’ said Phoebe frankly.

No more was needed to seal the friendship. Ianthe, laughing at this misapprehension, disclosed that her only child was six years of age; Phoebe exclaimed: ‘Oh, no! Impossible!’ and stepped, all unknown to herself, into the rôle of Chief Confidante. She learned within the space of twenty minutes that the life of a recluse had been imposed on Ianthe by her husband’s family, who expected her to wear out the rest of her widowhood in bucolic seclusion.

‘I wonder you should yield to such barbarous notions!’ said Phoebe, quite appalled.

‘Alas, there is one person who holds a weapon I am powerless to withstand!’ said Ianthe in a melancholy tone. ‘He is the sole arbiter of my poor child’s destiny. Things were so left that I found myself bereft at one stroke of both husband and son!’ She perceived a startled look on Phoebe’s face, and added: ‘Edmund was not left to my guardianship. I must not say more, and should not have said as much, only that I knew, as soon as we met, that you would understand! I am persuaded I can trust you! You cannot conceive the relief of being able to speak openly: in general I am obliged to be reserved.

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