Sybill by Jo Ann Ferguson

what is that?”
    Reaching for the bottle, Owen refilled his goblet. “I’m surprised you haven’t guessed. It’s you who berates me so often about Christopher’s activities. I know you don’t approve of the life my son has chosen.”
    â€œDoes that have something to do with Sybill?” He nearly choked as he asked, “Do you plan to marry her to your son?” It was a wonderful solution for the impoverished daughter of a friend and a roguish son, and a twist he had not considered. Only with the utmost strength, Trevor kept his face blank.
    â€œNo, not for Christopher. I was thinking of her for another.” He lifted his cup in a silent tribute to the absent woman. “I can’t keep the title from Christopher, but the Cloister can go to whom I please. If I had someone else with the Wythe name, it would be so much easier to disinherit my useless son.”
    Into Trevor’s mind came the vision of lovely Sybill thanking him for his gift. He had been correct. She was very much a child. An innocent child. If she was forced to become Lady Foxbridge, she would be miserable. The fire within her would be wasted on Owen Wythe. “Have you discussed this with Sybill?” he asked cautiously, although he knew the answer. If Lord Foxbridge had been this blunt with her, she would have been unable to hide her horror. “Does she know you wish to marry her?”
    Something in his voice must have expressed his disquiet, but the lord translated it incorrectly. Anger contorted his features as he demanded, “You think I can’t convince that woman to marry me? She is Alfred Hampton’s daughter! There must be much of her father in her. If I explain to her what she will possess when I die, she will do anything I ask her.”
    Wondering if he would say something to set the lord to rights over the disparity between Hampton and his daughter, Trevor began to answer, but was interrupted by a knock. When Lord Foxbridge bid the caller to enter, the door swung open to reveal Sybill.
    Trevor’s dark eyes widened as he saw the sumptuous gown she was wearing. He had seen the bills from the seamstress and knew what this bejeweled dress decorated with silk and gold cost Lord Foxbridge: Not that the sight of Sybill dressed so was not worth every penny spent. He had not known the gowns were to be delivered today. He did not like to think of Sybill’s affections being bought. She did not deserve the reputation of her father.
    When she came into the room, she was smiling at both men rising to their feet. Owen’s desire was bare on his face. Trevor knew Sybill saw it, for she hesitated slightly. Her smile dimmed. He recognized her renewed smile as the false one she had used so often in her first days at the Cloister.
    His misgivings grew when the lord flashed him a victorious grin. Lord Foxbridge put his arms around the slender form accented by the bell shape of the dark purple skirt over its small farthingales. He wondered how her guardian could not see her distress as he touched her so intimately.
    â€œThank you, Owen, for this lovely dress. I have never had one so fine.” Her motion seemed almost natural as she stepped back from the arms, which released her reluctantly. Spinning about, she set the heavy material to swirling around her ankles. “What do you think?”
    â€œIt’s nearly as lovely as you, my dear.”
    Sybill did not seem to notice the difference in how Lord Foxbridge addressed her. Until the last few days, she had been “my dear child.” Owen Wythe did not want to consider her his special child any longer. Because he was watching his employer, Trevor saw the narrowing of the man’s eyes as the young woman turned toward his assistant. Her face glowed with a happiness which had nothing to do with her new dress.
    â€œTrevor?”
    Aware she was not seeking compliments on her beauty, he smiled graciously. “It’s a wonderful