“Lying, Phyllis?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “Isn’t one scandal enough, but you also want to add lying to that?”
Phyllis bit her tongue not to say anything else. She looked down at her lap, where her fingers rested intertwined. She hated lying, but for the sake of her own happiness, for the sake of her sister’s happiness, she was willing to do anything.
“I was considering allowing Joyce to marry before you, since you have both found adequate matches, but after what has happened, we cannot risk it,” he concluded once again, with a tone of finality. “I shall speak with the duke and expedite matters. In the meantime, I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you that appearances matter. Discretion is of the utmost importance in our society. You will not socialize with anyone, and you will not be explaining yourselves to anyone. I shall have to take matters into my own hands and sort this out. Is that clear?”
Phyllis and Joyce didn’t have the strength to say anything. They merely nodded, looking down at their feet defeatedly. Satisfied with that response, he headed towards the door, and lingered in the doorway, as if there was something else on his mind. Then, a moment later, he changed his mind, turned around and left. The study was thick with tension, as the weight of his disapproval lingered, casting a deep, dark shadow over the St. Clair sisters.
Joyce, remorseful and on the verge of tears, approached Phyllis, desperate for forgiveness. She reached out to take her sister’s hand. Phyllis allowed it, but there was no motion, no warmth, no sympathy.
“Phyllis, I… I never meant for this to happen… I am so sorry,” Joyce said, her eyes pleading for understanding.
This was when Phyllis pulled her hand away from her sister’s, something she had never done before. She was wounded and angry, and her words offered no solace. She hated herself for feeling this way, but she could not fight it.
“You’ve jeopardized everything, Joyce, and now I am left with no other choice but to do what I’ve done everything in my power to avoid, and that is marrying the duke.” Even the words sounded like a life sentence, as it wasn’t what she had envisioned for her life of happiness.
Joyce didn’t say anything to that. After all, what was there to say? Their father’s tone spoke enough to convince them that this marriage would take place even if the earth opened up and swallowed the entire world and everyone in it.
“I didn’t think this would happen,” Joyce said again, her voice on the verge of breaking. “I… I just wanted to be with him for a moment… alone…”
Phyllis shook her head, her heart threatening to burst at the seams from the anguish. She was unable to control this avalanche of pain that was threatening to overwhelm her completely. “Your moment alone will cost me my entire lifetime, Joyce.”
“I am so very sorry…” A single tear rolled down Joyce’s face. She didn’t even bother to wipe it. It glistened on her face, a testament to the torture that the two sisters were going through.
“Your apologies won’t change the situation,” Phyllis felt exhausted by the ordeal. She could see how much her sister was hurting, which made the situation a million times worse. But unfortunately, there was no solution to this problem, other than the one they were hoping to avoid.
“We have to deal with the repercussions of your actions. What’s done is done. I will marry the duke as Father demands, but for now… I need some space, Joyce.” Phyllis felt as if every word was a blow to her stomach, forcing her chest to expel the air from her lungs. She could barely breathe from the burden that had just been placed upon her.
“Oh…” Joyce said, nodding, and two more tears streamed down her face. “I… I understand, Phyllis...”
In that somber moment, the once-unbreakable bond between the sisters strained under the pressure of scandal and duty. Phyllis got up and walked out of their father’s study, her footsteps echoing all around her deafeningly. She was hastily heading to her chamber. Once there, she closed the door and rested upon it, as if something from the outside, something unwanted, might break through the door and grab her.
Regardless of all the love she felt for her sister, she was resentful of the sacrifices forced upon her. She was no longer the master of her own destiny, of her own happiness, which was now stripped off of her. All she had left was sorrow and displeasure.
Her breathing was quick and ragged. She was gasping for air, for release, but she knew it would not come. She also knew how burdened with remorse her sister was, which made everything even more horrible. As such, they both faced an uncertain future.
Phyllis sighed heavily, finally walking over to her writing table. As if sensing her need for writing a letter, a piece of paper already rested there. The quill pen was close by. All she had to do was reach for it and allow the words to flow onto the pristine paper, ready to absorb any message she was willing to divulge.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Alexander had no idea what time it was. All he knew was that it was dreadfully late. The darkness that lurked outside his window was ominous and all-encompassing. The flickering candlelight inside cast long shadows on the walls, illuminating his writing table, as he delved into matters regarding his estate and the dire state it was in. A half-empty glass of dark, yellow liquid stood by his right side, where he would occasionally reach for it. The sting of the liquor soothed him. It provided a temporary respite from the avalanche of troubles which were looming over his head like the Sword of Damocles, threatening to fall down at any moment.
The quietude of the night enveloped his study, when a discreet knock echoed through the wooden door. Startled for a moment, Alexander glanced toward it.
“Yes?” he called out, curious as to who it could be this late. His mother was in the habit of retiring to bed earlier, and Leonard, although a night bird, usually remained in his chamber as well. Night time was personal time for them all.
The door opened and Alexander’s valet appeared, looking apologetic. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. This letter just arrived for you.” He walked over to the writing table and placed the letter in question on it.
“This late?” Alexander knitted his eyebrows.
The man standing opposite him nodded. “I asked that same thing, Your Grace, and if it could wait until the morn. I was told it was very important and to deliver it to you without delay.”
“Thank you, Bingley.” Alexander dismissed him with a courteous nod, listening to the sound of the closing doors. Only then did he pay close attention to the letter which now rested in his hands. The wax seal bore an intricate insignia, unfamiliar yet intriguing. Who could be sending him a letter this late? Marked so importantly? A strange feeling blossomed inside of him, an amalgamation of fear and interest. For no letter that arrived this late could be good news.
Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper, revealing elegant handwriting that conveyed a sense of urgency and secrecy.
Your Grace,
Please, meet me in Tinsley Park at dawn. I will explain everything.
