Page 23 of Secrets of the Heart

It was still early in the afternoon, and Sylvia had as yet no visitors. When Rachel was announced to her, she jumped up from her chair with a cry of delight and hurried forward.

“Rachel, my love!” She enveloped her in a hug. “It has been ages since I’ve seen you. You must have spent all winter in the wilds.”

“Yes, I did. We were snowbound at Castle Cleybourne at Christmas and—” she smiled at her friend “—I have a veritable treasure trove of information for you.”

“About the duke?” Sylvia’s eyes lit up. “I heard from Lady Aspwich that he had married, but I could scarcely believe it. Is it true? And is it true that the new duchess left London years ago under a cloud?”

“I shall tell you all about it,” Rachel promised, and they sat down to a cozy conversation regarding the events of the past winter at Castle Cleybourne and the startling past of the duke’s new bride.

When she finished, there were a few moments of silence as Sylvia turned over in her head the complicated story Rachel had just told her. Then, somewhat hesitantly, Rachel began, “Sylvia…”

Her friend looked at her, her attention caught by Rachel’s tone. “Yes?”

“I was wondering…” Rachel began slowly. “That is, well, have you ever heard anything about Michael?”

“Westhampton?” Lady Sylvia asked, her blue eyes growing rounder. “What do you mean? Heard what?”

“I’m not sure.” Now that she had started, Rachel realized how vague her concerns sounded. “About, say, his being involved in something?”

“Something?” Her friend’s finely arched brows rose. “What kind of something?”

“Something dangerous.”

For a long moment Sylvia stared back at her blankly. Then she began to laugh. “Oh, I see—you are making some kind of joke!”

“No! No, I’m not. Sylvia…do stop laughing.”

The silvery tinkles of her friend’s laughter died away. “But, Rachel, dearest—that’s nonsensical. Why would Michael be involved in something dangerous? What could it be?”

“I don’t know. And I know it sounds as if I have run mad. But, well—” Rachel drew a breath and launched into the story of the highwayman who had stopped her carriage.

Lady Sylvia’s eyes grew wider and wider as Rachel talked, and by the time she came to a halt, Sylvia was staring at her, openmouthed.

“Well?” Rachel asked. “Do you see now why I asked?”

“Yes. But what does it mean? What was the man talking about? Who was he?”

“You know as much as I do. Nothing.”

“Did you tell Westhampton? What did he say?”

“He said it was nothing, that the man was probably a lunatic.”

“Yes, well, he rather sounds like one.”

“But you didn’t see him. He did not seem at all mad. He seemed perfectly serious, as if he really knew Michael and thought that he was in trouble. Michael suggested that perhaps it was one of his friends playing an elaborate jest on him.”

“I must say, he has rather bizarre sorts of friends, then.”

“Yes, well, I must admit that some of the men with whom he corresponds are a trifle odd. But it’s more that they talk about things that no one else would ever even consider, let alone talk about, and they forget to wear a hat in the rain or something like that but can remember what some philosopher hundreds of years ago said.”

“Oh. Like Lady Wendhaven’s uncle, you mean?”

“Well, no, not the kind who run about town in their nightgowns. More like Naomi Armistead, say.”

“The one with pencils stuck in her hair, but then she’s always looking everywhere for one?”

“And pulls them out to jot down bits of poetry. Exactly.”