Free Sybill by Jo Ann Ferguson Page B

Marshall waiting for an answer, Trevor said, “She knows, but thinks she can deal with it. I hope she’s right. In many ways, she is yet a child.”
    Marshall’s graying head turned at the sound of light laughter, but Sybill was out of earshot. “A beautiful one. I wish she had somewhere else to go.” His face paled as he realized what he had said to the lord’s closest companion. “Trevor, I did not mean—”
    â€œI know what you mean, and I agree with you.” He sighed. “It’s wrong for her to be here, but she has no place other than Foxbridge Cloister to call home.” His lips tilted in a wry grin. “She tells me she had many offers.”
    â€œI’m sure.”
    Trevor laughed at the butler’s dry response. Since his arrival at the Cloister, Marshall had made him feel welcome. Of the many here, he knew he could trust this man. “Excuse me, Marshall. Lord Foxbridge expects me in the library. I am late as it is, but I wanted to stop at the Beckwiths’.”
    The butler nodded, but unease roiled in his stomach. Perhaps this was far more serious than the settling of wagers among the staff. Trevor’s interest in pretty Miss Sybill conflicted with his employer’s. This could cause problems in the Cloister. Sternly he told himself not to be so fanciful. Nothing had been said to suggest there would be complications. If everyone ignored the still uncertain triangle, surely it would work itself out satisfactorily. Once he conceived that assertion, he spent an hour trying to convince himself of its veracity.
    Time passed slowly for Trevor as he worked with Lord Foxbridge. Not that the lord complained about his performance. That happened so seldom it was always a shock when Lord Foxbridge found fault. Simply he wished he could seek out Sybill and watch her play with the puppy.
    â€œIs this everything, Trevor?”
    He picked up the last page of the correspondence the lord had signed. “Yes, m’lord. I will see it’s sent to London as soon as possible.”
    Owen took a sip of the wine he had poured before sitting down to the long session of paperwork. “Good. I want to be sure the money from the shares in Drake’s voyages is properly reinvested. Shipping remains profitable, but I dread what might happen to the sea lanes if the Spanish attack.” He shook his head to dislodge the dreary thoughts which bothered every English citizen in the spring of 1588. In a brighter voice, he asked, “What do you think of plans to colonize the New World?”
    â€œIf they can find fools willing to attempt it, I’m sure they will try.” He was concentrating on rearranging the pages in proper order and paid little attention to the course of the conversation.
    â€œHow about you, Trevor? You are a young man. Would you risk the wilds of that new continent to establish a home for you and your family far from the political struggles between Gloriana and the king of Spain?”
    He chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. I have no need for a home, for I have no family to share it with. Nor do I have the yearning to shorten the number of years granted me. I shall leave the New World to the rich men who have money to waste on these ventures.”
    â€œWhat do you think of Sybill?”
    â€œM’lord?” He was not sure how he should answer. He doubted if this was a continuation of the discussion about him marrying and striking out for the New World.
    â€œIt’s a simple enough question. What do you think of her? You have been working with her for some time. I know you two are good friends, for she delights in your conversation at the dinner table.” He paused significantly, but when Trevor did not respond, he went on. “She doesn’t have the airs I would have expected from Alfred’s daughter. I wonder if she will be cooperative about what I brought her to Foxbridge Cloister to do.”
    â€œAnd