Chapter 5

Heavy rains raged across Kent the next day, flooding the already sodden landscape and forcing Kit, Sylvie, and her grandparents to remain indoors. Sylvie spent most of her time on the sofa in the sitting room mending clothes, and Kit tried desperately to occupy himself in ways that didn't include watching her. He finally resorted to going through his accounts, spreading out the big leather-bound books and various other papers on the table in the dining room with a deep sigh that was equal parts regret and resignation.

Kit's inheritance from his father was, strictly speaking, an estate. The parcel of land he owned was large enough to require account books and a man of business, but not large enough for him to rank among the more important landed gentry. He had the house and farm, and just a few small investments—plenty to live on when times were good, but lately he'd begun to economize in order to afford the repairs required on the house.

As he worked his way through the columns and papers, though, he knew he'd need to do more than economize this time.

He must have groaned aloud, for the door opened and Sylvie came in, her eyebrows raised and her mouth drawn into a frown. "Is everything alright?"

He blew out a breath, pushing away the awkwardness of seeing the woman who'd rejected his proposal of marriage just the day before. She was still his friend, and he needed a friend right now. "No."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

A small smile tugged at his mouth. This must have been difficult for her, too, perhaps even embarrassing. But when she thought he needed help, she was there to offer it.

Kit pulled out a chair near his and gestured for her to sit down. "My crops have failed, too," he began. "There might be enough to harvest for personal use, but there certainly isn't enough there to sell, so I'll have no income from the fields this year."

" ‘From the fields' meaning you'll have income from other sources?"

"Yes, exactly." He picked up a letter he'd received the previous day from his man of business. He'd tossed it on the wash stand in his chamber and blithely went about asking for Sylvie's hand, forgetting all about it until he sat down with his account books. "The estate could survive a bad yield or a year with no yield at all—I made sure of that. But this…"

She took the letter when he offered it to her and read silently. After a moment, her eyes widened. "Oh, Kit. The whole ship?"

His father had regularly invested in the import of goods from outside the realm, a practice Kit was content to continue when he took the reins.

"I knew the risks," he said, a note of defeat creeping into his voice despite his efforts to keep it out. "Storms, pirates, blockades—there are many ways a ship's cargo can be lost. I thought it was a risk worth taking, but now…"

"Now you've lost your whole crop and this investment," she finished, setting the letter on the table. For a moment he thought she would touch him, possibly to comfort him, but her hand slid into her own lap instead.

"And I'll have to lower the tenants' rents so they can afford to remain in their homes. Perhaps it's good that you refused me, Sylvie," he said quietly. "I can't do any of the things I promised you now."

She shook her head, tutting at him like an old hen. "If you think my only interest in you was ever for your money, then it is a good thing I refused you. You ought to know me better than that."

He did know her better than that, and it was a stupid thing for him to say. But his fortune, while not large, had always been a point in his favor. Losing even part of it felt like a strike against him in everyone's eyes—including hers—regardless of their actual feelings towards him.

"I do. And I apologize," he managed, clearing his throat. "I'm not good company just now, I think. I'll…" Where could he go? He longed to go sit by the stream running across his meadow, but the weather was fit for neither man nor beast, so he was confined to the house. "I'll go lie down for a while."

She remained motionless in her chair as he gathered up his papers and account books, laying a hand on his back briefly as he exited the room. Once he made it to his bedchamber, he set his pile of work on the wash stand and flopped onto his bed, trying to still his swirling thoughts.

He could no longer provide financial security to Sylvie and her grandparents, nor any of the people who worked on the farm. He wasn't even sure he would be able to pay the builder for the work done on his roof. Could he keep the farm running without going into debt? Would anyone lend him money if he couldn't?

Kit rolled over and buried his face in the peacock blue quilt covering his bed so no one would hear him moan. Perhaps he would take a page from Mr. Devereaux's book and just come to terms with this loss before trying to find a solution.

If only he'd invested more carefully!

He laid there for a while, eventually turning onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, ignoring the pelting of the rain against the windows. The only thing that seemed to quiet his mind was recalling the feel of Sylvie's hand on his back in the dining room, fleeting as the contact had been. It meant that she still cared about him, that she would be there if he needed her.

And he needed her now.

He clambered off the bed and flung open the door to his bedchamber, only to find Sylvie standing at the threshold.

"Sylvie?"

"Kit?"

He froze, his brain overwhelmed with the sheer number of actions he could take.

"Are you well?" she asked, slightly confused, and that seemed to break the spell.

He reached for her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her into the room. "Will you hold me for a while, Sylvie Devereaux? I need to borrow some of your strength."

Her arms came around his neck in a warm embrace, her cheek resting against his. "You may have all the strength I can give you."

~*~

The light pressure of Kit's hands on Sylvie's body, the soft sound of his breathing—his embrace was warm and comforting, even though she was supposed to be comforting him. The faint fragrance of Grandmère's homemade soap combined with the scent of his skin and slowly enveloped her, setting her heart off at a gallop. When he sighed deeply, his body relaxing around her as his chest rose and fell, she finally understood what other women meant when they talked about butterflies in their stomach.

She tightened her arms around his neck and combed her fingers through his short blond hair. "Stronger now?" she asked, her voice a near whisper as she tried to conceal the emotions coursing through her.

"I don't know how I'd face this on my own," he replied quietly.

"You don't have to. You never have to."

His heart was beating as fast as hers now—she could feel it reverberating through his body pressed against hers. Was he experiencing the same things she was? She pressed her lips to his temple, his cheek, and his breathing hitched.

"Sylvie…"

Her name was almost a moan, and it ignited a flame somewhere inside her. "Yes?"

His lips brushed her earlobe. "I want to kiss you," he whispered, his voice husky. "May I?"

"Yes," she breathed, closing her eyes as he repeated the sequence she started, kissing her temple, her cheek, then capturing her lips.

"Mmmmm." Her hands slid down his back and cupped his derriere.

He broke the kiss, his eyes wide. "I did not expect that."

"Do you not like that?"

"I do, actually," he said with a grin. "I just didn't think you'd do it. Is there something you like that I can do for you?"

Her mind whirled, but she stopped it with the thought of her grandparents sleeping just down the hall. "Yes, but you'd better not. Kiss me again and I'll say goodnight, then we can talk things over in the morning."

He did as she bid him, kissing her thoroughly before loosening his arms around her. "Goodnight, then, my Sylvie. I look forward to tomorrow."

He kissed her hand and opened the door for her, checking the hallway quickly before she crept quietly back to her own chamber.

"What was that?" she demanded of her small desk as loudly as she dared. "I went to see if he was well, and ended up kissing him!"

Her body was still hot from the embrace and she picked up a letter to fan herself. "This is merely a physical attraction, though. I don't love Kit, and he certainly doesn't love me." She paused and touched a finger to her lips, then dropped her hand. "No, it doesn't matter what it was or what it meant. We have to figure out how to save our homes."

She washed and undressed, donning her nightdress and climbing into bed. But sleep was elusive. Too much had happened in too short a time, and Sylvie was completely overwhelmed. She turned onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow, pushing aside everything to focus on paying rent for the quarter. She had a bit of money saved from the extra mending she'd taken in, so that was a start. She knew that Grandpère and Grandmère had a little, too. They could talk tomorrow about how much the combined sum was and how much they would still need to raise.

Sylvie turned onto her side and suppressed tears. Her animals would have to be sold, there was no question now. But would they bring in enough?

She fretted through most of the night, only sleeping for a couple of hours before it was time to rise and begin another day. Fortunately, the first person she saw when she descended the staircase was her grandfather. Good. They could talk over their situation and Sylvie could stop thinking about Kit.

"Good morning, Grandpère," she said with as much cheer as she could muster.

"Good morning, ma chérie," he returned with equal enthusiasm. "Your grandmother and I would like to talk to you this morning."

A bolt of panic shot through Sylvie. Did they know about her tête-à-tête with Kit?

"Since Christopher has already gone out for the day," he continued, "we thought breakfast would be a good time to discuss our financial situation."

"Oh, yes of course." She tried not to visibly deflate, but her relief was surely noticeable. But there was nothing to be done about it now. "I have some ideas."

Grandpère smiled, a genuine expression of happiness despite their current trials. "I knew you would."

Sylvie followed him to the dining room where her grandmother was already waiting, and settled herself at the table. As they ate their eggs with the last small, watery vegetables from the kitchen garden, Sylvie and her grandparents talked about how much money they needed, how much they currently possessed, how much the animals were likely to fetch, and what would be the best way to sell them.

Sylvie noted the various amounts on a scrap of paper, adding in estimated earnings for Mr. Ross's mending and the pies Grandmère planned to bake for the tea shop in the village with what remained of last year's apples.

It still wasn't enough, but they were getting closer to their goal. Sylvie set her pencil on the table and blew out a breath. Perhaps they would be able to manage after all. She stood, gathering plates and silverware to take to the kitchen for washing, and felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.

"Wait," Grandpère said after the door closed behind Sylvie, "we must put something aside for the Harvest Festival."

Sylvie almost turned around to go back into the dining room, but Grandmère's voice had a hard edge to it when she replied that stopped Sylvie in her tracks, with the door to the dining room open a tiny crack.

"We don't—"

"I know," Grandpère interrupted. "But a few pennies for Sylvie to have fun, when she's given up all of her own money for us…"

They were silent for a long moment and Sylvie couldn't see them from her vantage point. They were likely giving each other the same meaningful looks they often traded during their evening conversations in front of the fireplace, trying to converse without giving away their thoughts to anyone else in the room.

Grandmère broke the silence. "You are right, of course. This winter will bring many hardships, and Sylvie should have what enjoyment she can find before then."

Sylvie quietly closed the door the rest of the way and leaned against it. Even now, when she was well into adulthood and they were facing terrible difficulties, her dear grandparents were plotting to ensure she had some fun.

She must make sure they found some enjoyment at the Harvest Festival, too.