Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Lady Kerrington.” The Duke stood in front of her, and it took every ounce of her will to focus, to be present, to clear the fog from her mind.
Kerrington House formed around her, piecing together as she came back to herself, only having been vaguely aware of the Duke walking her out of the Finchwood, into the carriage, and taking her home.
How much longer does my daughter have a bed to sleep in? How much longer do I have the means to put food on my table? How much longer am I safe?
Her mother’s face flashed through her mind, making her feel ill with unease. Lady Wickleby’s warning to her on her wedding day rang in her ears.
“The other two let me down for the longest time, Sibyl, but you will be good, will you not? You will be a stunning countess. Let those little books you love so much guide you.”
But her books had not taught her what to do after finding her husband dead and realizing that her future was in peril.
“Lady Kerrington, you should contact the authorities at this point, if Miss Tremaine has not already done so.” The Duke’s eyes bore into hers, and the rocky storm that had started days ago finally stilled.
Did Edmund do it because of his debts? Was it accidental? Did he know that the Duke of Stonehelm had bought his debts?
It was not grief in her heart, but shock. And shock finally made her nod, albeit numbly.
“Lady Kerrington.”
Hermia had lost a fiancé at sea, but she had never seen his body, had never smelt death the way Sibyl had.
“Sibyl.”
The sound of her Christian name on the Duke’s tongue snapped her out of her thoughts. She gasped.
“I apologize,” he said quickly. “Just… Lady Kerrington, you cannot afford to lose yourself, not right now.”
“I am not.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, unconvinced.
She nodded, smoothing down her plain dress. “I am well. I am here, and I am going to alert the authorities.” After another pause, she added, “Thank you, Your Grace, for your assistance. I could not… I could not have done any of this without you.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” he muttered, if he would even consider it as such. “And for your daughter.”
“She wouldn’t even recognize him if he stepped into her nursery,” Sibyl said. “But she knows me, and that is more than enough.”
The Duke gave a sharp nod. There was something about the way he looked at her again, as though she was more than a ghost, more than the neglected wife, or the too-young Countess. She was simply Sibyl.
For a moment, she was back in her library, dreaming of the eyes of love, a common phrase she had found in her romance books.
The Duke didn’t break their stare, and neither did she. Her hands stayed at her sides, but her eyes dropped to his mouth. For a man who was so hardened in the eyes of the ton, his lips looked so soft.
What would it be like to kiss him? What would it be like to simply fall into him?
Heavens!
For a moment, Sibyl almost gave in, until footsteps above reminded her that they were still in Kerrington House, that she was now a widowed countess, and that he was a duke whose motives did not add up.
Reluctantly, she stepped back and turned her head away. Without another word, she walked deeper into the house, trying to put the Duke out of her mind.
“Lady Kerrington, Lord Ferdinand has arrived.”
Sibyl looked up from the paperwork she had found in Edmund’s study. Most of it was correspondence she didn’t understand, but she tried to find clues in it as to why he would have gone to the Finchwood, or even taken laudanum, or done the things he had done.
Alas, she had come up empty, and it had already been a full night and a strange breakfast since she had seen her husband’s dead body.
“Lord Ferdinand?” she echoed, dread pooling in her stomach.
Banwick nodded, his face grim. “He is very insistent on seeing you in the drawing room.”
Sibyl nodded slowly, rising from the couch in the parlor, and went to the drawing room, where Edmund’s auburn-haired brother was pacing agitatedly.
As soon as she entered, he rounded on her, pointing an accusatory finger.
“You,” he hissed. “You ruined my brother’s life ever since the day he married you! We were warned about the Wicklebys and their cursed scandals, but did Edmund ever listen to me? No! He thought himself above my advice, for I am the youngest, but now he—now my brother is dead because of you.”
“Ferdinand.”
“Lord Ferdinand.”
“We are family,” she said smoothly, sounding much more confident than she felt. “Ferdinand, I do not appreciate you coming into this grieving space, spewing accusations—”
“Grieving space.” Ferdinand’s face twisted. “Do not pretend that you are grieving, Sibyl. You ruined my brother with your coldness. He would not have had to take mistresses had you just done your wifely duties.”
“How dare—”
“And then he got himself into debt! No doubt chasing every escape he could from the unhappy marriage you forced him into. And now he is dead.”
His cheeks were flushed, and he could not stay still, endlessly pacing back and forth, only pausing to point at Sibyl while she desperately tried to keep her composure.
I did not ask for this. I did not ask for any of this.
And yet the blame had fallen on her.
She did not know what to do.
“None of this has been my fault,” she argued, exhaustion and distress making her words as sharp as a whip. She balled her hands into fists, staring down her brother-in-law, who regarded her with so much disdain. “You will not even listen—”
“Of course I will not!” he shouted. “I do not need to hear your excuses. A lady should be enough for her husband, but you were not, Lady Kerrington. He should never have married you. I do not know why he did. Whether it was pity, or delusion, or—”
“I did not ask.”
“And yet you agreed!” Ferdinand roared.
Sibyl’s vision swam. She thought of the argument she had had with her mother the day Edmund had proposed, how she had almost begged her mother not to force her to agree. But Edmund had been kind enough, dependable, and a safe option.
“Well, Lord Kerrington is no duke, unlike your sisters’ husbands, but his proposal has come with far less scandal, so I can overlook it,” her mother had said.
Ferdinand exhaled and adjusted his cufflinks, and Sibyl pushed away the memory of finding Edmund’s dead body in that room last night. Her breath sawed in and out of her, painful and labored.
“Now that I am the Earl of Kerrington,” Ferdinand said slowly, and her eyes snapped back to him, “you are not to receive a single penny from my family or me. Heavens knows you must have drained Edmund’s coffers, so I am only glad I come with my own.
Coffers you will see nothing of. Not you or your wretch. ”
“My…” Sibyl saw red. “How dare—”
“You bore my brother a daughter,” Ferdinand noted flatly. “And a daughter is of no use to me, so you will take her and yourself, and you will be out of Kerrington House within the next three days. And if you are not—”
“If she is not, then what, Lord Kerrington?”
Sibyl whirled at the sound of the Duke’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, his face devoid of emotion, yet something flickered in his eyes. Fury that matched Sibyl’s, except his was far better concealed.
Despite his tone, he looked utterly composed, a far cry from the unraveling new Lord Kerrington.
Behind him, Banwick shot her an apologetic look. “I-I tried to keep him in the hallway, but—”
The Duke strode into the room, his eyes fixed on Ferdinand. “Now, Lord Kerrington, that is no way to speak to the lady of the house.”
“Oh, what I do is none of your business,” Ferdinand scoffed, barely looking at him.
Instead, he looked around the drawing room as if he were already deciding what things to change. Sibyl tried not to wither, for she had redecorated this room upon moving in.
“Watch your tongue,” the Duke ordered harshly. “Have you no shame? As a man, you should know there is great honor in treating a woman with respect, especially one who shares your title. Whatever your opinion is, she is Lady Kerrington.”
At that, Ferdinand finally regarded the Duke, and Sibyl saw a flicker of worry in his eyes. He looked between them, seemingly tongue-tied. Sibyl only stared back at him, unrelenting.
“I-I—” He cleared his throat, and his face twisted into another sneer.
“You must be her lover, then. Rumor has it that my brother took several, so perhaps Lady Kerrington thought herself allowed to, as well. Is that why you have been seen with her as of late? Is that why you saunter into my drawing room as though you own the p—?”
Before he could finish, the Duke had grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. The thud of his body hitting stone made Sibyl flinch.
“Stop,” the Duke snarled. “Stop now, Lord Kerrington, before you make an enemy of me.”
Ferdinand grinned. “I know you own my brother’s debts,” he said. “I wonder if my worthless sister-in-law seduced you into buying them, thinking it would drive Edmund further into his laudanum addiction and rid her of him for go—”
The Duke’s fist slammed into Ferdinand’s face, making his teeth click. He released his grip on Ferdinand’s collar, and the man fell to the floor unceremoniously.
“How dare you!” Ferdinand screeched. “Drat, that hurts. I will ruin you, Stonehelm! I will tear your reputation apart piece by piece, and you—” He stared at Sibyl with so much hatred that her knees weakened. “Everyone will see you for the witch you are.”
“You would only ruin your brother’s name,” Sibyl snapped. “And your own.”
Ferdinand dragged himself to his feet, shaking his head vigorously. He pointed at her. “Oh, no. No, no, I will not, for I will make sure you two are at the mercy of the ton. Three days, Sibyl. Three. Days.”
He flew right past her, cussing under his breath as he cradled his jaw.
As soon as the drawing room door slammed shut behind him, Sibyl gasped, grabbing the armrest closest to her to steady herself. She stared down at the fabric, her mind drifting as it had last night.
Three days.