Chapter 4 #2
Sibyl swallowed, tightening her arm around her father’s. She was quite close to him, as she loved to chatter about her books while he pored over his own. But even if he wanted to offer her any comfort now, he did not.
She was tired of waiting for things that did not come, so she fixed her eyes on her soon-to-be husband, a man who had already pulled her from the brink of ruin and faced her future.
When she stood at the altar, she could scarcely look at him. But he cleared his throat, studying her.
“You look… well,” he offered. “Despite everything. The gown suits you.”
“You did not have to go through the trouble of commissioning it for me,” she mumbled, glancing down at the plain but pretty white dress that had few lace adornments or pearls, nothing at all like the wedding gown she had once dreamed of.
Still, she was grateful. Greater sacrifices had been made.
“I promised I would handle everything,” he reminded her.
And he truly had.
As one, they turned to the vicar, and Sibyl let the nerves of being married twice by the age of twenty crash over her.
Heavens, Hermia had not even been married once at four-and-twenty, yet she had always considered Sibyl so young in comparison.
As they spoke their vows, Sibyl smiled at the sound of Rosie fussing in Hannah’s arms. She stole a glance at her daughter, unable to resist. But as she turned back to the vicar, she caught the Duke clenching his jaw and staring at Rosie, too.
Hermia became a stepparent, Sibyl assured herself. The Duke does not have to be a father figure to Rosie. Besides, he knows what he agreed to.
She swallowed down her worries and focused back on the vows as they drew to a close. She waited for some sort of declaration from the Duke, some promise of safety and security, but he only nodded curtly before turning to his only guest.
An auburn-haired man with tight curls stood tall in the front pew on his side, his shoulders relaxed and his smile easy when Sibyl caught his eye.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“That is the Marquess of Averby,” the Duke replied. “I will introduce you properly once you bid farewell to your family.”
“So soon?”
Sibyl panicked for a moment. She had wed before, but it had not been so rushed. For her first wedding, her mother had hosted a ball after the ceremony, but now it seemed her only post-wedding celebrations were a carriage ride back to Stonehelm.
The Duke nodded solemnly. “You wish to linger in London, Duchess?”
The title, so fresh and new, shot through Sibyl like a silver arrow.
She shook her head quickly, and the Duke jerked his head towards her approaching family.
“Then say your goodbyes,” he advised. “I will be—”
Her family accosted him as well, stopping him from escaping down the aisle.
Sibyl found herself biting back a laugh at the tension on his face; he was clearly uncomfortable around so many people.
Hermia and Isabella started speaking at once, flanked by their husbands, who each fixed the Duke with a hard, warning look.
“Heavens,” Sibyl laughed. “You are all so overwhelming. I understand now why Hermia and Isabella clammed up after their weddings.”
“Well, we are a lot.” Hermia giggled, looping her arm through Charles’s only after embracing Sibyl tightly. “Do look after yourself, my dear Sibyl. Remember what I told you about what you deserve. And should you ever need any of us, we are here.”
“Thank you,” Sibyl whispered, before Isabella pulled her in for an embrace.
Her second eldest sister had been so affectionately cold for many years, barely hugging—or rather, barely letting herself admit that she liked hugs—but her husband had brought out a more vulnerable side of her. Sibyl adored to see it; she would miss her fiercely.
“Do take care of yourself,” Isabella whispered, squeezing her tightly.
“Being a duchess is hard, but I know you will take to it quickly. You are pure, and you are kind, Sibyl. Do not ever forget that.” She paused to pull back, a smirk on her face.
“And do use that occasionally sharp tongue of yours. Hermia and I have both discovered that dukes like a little arguing.”
Sibyl blushed furiously, resisting the urge to look back at her new husband. He was only saving her from scandal. He did not need to like her or her mannerisms, and she had no doubt that the moment they retreated to the country, they would lead separate lives within the estate.
They would be wed in the eyes of the ton, but living apart behind closed doors.
She was fine with that. Absolutely fine.
“Stonehelm,” Oscar spoke up, clapping the Duke on the shoulder with enough force to seem more threatening than friendly.
The Duke jolted, his lip curled as he regarded his peer. After Sibyl had watched him face lower-ranked men, this was quite a treat.
“Do take care of my sister-in-law, yes?”
“Of course I will,” the Duke bit out with enough venom to make a viper jealous.
“Excellent.” Oscar’s tone was clipped. “Otherwise, I will find a way to remind you why I earned a particular nickname among the ton.”
“I can assure you I do not need such threats, for my wife and her daughter will be taken care of. But do threaten me again, and you will see what I am capable of.”
Sibyl’s mind was reeling from those two words. My wife.
“Look after Sibyl, and we will not need to play such vicious games.”
“As I said,” the Duke said, “I will.” His eyes flicked to Charles. “And I imagine you have some parting words of your own, Branmere.”
“Oh, I do.” Charles chuckled darkly, stepping closer to Hermia. “But I do not need to make threats like Rochdale.”
“I cannot have people thinking I’ve gone completely soft,” Oscar snorted. “Perhaps the three of us can meet for drinks soon. Branmere and I will check in on you, Stonehelm.”
“Heavens, we must leave before this turns more unpleasant,” Hermia said loudly, breaking the moment.
She smiled prettily, resting her hands against Charles’s chest to urge him back. Isabella was pulling her own husband further back.
For a moment, Sibyl ached over their easy affection. She craved that terribly, even as it was the most unimaginable thing.
“And I,” Alicia spoke up, shoving through the throng, “shall outright cut off a certain part men like to boast about if you hurt my sister.” She flashed a wicked grin at the Duke. “Sibyl deserves the best life, Your Grace, do you understand?”
Sibyl finally looked at her husband as he declared, “And she will receive it. She will be taken care of properly.”
She averted her gaze, for she knew safety and money were things he could easily give her. But she had grieved the life she wanted once; it would kill her to do it again.
This is purely a convenient escape from ruin, she reminded herself again, fearing it would not be the last time.
She hugged Alicia to distract her from her threats, whispering her thanks in her youngest sister’s ear.
Alicia was soon tugged back, replaced by their parents, who still frowned with disapproval even now.
“Well, Mama,” Sibyl said, trying to take control of their judgment before it could come first. “You did remark that I was not married to a duke like my sisters, and now I am. Do be happy for me.”
“How can I be?” her mother sighed. “You will be provided for, yes, but what will the ton think, my dear?”
“Lady Wickleby,” the Duke interjected in a commanding voice. “Your daughter’s name shall not be besmirched under my protection. My name carries far and wide, and that will ensure her safety.”
Sibyl watched as her mother gathered herself, sniffing before nodding. “I apologize for thinking otherwise, Your Grace.” Her eyes fell on Sibyl. “Do be a good duchess, Sibyl.”
“I wi—”
Sibyl did not even get the chance to finish before her parents scurried away, her father ever-silent at her mother’s side.
Her heart broke a little to watch them retreat so quickly. All they ever cared about was their public image, even when they had three daughters who had done what was required to escape scandal.
“Oh dear.” The new voice had Sibyl turning, only to come face-to-face with Lord Averby. “A bride should not look so sullen on her wedding day. Your parents must be quite a force.”
Sibyl managed a smile, glancing between the Marquess and her husband. “If you have heard anything about them, you might know they are indeed a force to be reckoned with.”
“Everybody has heard about the Wicklebys.” Lord Averby winked at her.
Sibyl did not know how to take the comment, so she just laughed awkwardly, the sound too forced.
“Your Grace, I am Nicholas Loughton, the Marquess of Averby, though you may refer to me as your husband’s best friend.”
“Simply a friend,” the Duke quickly corrected, scowling at him. “An acquaintance, even.”
“Yes, keep telling yourself that.”
Sibyl decided she rather liked the Marquess, for she had never seen anyone else hold their ground beneath the Duke’s hard stare.
“Regardless,” Lord Averby continued, turning back to her, “you look stunning, Your Grace, and I hope you receive a…” He sighed.
“Well, I would say a warm welcome in Stonehelm Hall, but little is warm about its master.” He cocked a teasing eyebrow.
“So I do hope you can bring a measure of light to this man’s life. He is ever so gloomy.”
Sibyl laughed, despite her nerves and the weight of the day. “That is a tall order, Lord Averby.”
She was rewarded with a short chuckle as he turned to the Duke. “I like your wife already, Gabriel. I shall come and visit you both soon. Do keep me entertained, You Grace, by keeping my friend on his toes.”
“All right,” the Duke sighed, stepping closer to Sibyl. “It is time to leave. Are you ready?”
Sibyl nodded, and before she could look back at her family, or even bid Lord Averby a proper goodbye, he was guiding her outside the church and to the carriage. He opened the door for her, dismissing the footman standing nearby, and his hand brushed the small of her back.
They both started at the easy contact.
Sibyl fought the urge to glance back at him and merely stared down at the carriage floor for a brief second before settling in.
Once both of them were seated, she frowned at the closing door. “Rosie and—”
“They are following behind in a carriage with one of my footmen,” he assured her quickly. “Do not fret.”
But fret was all Sibyl found herself doing as the carriage rolled towards the countryside, leaving London and its recent horrors far, far behind. Her eyes strayed not to the buildings and townhouses she was thinking a merciful goodbye to, but to the carriage that held her daughter.
She ought to have checked. She should have kissed her daughter’s forehead before she got into the carriage. She should have—
“Your daughter is fine, Duchess,” the Duke said, frustration lacing his voice. “Do you think I would wish her harm?”
“Do excuse me if I do not trust anybody at the moment,” Sibyl snapped back, the tension of the day finally crashing through her now that she was away from the eyes of her family, the well-wishers, and the distraction of the ceremony itself.
“That is fair, but you do not need to crane your neck almost out the window every time we turn a corner,” the Duke protested. “The ride to Stonehelm is short, so your daughter will be fine without you.”
“I do what I must,” Sibyl huffed, craning her neck yet again to catch another glimpse of Rosie’s carriage, ensure it was following behind. If she squinted, she could see the small bundle in Hannah’s arms, safely held. “I do not need you to lecture me as though I am a child.”
The Duke was silent long enough that she dragged her focus back to him. She realized that was his intention: to distract her. He gave her a long, cool look.
“I am not lecturing you,” he eventually said, “I am making an observation, and you are far too nervous.”
Sibyl scoffed. “And justly so for my child!”
The Duke reared back, surprising her.
Was he truly offended?
“Do you truly think I would harm your child? How many times do I need to say it? I will never let anything happen to Rosie.”
“Rose.”
“What?”
“It is Rose to those who are not familiar with her.”
It was a foolish, prideful comment, but it was true. Still, it was petty of her to use that argument. The Duke cocked his head, amused.
“Your Grace, I still do not know you from a stranger, so how can I trust you? You stepped into my home and asserted your authority with scarcely an explanation. I have no reason to believe a word out of your mouth.”
“I am no stranger.” The Duke’s voice lowered to a growl. “I will make sure your daughter survives the chaos your late husband has left behind, and I am doing the same for you. That alone ought to matter.”
Sibyl bristled. “So you think I must believe everything you say and do because you are saving me? Trust is not so easily given or earned.”
“I know.”
“I would like to trust you,” she allowed. “So let me ask you something.”
The Duke looked across the carriage at her, waiting.
When she spoke, she was glad her voice didn’t tremble. “Why did you buy Edmund’s debts? What was your grievance with him?”
The Duke’s expression shuttered, and Sibyl knew she had pushed too far too quickly. “That is none of your concern.”
“Oh, but it is,” she scoffed. “For how do I know that your wrath towards him does not extend to my daughter and me?”
“Were you a Kerrington four years ago? Even two years ago?” he asked suddenly.
Sibyl shook her head.
The Duke leaned in, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Then my wrath does not extend to you.”
Sibyl’s breath caught when he braced his hand on the bench between them.
“You are seeking a villain, Duchess, but it is not me. Your late husband was the real villain in your story. Not only in your story, but also in your daughter’s.”
Sibyl’s voice shook as she looked askance at him, trying to slow her pounding heart. “Then tell me more.”
He held her gaze for another few long moments, so long that she felt both unmoored and grounded at once—a dizzying sensation.
“What I will tell you, Duchess, is that you and Rose will have whatever your hearts’ desire. Nobody will harm you, nobody will come after you, and you will have my protection.”
Sibyl looked him up and down, nodding slowly. “Then thank you.”