Chapter 5
Chapter Five
As promised, Stonehelm Hall came into view a short while later, and Sibyl had to stop her lips from parting in shock.
It was the most beautiful, grandest manor she had ever seen.
Nestled in a thicket of trees, with all shining, bright windows, and vines creeping up the walls.
Wings extended from the central part of the house, and already she could see servants bustling about through the windows and in the expansive gardens.
Far off, still within the boundaries of the estate, there was a lake. Sibyl’s heart soared at the sight of it. She had loved reading in summer by the lake in Wickleby Hall.
But while that had been a grand estate, it was nothing like this.
A wide, curving driveway guided the carriage right up to the main doors that stood atop a sweeping, stone staircase, where more servants were lined up to greet her.
Sibyl’s pulse jumped as she soared out of the carriage, joy lifting her out for once. The manor looked like something out of a fairytale, something beautiful and romantic, a grand setting for a grand love story. And while Sibyl knew that was not her own narrative, she loved the comfort it brought.
“It is as grand as my brothers-in-law’s residences,” she breathed, tipping her head back to marvel at the height of the building.
“It is yours, too,” the Duke told her, closing the door behind him.
He didn’t touch her this time, but he did guide her towards the second carriage that had pulled up. Sibyl made a dash for the door, yanking it open and sighing in relief as soon as Rosie was pushed into her arms.
“Heavens, you are all right,” she whispered into her baby’s forehead, nuzzling her soft skin.
“Of course she is,” the Duke muttered. “One day, you will listen to me.”
“You are still a stranger,” she reminded him, only to turn around and find him rolling his eyes before beckoning her towards the front steps.
Holding her daughter close to her chest, Sibyl tried to imagine how Hermia or Isabella would have greeted their staff. A pleasant smile, straight back, confidence radiating from them, even if they felt nervous.
So Sibyl adapted, as she knew she would have to, and posed as perfect a duchess as she could be, reminding herself that she had already successfully run a household as a countess. Kerrington House was nowhere near the size or grandeur of Stonehelm Hall, but she had still done it.
Nodding her head in acknowledgement to the cook, the butler—an older man, almost too old looking to still be working, named Mr. Alterton, who cooed at Rosie fondly, and then a handful of chambermaids.
Finally, Sibyl met Mrs. Pentwood, the housekeeper, a woman who looked slightly younger than her mother. There was a fierce, proud smile on her face as she welcomed the new Duchess to Stonehelm Hall.
Sibyl smiled back, glancing at the Duke, but he only nodded at her once before disappearing inside.
For a moment, she stood there on the steps, uncertain, not knowing how to begin her new life.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Pentwood prompted, sweeping a hand towards the open doors. “Let me show you and your daughter to your rooms. Your nursemaid may come, too.”
Sibyl nodded back to Hannah. They went inside, and once again she fought to keep her mouth from dropping open in wonder.
Despite the Duke’s dark preferences and demeanor, Stonehelm Hall was strangely bright. The walls were pale and trimmed with gold, and many paintings of villages and ocean landscapes lined the hallways.
She paused in the hallway to the bedchambers, eyeing up a painting of a flower-filled meadow, lilacs and pinks blooming on the canvas.
She cocked her head at it before Mrs. Pentwood cleared her throat.
“The…” She struggled to find the right words. “The décor does not seem to match His Grace’s taste.”
“A good observation.” Mrs. Pentwood gave her a strange smile but didn’t elaborate.
Sibyl was too eager to retire to her room to question it. Besides, she wanted to see Rosie settled more than she wanted to question the housekeeper about a man whom she could go directly to and ask.
They moved onward, pausing at a white door painted with pink droplet-like shapes around the frame.
“His Grace requested that the nursery for Lady Rose be moved next to the Duchess’s chambers, which are, of course, now yours.”
“Thank you,” Sibyl said gratefully, relieved she would not have to stay far from her daughter.
Edmund had always insisted that, with Hannah around, Sibyl did not need to sleep next door to their child. But what mother didn’t want to be at her child’s side?
She recalled how far from her parents her childhood bedroom had felt, how far they had been whenever she was scared, or the storms wailed too loudly at her window in the countryside; hence, she wanted to make sure Rosie never felt that way.
The Duke’s promise to take care of them both echoed in her mind, and her conflicting feelings seemed to soften. Perhaps he really was looking out for them.
“Perhaps your nursemaid can take Rosie for a mid-afternoon nap to allow you some rest, Your Grace? It must have been a long day for you, after all.”
“Of course,” Hannah said quickly, curtseying and taking Rosie from Sibyl’s arms.
Still, as soon as Rosie was taken away, still swaddled in blankets and a baby gown, Sibyl was hesitant to let her go in this new, strange manor. Hannah’s presence was comforting enough to let go, but everything else was jarring.
She watched Hannah disappear into the nursery, straining to look until the last moment before she had to turn back to Mrs. Pentwood.
“I shall show you to your chambers,” the housekeeper said, gesturing for her to walk on to the next room. She opened the door for her and stepped back.
To her surprise, Sibyl stepped into a wide, circular room with brighter décor and silver furnishings.
It was opulent and beautiful, expansive and luscious, and far bigger than her chamber in Kerrington House.
Her breath caught as she took in the four-poster bed, framed with gauzy, white curtains, and the writing desk beneath the window.
“The writing desk has been stocked,” Mrs. Pentwood assured, noting her attention, “and His Grace was discreetly informed of your love of reading, so he had a personal collection brought up from the main library.”
She gestured with a graceful hand towards a bookcase, modest but plenty for a bedchamber. Sibyl’s eyes filled with tears at the sight, foolish but inevitable. She had lost that part of herself and grieved it, yet here it was, so willing to welcome her back with open arms.
I wonder who told him and when.
She moved further into the room as Mrs. Pentwood opened another door that led to a bathing chamber. Inside, a petite maid was finishing laying out some oil vials on the windowsill next to a steaming bath.
“This is Charlotte,” Mrs. Pentwood introduced. “She is your lady’s maid here and shall assist with anything you require. Do not hesitate to ask any of us. His Grace has given very strict orders that any change you wish to make be carried out. We are at your service.”
“Thank you,” Sibyl said, not used to such steadfast servants. “Pleasure to meet you, Charlotte.”
“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.” Charlotte curtsied.
The staff at Kerrington House had been welcoming, and her butler had been ever so protective, the housekeeper firm and strict, but they had been more loyal to their master than Sibyl, even if they had come to pity her.
“There is one more thing, Your Grace,” Mrs. Pentwood added, pausing in the main bedroom as Sibyl walked back out. “This door here connects to His Grace’s. So you are nearest your daughter, but he is on your other side.”
It felt like a symbol of his promise to protect—that he was on her side, that he was never too far from her.
Sibyl nodded, eyeing the door curiously.
Is he in there now? Perhaps he’s in his study, already buried in work. Perhaps he left the estate altogether after I entered.
Pushing the Duke out of her mind, Sibyl nodded again.
Mrs. Pentwood excused herself, promising to call her for dinner soon enough.
Sibyl went back to the bathing chamber, just as Charlotte straightened. “Your bath is ready, Your Grace. I have laid out a selection of oils to use on your hair or—”
“I would like to bathe alone, if you do not mind,” Sibyl said gently.
She didn’t want to offend, but she couldn’t endure any more company. There had already been too many faces, too many voices this week, and she craved to simply sink into the hot water with her thoughts.
As soon as Charlotte curtseyed her way out of the bathing chamber, Sibyl yanked off her wedding gown and dropped it carelessly on the floor. Then, she picked it up and draped it over the chair near the door before turning back to the bath.
The hot water welcomed her into its soothing embrace, and she sighed, letting it submerge her head. Steam curled around her fingers on the tub’s edges, and her hair fanned out.
Fatigue weighed down her bones, making them feel heavy. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let her mind drift, feeling the water soothe away the week’s aches and tension.
But one thing remained: the Duke’s brown eyes, accentuated by his dark suit at the altar, but otherwise so hard and dark when he was angry.
His voice echoed in her mind—how it had been soft with her one moment and berating the next.
How he had looked at her, amused and intrigued, as if he couldn’t guess what she would say next.
And then there was Isabella’s teasing comment about how she and Hermia had discovered that dukes liked a little arguing.
Sibyl was not about to tread into such territory, but she couldn’t deny that her thoughts didn’t circle back to her new husband.