Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Mr. Alterton said, right as she stepped out into the hallway. “I just went to your chambers to fetch you. Dinner is served, and His Grace has requested that you dine with him tonight.”
It was getting darker outside by the time Sibyl slipped out of the nursery after helping Hannah put Rosie to bed.
While she trusted her nursemaid, it was Rosie’s first night in a new home. She was nervous, and Rosie had been fussing throughout the evening as if she knew she was in a new place.
She just wanted her daughter to be well settled and comfortable.
Sibyl froze. She had not expected the invitation. After all, Isabella had once confessed how many evenings she had spent alone in her chambers because she and Oscar had not wanted to spend time together at the beginning of their marriage. Sibyl had simply assumed the same.
Why would the Duke want to dine with her?
Butterflies fluttered deep in her stomach, and she nodded. Charlotte had dressed her for dinner—just in case—after her bath, so she was prepared to follow Mr. Alterton. After all, the Duke had saved her; she could hardly turn down one dinner invitation.
They had spent time together already. Surely an hour or so couldn’t be too bad.
The grand dining hall was the same as every other part of the manor: unexpectedly opulent and light. A chandelier hung above a long, dark dining table surrounded by more chairs than needed.
The table itself was laid with more candles and platters of food to be served. An empty wine glass sat at one end of the table, and at the other sat the Duke himself.
Gone was his gray tailcoat from their wedding ceremony, replaced by a sleek black tailcoat over a loose ivory shirt and a black waistcoat.
His hair, mussed when she had first met him, had been combed perfectly for the wedding, but now it was messy again, as though he had endlessly run his fingers through it.
“Good evening.” His voice resonated through the dining hall, seemingly bouncing off every corner and wall.
Sibyl remembered how often she had thought of him during her bath and suppressed a shiver. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
He gave an amused huff. “Your Grace,” he echoed. “Do you wish to remain so formal?”
“That depends.” Heavens, her voice was a whisper as she moved closer to the seat opposite him.
As soon as she sat down, she felt miles away from him. Something about it felt both wrong and right.
“On?” he prompted.
The way he regarded her with a cocked eyebrow, that amused smile on his face, made her stomach flip.
“On whether you are ready to be informal with one another. I would assume a duke would see himself above a countess.”
“You are my Duchess,” he corrected. “My equal.”
“Regardless, I know where I come from.”
“So you wish to remain formal,” he said. It was not a question.
Sibyl hesitated. She was reminded of Lord Averby calling the Duke Gabriel so casually, and she tried to look at her husband and think of that name. It suited him. Strong and darkly angelic, a combination that somehow made sense.
“For now,” she muttered.
And yet her mind flashed even further back to when he had spoken her name in the entrance hall at Kerrington House, grounding her with the one thing he could think of. It made her hands tremble as she reached for her empty wine glass.
The Duke’s eyes flicked to it, and he snapped his fingers. “Please fill Her Grace’s glass,” he instructed one of the footmen nearby, all the while never looking away from her.
Again, Sibyl felt both pinned and exhilarated that she was worthy of being stared at so intently.
But she looked away and cleared her throat. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner,” she said. “I did not expect it.”
The Duke didn’t answer; he only studied her. It was not the way her mother used to study her, as though every wrong move would be criticized and picked apart.
No, the Duke seemed… intrigued. Which seemed odd, considering how miserable her first marriage had been.
Intimidation spread through her, sinking into her bones. It made her feel both incredibly heavy and trapped. She wanted to flee.
In a bid to distract herself from that feeling, she found the nearest thing to fix her eyes on—the footman filling her wine glass.
“What type of wine is it?” she asked, just for the sake of it.
She was not expecting the Duke to answer.
“How did you meet Edmund?”
Sibyl paused with her glass halfway to her mouth, turning her gaze to him. “What?”
“I believe you heard me. I am curious.”
Sibyl tipped the glass to her lips, letting the deep, velvety wine roll over her tongue.
Its warmth spread through her chest, bold and fragrant, a sharp contrast to the thin, insipid vintages she had endured at Kerrington House.
She closed her eyes, savoring the rich taste, reveling in the indulgence she had long been denied.
“You like the wine,” the Duke noted.
“I do,” she affirmed. “It is much richer than what I am used to.”
He gave her a bemused smile. “I imagine so.” He cocked his head. “You have avoided answering my question.”
“You were the one who mentioned the wine.”
He paused, raising his glass to her. “Will you answer me, then? I want to know how you met him, what he was like, and why you even agreed to marry him.”
Sibyl frowned, lifting her cutlery. “I think I would feel more like your wife if I were not interrogated.”
The Duke scoffed, looking at his wine glass and then at her. “You are my wife in name only, Duchess. Do not forget that.”
Sibyl stiffened, a bite of meat halfway to her mouth. “Of course. I know well enough about white marriages. After all, both of my sisters went through them.”
She didn’t mention that both Hermia and Isabella’s marriages turned into real, happy ones.
“Good,” the Duke uttered.
Sibyl frowned at him, offended. “Then why did you invite me to dinner?”
“Why not?”
“Why?” she countered, frustrated. “If this is only transactional, why would you give me—” She stopped herself from saying hope.
“Give you what, Duchess?” His eyes burned into hers, intimidating and unrelenting, and she fought not to squirm.
“Nothing,” she snapped, biting into another forkful of meat. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Aren’t you staying?”
“Oh, I am,” she answered haughtily. “This is a fine spread. I shall not forgo it.”
“Then enjoy.” His voice went flat as he ate a mouthful of his own food, a hearty serving of veal and potatoes. “But you will answer my question.”
“As you answered mine?” she countered. “You told me I am no longer a countess, and therefore your equal, so should we not—”
“Are you always this overscrupulous?” His question came sharply, before his chair was shoved back.
Sibyl wasn’t expecting him to rise from his seat and stalk over to her. Her eyes widened as he loomed over her, his hands braced on the armrests of her chair.
“You were the one who proposed marriage,” she whispered, reminding him of his own choices. “I told you that we were strangers. You do not get to dive into my past while concealing yours.”
“I am allowed to do as I please,” he murmured, his face too close to hers. And yet Sibyl both wanted him further away and closer. “Answer me. How did you meet your husband?”
“I am not like one of those gamblers you can simply interrogate,” she shot back, bravely looking him in the eye. “Do not treat me like them.”
He leaned in closer, and her breath caught. She couldn’t look away, not while he gazed at her so intently. His brown eyes darkened, no longer warmed by his gray tailcoat.
“Your Grace.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Duchess.” His tone matched hers.
Her heart sped up, taking her back to that thrilling moment in the bathtub when she had been thinking of him. She wanted to place a hand on her chest, to feel her frantic heartbeat, but she didn’t want him to see how he affected her.
“Your Grace,” she repeated, and watched as his eyes narrowed on her.
No, no, she could not. She could not think this way. Not about him, not now. Not when… Not when she was only here because he had saved her, promised her protection from scandal, and given her safety.
“I—” he began.
Sibyl didn’t let him finish. She pushed back her chair, scarcely having eaten, and stood up.
He reached for her, as if to stop her, but she pulled back from him and the dining table with its empty chairs—too many compared to what she was used to in her family home.
Everything was so different, too different. Heavens, she had to get out of there.
Her mind in a whirl of panic, Sibyl fled the dining hall and didn’t stop running until she collapsed into her new bed in this new home.
Tears stung her eyes. Everything was so new. Everything had changed, and she didn’t know what to make of any of it.
She wished she had her sisters with her.
She wished she could be around the Duke without feeling so confused.