Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The following morning, Sibyl went down for breakfast, not wanting to avoid Gabriel for the first time in days.
An image had lingered in her head long before she had drifted off: Gabriel, intent on staying up with her daughter to make sure the fever did not get any worse. His figure had been striking, holding Rosie, illuminated softly by the firelight.
Lying in bed afterward, Sibyl had pressed her hand to her chest, feeling a strange, warm ache at the sight, not wanting to think too hard about what it meant. It was still there now as she looked at him from across the dining table.
He kept his eyes down, but she could still see the fatigue on his face. He truly had stayed up all night, reporting that Rosie’s fever had broken only by the time she woke.
“Did you see the invitation that arrived just before breakfast?” Sibyl asked conversationally. “We have been invited to a ball.”
“I saw it,” Gabriel answered.
“And we are going to attend, yes?”
He looked up, cocking an eyebrow. “You seem awfully eager about it.”
“I have not attended a ball as a duchess before,” she reminded him. “As nervous as I am, I am also a little excited. Edmund… he did not really like balls. He did not like the fuss of the events, as strange as that seems, knowing what I know about how he lived behind closed doors.”
“Those doors are kept closed for a reason,” Gabriel muttered, “and those people often become very good at faking dislike of anything of that nature. At least until they find the only scene they wish to insert themselves in.”
Like opium dens and boarding houses full of women.
Anger coated her tongue at the thought. She quickly pushed all thoughts of Edmund away.
“Either way,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice, “my sisters will be there, I imagine, so I will be happy to see them.”
“And you are certain you want to go?”
“Very. Although, do you not? I thought a duke must make appearances.”
“I do,” he admitted, nodding slowly as he ate a forkful of fluffy eggs. “But I would not go where you would not feel comfortable.”
Sibyl fell silent for a moment, taking a pointed interest in her tea. She could feel his gaze on her, but she suddenly felt too shy to meet it. Instead, she nodded down at her plate.
“I will be comfortable enough.”
“Your parents will also be there, I presume?”
Sibyl sighed. “Indeed.”
“Then I shall not be attending.”
Sibyl’s head snapped up, ready to berate him, only to find him smirking at her.
“I am teasing you,” he drawled. “Although I do admit I am in no hurry to meet your parents again.”
“Trust me,” Sibyl sighed, “another reunion with them is hardly something I am excited about.”
Gabriel’s face softened as he laughed under his breath. “Have they really been so terrible all your life?”
“My life, as well as my sisters’, yes. But let us not get into that, for now. I will choose a gown from my wardrobe—”
“I will buy you a new gown,” Gabriel interrupted, raising a hand as if anticipating her protests. They all died on her tongue anyway.
He said nothing further and only resumed eating. Sibyl watched him, confused beyond measure by this man, who could be so sharp-tongued and avoidant with her, yet had held her daughter through her fever and immediately offered to buy her new clothes.
And yet, as confusing as it was, it felt nice. It felt special, in a way.
Sibyl nodded. “Thank you.”
“You do not have to thank me. Just accept what I offer without too much protest.”
The young Marquess and Marchioness of Livingston had wed not long after Sibyl’s first wedding. Together, they stood in the entrance hall, dazzling and handsome in their matching emerald-green attire.
The Marchioness was already showing signs of being with child, and Sibyl averted her gaze, trying not to think about her own miserable, lonely pregnancy. Yet she could sense the Marquess wrap his arm around his wife’s waist, happily speaking about her due date.
At her side, Gabriel tugged her closer without being too close. They moved further up the queue, and Sibyl fought the urge to toy nervously with her reticule.
Was her dress beautiful enough? Did she look like a duchess, or a young girl trying to play dress-up in a role far too big for her?
Did Gabriel feel her tremble?
All her excitement from that week coiled into a ball of dread that lodged in the pit of her stomach. After their hosts greeted them, Gabriel guided her to the circular space where other guests milled about, drinking and chatting.
Beneath the chandelier, Sibyl looked up at her husband, only to find his eyes already on her.
The dress she wore was very different from her usual style. Often dressed in florals and pastels—for her mother had always insisted she remain soft and angelic, unlike her sisters apparently—she wasn’t used to wearing such a bold color.
The navy blue dress was cinched tight around her waist and pushed up her chest, and while she had often compared her figure to Hermia’s curvier one, she couldn’t deny that having Rosie had enhanced her breasts.
Her bodice had a faint shimmer, the neckline pretty and delicate, but the skirt was sweeping, falling to the floor in a rush of inky color.
Sibyl felt… attractive. Self-conscious, but attractive.
Her eyes flicked back to Gabriel, noticing his nostrils flaring as he took her in. His gaze lingered on her neck, and she wondered what he was thinking.
She pressed a hand to her throat, realizing she had forgotten to wear a necklace. Still, she had put on the silver bracelet her father had gifted her on her debut.
“Do I look all right, Gabriel?” she asked.
“You look exquisite,” Gabriel murmured.
She blinked at the open admiration in his voice. She had expected him to avoid the question, but he answered her without even breaking eye contact.
Unable to help it, she let her eyes roam over him. His tailcoat was darker than her dress, but his cravat was navy against his black shirt and waistcoat.
He looked alluring, mysterious, and Sibyl found it hard to keep her eyes off him. Even his hair had been combed back for the occasion, but she found she rather missed how disheveled it usually looked.
Gabriel held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Sibyl nodded, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow.
They started towards the ballroom doors, which swung open, inviting them into the scene beyond the short staircase.
As soon as they entered, heads turned in their direction. A line of ladies gathered on one side of the staircase, and they all began to whisper and giggle when they saw Gabriel.
Some lords gazed up at Sibyl—some of whom she knew—regarding her as though seeing her for the first time. Instead of judgment, she saw something akin to admiration in their eyes, and she wondered at that.
Wondered at how she looked worthy of their admiration.
Gabriel’s arm tightened around hers as he followed her gaze. She could have sworn she heard him growl.
One face in the crowd stood out to her, making her stomach drop. She tensed, and Gabriel once again followed her gaze.
Ferdinand was mingling with a few other lords, a glass of wine in hand. His eyes were already fixed on her, narrowed in disgust.
Turning her focus back to her husband, Sibyl found his expression cool and collected.
He nodded at her. “Trust me, Sibyl,” he murmured.
For someone who found it so hard to do exactly that, Sibyl nodded, and they descended into the fray.
But Gabriel didn’t steer her away from Ferdinand. No, he led her directly to him.
“Wait—”
“I asked you to trust me,” he said quietly. “Just… do it.”
Sibyl could barely respond, for they had already approached her former brother-in-law. Surprise registered on Ferdinand’s face for a brief second before he masked it with a sneer.
“Well, to what do I owe the displeasure of being greeted by the Duke and Duchess of Stonehelm?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
Sibyl swallowed, fighting back the urge to flee. This man had wanted to see her destitute, had called her terrible names, and had accused her of being the reason Edmund died.
He still blamed her; she could see it in his eyes.
“Sibyl, you look rather… different,” Ferdinand commented. “Uncomfortable, though. Perhaps the role does not—”
“She is Your Grace to you, Lord Kerrington,” Gabriel interrupted, keeping his tone pleasant and polite. “And she is most comfortable in her new role as the Duchess of Stonehelm. It suits her impeccably.”
Sibyl’s eyes flicked to Gabriel, who lifted his chin ever so slightly. She did the same.
She did not need to fear Ferdinand anymore, and Gabriel certainly did not. Ferdinand could no longer threaten to turn the ton against them, nor threaten to kick her out on the street. She had a new life now, no longer tied to the Kerringtons.
“Indeed, Lord Kerrington,” she spoke up. “My new life suits me perfectly. One might say your request for me to vacate Kerrington House has done me a great favor.”
“Yes, well, do not forget that people still remem—”
“Lord Kerrington, I do hope you enjoy your new title,” Gabriel cut in smoothly. “Especially given your new financial freedom. I do hope you recall who granted you that, for that person could have stripped you of everything you own.”
“I—” Ferdinand recoiled a little, his mouth twisting into a grimace. He gaped, rather like a fish, for several moments before squaring his shoulders and excusing himself.
As soon as he was gone, Sibyl exhaled.
“See?” Gabriel smirked. “I told you to trust me. He will not bother you again tonight.” He narrowed his eyes at the other men who lingered, knowing they ought not to go toe-to-toe with a duke. “Nobody will.”
The threat was clear enough.
“And if he does?” she challenged.
“Then I will be there quicker than you can call out my name.”
Again, another bold promise, and Sibyl found herself believing it.
She shivered at the protectiveness in his touch as he guided her back to the center of the ballroom. Over feathered headdresses and top hats, she spotted her parents.