Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
An hour later, Hugo sat in his study staring at a letter he’d started and discarded three times.
The morning’s events had only confirmed what he’d already known—time was running out.
Rosalie’s debut was less than two months away, and if today was any indication, she was nowhere near ready for the scrutiny of London society.
She needs guidance. They all do.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his brooding. “Come.”
To his surprise, it was Sybil who entered, looking considerably more composed than she had the night before. She’d changed into a simple day dress of deep green that brought out the color of her eyes, and her hair was neatly arranged despite the early hour.
How does she manage to look so perfectly put together? It’s not even eight o’clock.
“Your Grace,” she said with a small curtsy. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I heard there was some excitement at the lake this morning. I wanted to ensure everyone was unharmed.”
Of course, she does. Because that’s the kind of woman she is—always thinking of others first.
“Everyone is fine, thank you,” he replied, gesturing for her to take the chair across from his desk. “Though I fear my daughters’ behavior was less than exemplary.”
“Children often test boundaries,” she said diplomatically. “Particularly when they’re feeling unsettled or uncertain about their circumstances.”
Diplomatic indeed. She’s giving them far more credit than they deserve.
“Is that your professional opinion, or are you speaking from experience with thirty-seven equally headstrong girls?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Both, I’m afraid. Though I must say, your daughters seem particularly… spirited.”
“Spirited.” He let out a bitter laugh. “That’s a polite way of putting it. This morning, they were jumping between rocks in the middle of the lake. Melanie fell in.”
The smile disappeared from Sybil’s face immediately. “Is she hurt?”
“No, thank God. But she could have been. She could have drowned, all because Rosalie thought it would be entertaining to teach her sisters dangerous stunts.”
And I lost my temper and shouted at them like my father used to shout at me.
“I see.” Sybil was quiet for a moment, her intelligent eyes studying his face. “And how are you feeling about all of this?”
The question caught him off guard. How was he feeling? When was the last time anyone had asked him that?
Terrified. Frustrated. Completely out of my depth.
“I’m fine,” he said naturally.
“Are you?” her voice was gentle but skeptical. “Because you look like a man who’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Too perceptive by half.
“My daughters are my responsibility,” he said stiffly.
“I cannot have them endangering themselves. They need guidance I can’t provide,” he admitted quietly.
“Rosalie especially. She’s so determined to prove she’s not bound by conventional expectations that she’s forgotten conventional expectations exist for a reason. ”
“Some of them do,” Sybil agreed. “Others are simply society’s way of keeping women in their place. The trick is teaching young ladies to tell the difference.”
Exactly. Exactly what I’ve been trying to say but couldn’t articulate.
“You understand,” he said, looking at her with something approaching relief. “You understand what I’m trying to do for them.”
“Of course, I do.” Her voice was soft, almost tender. “You want them to be strong and independent, but you also want them to be safe. You want them to keep their spirits without losing their reputations. It’s a difficult balance.”
Impossible, sometimes.
“This morning proved I’m not enough,” he said grimly.
“This morning proved you’re a father who loves his daughters enough to jump into a lake to save them,” she corrected firmly. “That’s not nothing, Your Grace.”
She’s trying to make me feel better. Why is she trying to make me feel better?
“Have you given any more thought to my proposal?” he asked, changing the subject before he could do something foolish like tell her how much her words meant to him.
Something shuttered in her expression. “Some thought, yes.”
“And?”
“And I find myself wondering why you’re so certain I’m the right woman for this position.” Her voice was carefully neutral.
A ghost of a smile touched Hugo’s lips. “Well, aside from your obvious qualifications, my daughters have been rather transparent in their approval. Rosalie has already suggested three separate occasions when I might ‘accidentally’ encounter you in the gardens. And this morning, Melanie asked if you might stay long enough to teach her about healing herbs.”
He paused, his amber eyes warming with genuine amusement. “I’m afraid subtlety is not a family strength. They’ve taken quite a shine to you, and their judgment in such matters has always been sound.”
Because that’s who you are. Someone who cares, even when it costs you.
“That doesn’t make me qualified to be a duchess,” she said quietly.
“It makes you qualified to be their stepmother,” he replied. “Which is infinitely more important.”
She was quiet for a long moment, her pale blue eyes searching his face as though looking for some hidden agenda.
What are you thinking? What doubts are running through that clever mind of yours?
“Your Grace,” she said finally, “may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“What happens if this arrangement doesn’t work? If your daughters don’t accept my guidance, or if I prove inadequate to the task? What happens to them then?”
They’ll be lost. Just like their mother was lost.
But he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t admit how worried he was about failing them.
“Then we’ll find another solution,” he said instead. “But I don’t believe that will be necessary.”
“You sound very confident for a man who barely knows me.”
“I know my daughters, and I know what I’ve seen,” he said simply. “And what I’ve seen convinces me you’re exactly what they need.”
What we all need.
The thought came unbidden, followed by a surge of longing so intense, it took his breath away.
When was the last time he’d felt like this about a woman?
When was the last time he’d wanted someone not just physically but emotionally?
When was the last time he’d met someone who made him think about partnership rather than mere convenience?
Never. The answer is never.
“I need more time,” she said quietly.
“How much time?”
“I don’t know.” She rose from her chair, smoothing her skirts with hands that trembled slightly. “This isn’t a decision I can make lightly.”
No. It isn’t.
“Take all the time you need,” he said though every instinct screamed at him to press for an immediate answer. “But don’t take so long that the opportunity passes us by.”
She paused at the door, looking back at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
“Your Grace? Your daughters are lucky to have a father who cares so deeply about their welfare. Don’t let one moment of frustration make you forget that.”
And then she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the growing certainty that he was in far deeper than he’d intended to be.
She’s going to say yes. She has to say yes.
Because the alternative—watching his daughters grow into the same reckless, self-destructive patterns that had killed their mother—was simply unthinkable.
And because I’m not sure I can let her go.
The admission hit him like a physical blow. This was supposed to be a practical arrangement, a mutually beneficial partnership that would solve problems for both of them.
When had it become something more?
When she looked at me like I was a man worth saving instead of just a title worth pursuing.
The realization should have alarmed him. Instead, as he stared at the door she’d just walked through, Hugo found himself smiling for the first time in days.
Whatever this is, wherever it leads, I’m not sorry it’s happening.
And that, perhaps, was the most dangerous thought of all.
The letter burst into flames with a satisfying hiss, the wax seal melting into nothing as orange tongues devoured her father’s familiar handwriting.
Sybil watched the expensive parchment curl and blacken in the fireplace, feeling a grim satisfaction as smoke carried away whatever reproaches or false concern the Earl of Keats had deemed appropriate to send his disgraced daughter.
Two days. It took them exactly two days to hear about the fire and decide they needed to intervene.
“Miss Sybil? What are you doing?”
Sybil spun around to find Lady Rosalie standing in the doorway of the drawing room, her arm still bound in the sling from her riding accident. The girl’s pale blue eyes were fixed on the fireplace where the last remnants of the letter were turning to ash.
“Nothing of consequence,” Sybil said quickly, turning back to the makeshift beds she’d been straightening. “How are you feeling this morning? Any pain in your arm?”
“A little stiffness but nothing terrible.” Rosalie moved into the room, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Was that a letter you just burned? Seemed rather dramatic for routine correspondence.”
Dramatic. The girl has no idea.
“Some letters aren’t worth reading,” Sybil replied, shaking out a small blanket with perhaps more force than necessary. “I could tell from the handwriting what it would contain.”
“You can tell what’s in a letter just by looking at the outside?” Rosalie’s voice held genuine fascination. “That’s remarkable. Like reading tea leaves or palm reading.”
“Hardly so mystical.” Sybil moved to the next bed where little Emma’s rag doll lay abandoned on the pillow. “When you know someone well enough, their handwriting becomes as familiar as their voice. And when that someone has a habit of offering unwanted advice disguised as concern…”
“Ah.” Rosalie settled carefully into a nearby chair. “Family, then. Parents, I’m guessing, based on that particular expression of disgust.”
Too perceptive by half, this one.
“Perhaps we should discuss something more pleasant,” Sybil suggested, tucking the doll under the blanket. “How are you feeling about your debut? It’s only two months away now.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Rosalie said with a grin that reminded Sybil painfully of another spirited young woman. “I find family drama infinitely more interesting than discussions of my own social prospects.”
Of course, you do. Just like Emmie always did.
“There’s no drama,” Sybil lied smoothly. “Simply correspondence I have no desire to read.”
“From parents who presumably heard about the fire and suddenly remembered they have a daughter?”
The accuracy of the observation made Sybil’s hands still on the blanket she was folding. “What makes you say that?”
“Experience.” Rosalie’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Adults have a remarkable ability to ignore inconvenient relatives until those relatives become either useful or embarrassing. Then suddenly they’re full of opinions about what should be done.”
This girl understands far too much about the world for someone her age.