Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
The screaming started at half past six in the morning, jolting Sybil from her first decent sleep in three days. She bolted upright in the unfamiliar guest bed, her heart hammering as the sound of children crying echoed through the corridors of Vestiaire Castle.
Fire. There’s another fire.
But no—there was no smell of smoke, no orange glow beyond her windows. Just the heart-wrenching sound of a child in the grip of a nightmare and the gentle murmur of voices trying to provide comfort.
Sybil threw on her wrapper and rushed toward the ballroom where the girls were sleeping, her bare feet silent on the cold marble floors. She found little Emma sitting bolt upright on her makeshift bed, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed about flames and falling roofs.
“Hush, sweetheart,” Beverly was saying, her arms around the trembling child. “You’re safe. There’s no fire here.”
“But the roof was falling!” Emma wailed. “And Miss Sybil was trapped, and I couldn’t reach her!”
Poor darling. The trauma is just beginning to surface.
“Miss Sybil is right here,” Sybil said softly, kneeling beside the bed. “See? I’m perfectly safe.”
Emma launched herself into Sybil’s arms with desperate force, her small body shaking with residual terror. Around them, several other girls had awakened and were watching with wide, frightened eyes.
They’re all going to have nightmares. How could I have been so naive to think they’d escape unscathed?
“I dreamed you died,” Emma whispered against her shoulder. “I dreamed the fire took you away, and we were all alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sybil said firmly though the words felt like lies in her mouth. Not yet, anyway. But soon.
It took nearly an hour to settle Emma back to sleep, and by then, the damage was done. The other girls were restless, whispering among themselves about their own fears and uncertainties. What would happen to them? Where would they go? Would they be split up?
Questions Sybil couldn’t answer. Not honestly.
Because I’m going to abandon them. I’m going to refuse the Duke’s offer and condemn them to exactly the fate they’re afraid of.
By breakfast time, the crisis had passed, but Sybil felt as though she’d been beaten with a bat. She sat at the small table that had been set up in the morning room, watching her girls file through the adjacent servants’ hall where they were taking their meals.
The contrast was impossible to ignore.
Their cheeks, which had been gaunt and hollow just days ago, already showed signs of proper nourishment.
The dark circles under their eyes were fading, replaced by the healthy glow that came from sleeping in warm, draft-free rooms. Even their posture was different—straighter, more confident, as though the simple act of being properly fed and housed had reminded them they were worthy of care.
Look at them. Really look.
At the orphanage, there had always been something—a leak in the roof that sent icy water dripping onto their beds during storms, drafts that whistled through cracks in the walls no matter how many rags she stuffed into them, the constant struggle to stretch every meal far enough to feed everyone.
Here, in the Duke’s household, they were thriving.
“More porridge, Margaret?” one of the kitchen maids was asking. “Cook made extra, and there’s honey to sweeten it.”
Honey. When was the last time they tasted honey?
Margaret’s face lit up as she nodded eagerly, and Sybil felt her heart crack a little more.
This is what they deserve. This comfort, this abundance, this sense of safety and belonging.
“Miss Sybil?” Sarah had approached her table, her expression hesitant. “Might I ask you something?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Are we… are we going to stay here? Permanently, I mean?”
The question made her pause. Sybil looked around the room at the other girls, many of whom had stopped eating to listen for her answer.
Tell them the truth. Tell them you’re going to refuse the Duke’s offer, and they’ll be scattered to institutions that won’t care about their education or their futures.
“I…” She cleared her throat, buying time. “We’re guests here, Sarah. His Grace has been very kind to shelter us while we… while arrangements are made.”
“What kind of arrangements?” Anne, one of the older girls, who would age out of any institutional care within the year, asked.
The kind where you’ll be sent to a workhouse because no other orphanage will take you at seventeen.
“We’re exploring several options,” Sybil said carefully. “There are other institutions that might have space—”
“But they won’t be like this, will they?” Margaret’s voice was small but direct. “They won’t care if we learn to read properly or if we understand mathematics well enough to keep household accounts.”
No. They won’t care about any of that.
“Education will always be a priority,” Sybil said, hating herself for the half-truth.
“But not like here,” Sarah persisted. “Not with real teachers and proper books and rooms that don’t leak.”
Not like here. Nothing will ever be like here.
“Young ladies,” Beverly intervened gently, “perhaps we should focus on our breakfast rather than worrying about the future.”
But the damage was done. Sybil could see it in their faces—the dawning realization that this comfort was temporary, that soon they’d be back to the world of cold rooms and thin soup and institutions that saw them as burdens rather than human beings with potential.
This is your fault. You could give them this life permanently, and you’re choosing not to.
“Miss Sybil looks quite pale this morning.”
The Duke’s voice cut through her spiraling guilt like a blade. She looked up to find him standing in the doorway, already dressed for the day in riding clothes that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build.
Don’t notice how handsome he looks. Don’t think about what it would be like to see him across the breakfast table every morning for the rest of your life.
“I’m perfectly well, Your Grace,” she said though her voice sounded strained even to her own ears.
“Are you?” he moved into the room with that fluid grace that made her pulse quicken despite everything. “You look as though you haven’t slept.”
Because I spent half the night holding a terrified child and the other half thinking about how I’m going to fail all of them.
“There was a small incident early this morning,” she said. “Emma had a nightmare about the fire. Nothing that couldn’t be managed.”
“I see.” His amber eyes studied her face with uncomfortable intensity. “And you handled this alone?”
“Beverly was there as well. We managed perfectly fine.”
Stop looking at me like that. Stop pretending that you care about my welfare.
“I’m sure you did.” There was something in his tone that suggested he found her independence both admirable and frustrating. “Nevertheless, you look exhausted. Perhaps you should rest today.”
“I have responsibilities to attend to.”
“Such as?”
The question caught her off guard. What responsibilities did she have, exactly? The girls were fed, housed, and safe. Beverly and Marge were managing their daily care admirably. Her medical knowledge wasn’t needed when the Duke’s own physician was available at a moment’s notice.
I’m unnecessary here. They don’t actually need me.
The realization was more painful than it should have been.
“The girls need routine,” she said finally. “Lessons and structure. They can’t simply spend their days as guests in your household.”
“Why not?” The Duke moved closer, his presence filling the small room in a way that made it difficult to breathe. “They’re children who’ve suffered a trauma. Surely, they’re entitled to a few days of simple comfort.”
A few days. And then what?
“They need to prepare for their futures,” Sybil said firmly. “The older girls, especially. They need skills that will help them find employment, education that will serve them when they leave institutional care.”
“And they can’t receive that education here?”
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications neither of them was quite ready to voice.
He’s not just talking about temporary tutoring. He’s talking about his proposal.
“Your Grace—”
“Papa!” Rosalie burst into the morning room with her usual dramatic flair, still in her morning dress but with her hair properly pinned. “Cook says you’ve requested hot chocolate with breakfast. Are you feeling quite well? You never drink chocolate in the morning.”
Chocolate? Sybil glanced at the Duke in surprise. He looked almost… embarrassed?
“I thought our guests might enjoy it,” he said stiffly. “The younger ones especially.”
He ordered hot chocolate for the children. This stern, imposing duke ordered hot chocolate because he thought it would make orphaned girls smile.
The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet that Sybil felt her carefully constructed resolve waver.
“How thoughtful,” she managed.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Rosalie beamed at her father with obvious affection. “Papa pretends to be gruff, but he’s quite soft-hearted when it comes to children.”
“Rosalie,” the Duke said in a warning tone.
“What? It’s true!” She turned to Sybil with sparkling eyes. “Did you know he once spent three hours helping our old cook’s grandson learn to tie his shoes? The boy was crying because the other children teased him, and Papa sat on the kitchen floor until he mastered it.”
Stop. Stop making him sound kind, patient, and wonderful.
“I’m sure His Grace has many admirable qualities,” Sybil said weakly.
“Oh, he does,” Rosalie agreed enthusiastically. “He’s loyal and protective and incredibly generous, even if he doesn’t like people to know it. And he’s an excellent judge of character.”
The last comment was delivered with pointed meaning that made Sybil’s cheeks burn.
“Rosalie,” the Duke said more firmly, “perhaps you could check on your sisters? Make sure they’re not planning any additional adventures that might require dramatic rescues.”