Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
The ancient stones of Vestiaire Castle seemed to welcome Hugo with silent approval.
He stood at the window of his study, watching the morning mist rise from the carefully manicured gardens his great-grandfather had designed.
Three weeks in London for wedding festivities and business had felt like three months—too long away from the place that defined him, too long surrounded by the artificial bustle of the capital when all he truly wanted was this—the rolling hills of his ancestral estate, the quiet efficiency of a household that had served his family for generations, and the deep satisfaction of being exactly where he belonged.
This is what I was born for.
Not the marriage marts and drawing rooms of London though he navigated them with ducal precision when necessary.
Not the endless parade of social obligations that came with his title though he fulfilled them dutifully.
This—the land, the legacy, the unbroken chain of Rothburn stewardship that stretched back three centuries.
“Your Grace?”
Hugo turned from the window to find Mrs. Crawford, his housekeeper, standing in the doorway with the deferential posture of a woman who’d managed his household for the better part of two decades.
Her graying hair was pulled back in its customary severe bun, her black dress immaculate despite the early hour.
“Mrs. Crawford. Come in.” He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “I trust everything proceeded smoothly in my absence?”
“Indeed, Your Grace.” She settled herself with the practiced ease of a woman comfortable in her authority. “Though there are several matters requiring your attention.”
Hugo moved to his desk, noting the neat stack of correspondence, the precisely arranged ledgers, the way everything had been maintained exactly as he preferred.
Caroline had never quite grasped the complexity of it all.
Too interested in London society to care about inventory lists and staff schedules.
“The roof repairs to the east wing have been completed,” Mrs. Crawford continued, consulting the small notebook she always carried.
“At a cost of forty-three pounds, well within the budget you approved. The new parlor maid, Jenny, has proven satisfactory though she requires additional training in housekeeping.”
“Of course.” Hugo settled into his chair, only half-listening as she recited the familiar litany of household concerns. Staff changes, maintenance issues, supply inventories—the endless details that kept an estate of this size functioning.
“The wine cellar inventory shows we’re running low on the claret you prefer for important dinners. Shall I arrange to purchase additional cases?”
“Actually,” Hugo interrupted, an idea forming, “I believe such decisions will no longer be your sole responsibility.”
Mrs. Crawford’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Your Grace?”
“My wife will be taking over management of the household.” The words felt strange on his tongue—not because he doubted Sybil’s capabilities but because he’d grown accustomed to handling such matters himself.
“The Duchess will need to be consulted on all significant purchases and staffing decisions.”
If she’s to be mistress of this house, she needs to actually run it.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Crawford made a note in her book. “Shall I arrange to meet with Her Grace this afternoon to review current procedures?”
“Tomorrow morning would be better.” Hugo picked up his pen, already thinking ahead to the conversation he needed to have with Sybil about her new responsibilities. “She’s still settling in.”
The truth was more complicated. They’d returned to Vestiaire under the guise of a honeymoon—the ton expected newlyweds to disappear from London for several weeks of marital bliss.
But their actual reasons had been practical.
Sybil wanted to ensure the orphanage girls were properly settled, and he wanted her to have time to get to know Rosalie before the Season began in earnest. His eldest daughter needed a calming influence, someone who could channel her spirited nature without crushing it entirely.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?”
“Not at present. Please see that the Duchess and I aren’t disturbed this morning. I have estate matters to review, and she mentioned wanting to write letters.”
Letters to inquire about orphanages in London, no doubt. Always thinking of those children. He allowed for a brief sense of pride to swell in his chest before he dampened it.
This only proves she is a formidable and well-chosen Duchess.
Mrs. Crawford curtsied and took her leave, closing the door with the soft click that indicated Hugo was not to be interrupted except in cases of genuine emergency.
Finally, blessed silence.
He spread the estate ledgers across his desk, noting with satisfaction that the accounts were precisely balanced, the tenant reports uniformly positive.
This was his domain, his responsibility, his legacy.
Here, surrounded by the accumulated wisdom of generations of Rothburns, he could think clearly about the future he was building—not just for himself but for his daughters and perhaps for the woman who was now his wife.
The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting golden rectangles across the Persian carpet. Outside, he could hear the distant sounds of estate life—gardeners tending the grounds, grooms exercising the horses, the comfortable rhythm of a world functioning exactly as it should.
Peace.
The thought had barely formed when his study door burst open with enough force to rattle the crystal decanter on his sideboard.
“Where are they?”
Sybil stood in the doorway like a woman possessed, her traveling dress wrinkled from their journey, wisps of auburn hair escaping her pins. Her pale blue eyes blazed with an intensity that made his chest tighten in ways he refused to examine.
Ah. I wondered when this would happen.
Hugo set down his pen with deliberate calm, not bothering to look up from the accounts. “Good morning, wife. I trust you slept well?”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know why I’m here.”
“Perhaps you could enlighten me,” he said mildly, finally raising his amber eyes to meet her furious gaze.
“The girls, Hugo. Where are my girls?”
My girls. The possessive claim sent an unwelcome thrill through him though he kept his expression neutral.
“They’re perfectly safe,” he replied.
“Safe where?” She stepped into the room, her hands clenched at her sides. “I’ve searched this entire house. Every room, every corridor, even the servants’ quarters. They’re nowhere to be found.”
“That’s because they’re not here.”
The color drained from her face. “Not here.”
“No.”
“You promised me they would be cared for.” Her voice rose with each word. “You gave me your word that they would be safe, that they would be provided for—”
“And they are.”
“Then where are they?” She took another step closer, close enough that he could see the gold flecks in her angry eyes. “What have you done with them?”
Hugo rose from his chair, noting how she tensed as he moved around the desk. “I’ve ensured they have everything they need.”
“That’s not an answer.” Her chin lifted defiantly. “You’re evading the question which means you’ve done something you know I won’t approve of.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.” She backed up a step as he approached. “You’ve sent them away, haven’t you? Packed them off to some institution where you won’t have to deal with them cluttering up your perfect estate.”
Hugo’s jaw tightened. “Is that what you think of me?”
“I think you’re a man who says whatever is necessary to get what he wants.” Another step backward. “I think you made promises you never intended to keep just to secure my cooperation in this marriage.”
“Cooperation.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue. “How very romantic of you.”
“Don’t twist this around.” Her back was nearly against the wall now, though she seemed unaware of it. “You lied to me. You tricked me into marrying you with false promises about caring for those children.”
False promises. The accusation hit hard.
“I see.” Hugo continued his advance, his voice dropping to that dangerously quiet tone his daughters knew to fear. “So, in your estimation, I’m not only a liar but a manipulator as well.”
“I—” She stumbled backward as he came up against her so suddenly until her shoulders hit the paneled wall. “I didn’t say that exactly.”
“Didn’t you?” He stopped just close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, close enough that she couldn’t help but be aware of his height, his breadth, the way his presence seemed to fill the space around her.
“Because it sounded very much like you were accusing me of deliberate deception.”
Sybil’s breathing had gone shallow, her eyes wide as she realized her position. Trapped between Hugo’s imposing form and the unyielding wall with nowhere to retreat.
“I-I just want to know where they are,” she said though her voice had lost some of its earlier fire.
“Do you?” He braced one hand against the wall beside her head, leaning closer. “Or do you want to believe the worst of me? Does it make it easier to maintain distance in our marriage if you can convince yourself I’m untrustworthy?”
“That’s not… I don’t…” She swallowed hard, her gaze flickering to his mouth before jerking back to his eyes.
“You don’t what?” His voice was silk over steel. “You don’t want to maintain distance? You don’t find it convenient to think poorly of me? That I would break my word to you so callously?”
Say yes. Give me a reason to be angry instead of whatever this is.
But she didn’t say yes. Instead, she stared up at him with those impossibly blue eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her bodice.
“I don’t break my promises.” His voice was deathly calm now, each word precisely enunciated. “Ever. Nor do I need to resort to manipulation to achieve my ends.”
She blinked up at him, confusion replacing some of the fear in her expression.
“The girls are housed in the Assembly room in town,” he continued, his amber eyes never leaving her face.
“The building has been completely renovated and refurbished to serve as their permanent residence. They have proper dormitories, a dedicated schoolroom, private quarters for Beverly and Marge, and a kitchen staff to ensure they’re well-fed. ”
He watched the words sink in and saw the moment understanding dawned.
“You… you bought them a building?”
“I bought them a home.” His hand slid down to rest against her throat, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse. “Where they can live with dignity and independence and where they can continue their education without being treated as charity cases or unwanted burdens.”
Sybil’s lips parted in shock. “But why there? Why not here?”
“Because here they would be guests in my household, subject to the whims and schedules of my staff. There they have privacy, space to grow, room to become the remarkable women I suspect they’re destined to be.
” He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.
“And it’s easier for my guards to ensure their protection when they’re not scattered throughout a castle designed for a much smaller household. ”
Protection. From what? But she didn’t ask, couldn’t form the words when he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“I thought…” She stopped, shook her head. “I thought you’d sent them away. I thought you’d gotten what you wanted from our marriage and decided they were no longer your concern.”
“Did you?” His mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “And what exactly did you think I wanted from our marriage?”
The question hung between them, heavy with implications neither seemed ready to voice.
A convenient mother for your daughters. A respectable wife to enhance your reputation. Someone to manage your household while you focus on more important matters.
But looking into his amber eyes, seeing the intensity burning there, she wasn’t sure those answers were correct anymore.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“No,” Hugo agreed, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. “You don’t. But you’re learning.”
Before she could ask what he meant, before she could process the implications of his words or the way her body was responding to his proximity, a blood-curdling scream echoed through the castle.
Hugo stepped back immediately, his head turning toward the corridor as another scream followed the first—this one high-pitched and desperate, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps and shouted orders.
“What in God’s name—” he began.
But Sybil was already moving, pushing past him toward the door despite her earlier shakiness. “Someone’s in trouble.”
Someone’s in trouble. And despite everything—despite their argument and her accusations and the way she’d looked at him with such distrust—her first instinct was to help.
Remarkable woman.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered though he suspected she’d ignore him entirely.
Another scream echoed through the corridors, and Hugo found himself hoping that whatever crisis awaited them would be something they could handle together.
Because despite her doubts about his character, despite her fears about his motivations, he was beginning to suspect that Sybil was exactly the partner he’d never known he needed.
If only she could learn to trust me.