Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
The carriage wheel hit a particularly vicious rut, jolting Sybil against the padded seat with enough force to rattle her teeth.
She didn’t so much as glance at Hugo, who sat across from her in stony silence, his amber eyes fixed on the passing countryside with the determined concentration of a man avoiding conversation at all costs.
The rigid set of his shoulders and the way his jaw clenched every time she shifted in her seat told her everything she needed to know about his mood.
Good. Let him sulk.
Three days of this arctic politeness, three days of speaking only when necessary, three days of pretending the other didn’t exist while trapped in the same carriage. It would have been almost amusing if it weren’t so infuriating.
He moved up our departure specifically to get me away from any ‘dangerous situations.’ As if I were some wayward child who needed to be managed.
The worst part was that he hadn’t even bothered to lie about it.
When she’d questioned the sudden change in plans, he’d simply informed her that circumstances required an earlier return to London.
When she’d pressed for specifics, he’d given her a look that could have frozen hellfire and declared that the matter was not open for discussion.
Arrogant, controlling, impossible man.
“Are you quite certain you’re comfortable, Sybil?” Rosalie asked from her seat beside Hugo, her voice carefully neutral. “You’ve been rather… quiet during the journey.”
Quiet. Such a diplomatic way to describe the deafening silence that’s characterized this trip.
“Perfectly comfortable, thank you,” Sybil replied, not taking her eyes from the window. “I find the countryside quite absorbing.”
“Indeed,” Hugo said dryly. “Particularly the same stretch of countryside you’ve been studying for the past hour.”
He speaks! Will wonders never cease?
Sybil turned to meet his gaze directly, noting the challenge in his amber eyes. “I find repetitive scenery soothing. So much more pleasant than repetitive conversation.”
Take that, Your Grace.
Hugo’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “How fortunate that you’ve been spared such tedium.”
“Isn’t it just?”
Rosalie looked between them with growing concern. “Perhaps we might discuss the evening’s entertainment? I confess I’m rather nervous about my first London ball.”
Nervous. Poor darling has no idea what awaits her.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Sybil said, her voice softening as she turned her attention to the girl. “You’re beautiful, accomplished, and charming. London society will adore you.”
“Will they?” Rosalie’s voice held a note of uncertainty that made Sybil’s chest tighten. “I’ve heard such stories about the ton. About how cruel they can be to anyone who doesn’t meet their exacting standards.”
Cruel. If only she knew how accurate that assessment is.
“Some people can be unkind,” Sybil admitted carefully. “But most are simply ordinary people trying to navigate the same social complexities you are.”
“But what if I make a mistake? What if I say the wrong thing or dance with the wrong person or commit some terrible social error?”
What if you trust the wrong man? What if you believe pretty promises that turn out to be lies? What if you let someone convince you that reputation doesn’t matter?
But she couldn’t say any of that. Not directly.
“Mistakes are inevitable,” Sybil said instead. “The key is learning from them without letting them define you.”
“That’s rather philosophical,” Hugo observed though his tone was less sharp than before. “Do you have specific advice for avoiding social pitfalls?”
Specific advice. Like warning her about charming men who make promises they don’t intend to keep?
“Be cautious about private conversations with gentlemen you don’t know well,” Sybil said, choosing her words carefully. “What seems like harmless flirtation to you might be interpreted quite differently by observers.”
“What sort of interpretation?” Rosalie asked.
“The sort that leads to whispers and speculation about your character,” Sybil replied. “Even the most innocent interactions can be misinterpreted by malicious tongues.”
“How so?” Rosalie asked.
“Well, I once heard of a young lady who trusted a charming gentleman’s promises,” Sybil said carefully. “She believed his declarations of devotion, thought his attentions were honorable. By the time she realized his true intentions, it was far too late.”
If only it were just a story I’d heard.
“Too late how?” Rosalie’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“She found herself in an… unfortunate situation,” Sybil said delicately. “Ruined, abandoned by the very man who had sworn to protect her. When she needed help most, he simply disappeared.”
And when our parents discovered her condition, they threw her out like refuse.
“How dreadful!” Rosalie exclaimed. “Surely her family would have helped her?”
Sybil’s throat tightened. “Not all families prioritize their daughters’ welfare over their own reputations.”
Not when scandal threatens the family name.
“But surely if she’d done nothing wrong—” Rosalie began.
“It doesn’t matter what she’d actually done,” Sybil said firmly. “It only matters what people believed she’d done. And once a woman’s reputation is compromised, society shows no mercy.”
Rosalie was quiet for a moment, absorbing this sobering reality. “What became of her?”
She died alone and frightened, calling for a mother who never came.
“She… left society,” Sybil said finally. “Found a different life away from London. But at great cost.”
“How sad,” Rosalie murmured. “To have one’s entire future destroyed by malicious gossip.”
“Indeed,” Hugo said quietly, and something in his tone made Sybil glance at him. His amber eyes held a strange intensity, as though he were seeing connections she hadn’t intended to reveal.
“It’s an extreme example,” Sybil said quickly. “Most social errors are far less consequential. The important thing is to be aware that people are watching and judging, especially during your first Season.”
“Are there other stories I should know about?” Rosalie asked. “Other cautionary tales that might help me avoid similar mistakes?”
Other stories. Where do I even begin?
“Well,” Sybil said carefully, “I heard of another young lady who nearly eloped with a gentleman she’d known for only a few weeks. She thought it was terribly romantic, thought he was rescuing her from a dull life of conventional expectations.”
Another young lady. As if Anthea’s near-escape weren’t seared into my memory.
“Nearly eloped?” Rosalie’s eyes widened. “What stopped her?”
“Her friends. They discovered that the gentleman in question was already married, that he’d been leading her to believe they were truly wed when in fact the ceremony was a sham.”
A sham performed by an actor paid to play a priest.
“Good heavens!” Rosalie looked genuinely shocked. “What sort of man would do such a thing?”
“The sort who sees young women as entertainment rather than human beings,” Sybil said grimly. “The sort who believes that charm and good looks give him license to manipulate anyone foolish enough to trust him.”
“But how could she have known?” Rosalie asked. “If he was convincing enough to fool her into believing they were married…”
“She couldn’t have known,” Sybil admitted. “That’s what made her vulnerable. She believed his promises because she wanted to believe them, because he told her exactly what she wanted to hear.”
“That’s terrifying,” Rosalie said quietly. “To think that someone could seem so genuine while planning such deception.”
“It is terrifying,” Sybil agreed. “But it’s also why you need people around you who care about your welfare. Friends who will ask difficult questions even when you don’t want to hear them.”
Friends who will drag you away from danger even when you think they’re ruining your life.
“Friends like you?” Rosalie asked hopefully.
“Friends like me,” Sybil confirmed, reaching over to squeeze the girl’s hand. “I promise to help guide you through whatever complications arise. And to ask those difficult questions when necessary.”
“Thank you,” Rosalie said warmly. “I feel much better knowing you’ll be there to help me navigate any… difficulties.”
“We’ll all be there,” Hugo said quietly, speaking for the first time in several minutes. “Your safety and reputation are our primary concerns.”
But Sybil found herself nodding anyway. “Your father is right.”
Hugo’s eyes met hers briefly, and she saw something that might have been gratitude before his expression shuttered again.
“I’m very fortunate,” Rosalie said, clearly unaware of the undercurrents swirling around her. “To have parents who care so much about my welfare.”
Parents. The casual assumption sent an unexpected pang through Sybil’s chest.
“Yes,” she managed. “You are.”
The ballgowns were waiting in her chamber when they arrived at Hugo’s London townhouse—three of them, each more stunning than the last, arranged on the bed like a rainbow of silk and satin.
Sybil stood in the doorway, staring at the unexpected bounty with something approaching shock. She’d expected many things upon their return to London, but not this. Not evidence that Hugo had been thinking about her comfort and appearance even while maintaining his arctic silence.
A peace offering. It has to be.
The first gown was deep sapphire blue, cut in the latest fashion with intricate beadwork that caught the afternoon light. The second was pale gold, elegant and understated, with delicate embroidery at the bodice and sleeves. The third…
Dear Heavens.
The third was the color of burgundy wine, rich and dramatic, with a neckline that was daring without being scandalous and a silhouette that would emphasize every curve.
He chose these. Personally selected each one based on what he thought would suit me.
The realization sent heat spiraling through her chest, followed immediately by irritation at her own reaction.