Chapter 30 #2
The words warmed her more than they should have, making her think again of the secret she was carrying. Soon, perhaps very soon, she’d be able to share her joy with the man who’d given her so much.
But first, the fundraiser. First, I prove to myself and everyone else that I’m not just the Duke’s convenient wife but a woman with purpose and power of her own.
“I should go,” she said, rising on her toes to press a quick kiss to Hugo’s cheek. “Mrs. Patterson will have my head if I’m late.”
“Take the carriage,” Hugo called after her. “And don’t let anyone intimidate you. You’re a duchess now—act like one.”
And as she made her way to the morning room where the committee was gathering, Sybil felt the truth of it settle into her bones. She was no longer Sybil Gillies, the disgraced Earl’s daughter running an orphanage. She was the Duchess of Vestiaire, and she had work to do.
The committee meeting had gone better than expected. Lady Pemberton proved to be an excellent organizer, and even the normally difficult Lady Worthington had agreed to contribute both funds and influence to the cause.
But it was the confrontation afterward that truly tested Sybil’s newfound confidence.
She’d been reviewing seating arrangements with Lady Pemberton when a familiar voice cut through their conversation like a knife.
“How touching,” Lady Hartwell drawled, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “The Duke’s new wife is taking up charity work. Though I suppose such causes must feel quite personal to you.”
Lady Hartwell. The same woman who snubbed me at my own wedding.
Sybil looked up slowly, noting the malicious gleam in the older woman’s eyes. Lady Hartwell had never forgiven the world for her son’s untimely death in that duel with Sybil’s father—a death that had saved Emmie from further humiliation but cost the family their heir.
“Lady Hartwell,” Sybil said calmly. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Is it? I can’t imagine why, given our… history.” The woman’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Though I must say, you’ve done quite well for yourself. From running a charity orphanage to being a duchess—quite the elevation.”
She’s trying to make it sound sordid. As if I somehow tricked my way into this marriage.
“Indeed. I’ve been very fortunate in my husband’s support for causes dear to my heart.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re dear to your heart. After all, you must have such sympathy for children without proper families. Growing up as you did.”
The implication hung in the air like poison. That Sybil had somehow been neglected, abandoned, left to fend for herself like the orphans she’d cared for.
She’s trying to embarrass me. Trying to remind everyone of my family’s scandal.
Around them, conversation had grown quieter. Other committee members were pretending not to listen while hanging on every word.
“My childhood was quite secure, thank you,” Sybil replied evenly. “As was my sister’s until tragedy struck. Which is precisely why I understand the importance of providing stability for children who’ve lost that security through no fault of their own.”
“How noble. Though one does wonder about the wisdom of putting someone with such… personal investment in charge of managing funds. Emotion can cloud judgment after all.”
Personal investment. As if caring about children’s welfare were somehow disqualifying.
Lady Pemberton cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Perhaps we should return to the seating arrangements—”
“Actually,” Sybil interrupted, her voice growing stronger, “I think Lady Hartwell raises an interesting point about emotion and judgment.”
She rose from her chair, drawing herself up to her full height. Around the room, conversations stopped entirely.
“You’re quite right that I have a personal investment in this cause.
I’ve seen what happens to children who have nowhere else to turn.
I’ve held crying girls who aged out of inadequate institutions with no prospects and no family to support them.
I’ve watched intelligent, capable young women reduced to desperate measures because society offered them no alternatives. ”
Her voice was growing stronger with each word, the power of her conviction lending authority to her tone.
“And yes, that experience gives me emotional investment. It also gives me practical knowledge that most people in this room lack. I know what these children actually need, not what sounds charitable in drawing room conversation.”
Lady Hartwell’s face had gone pink. “I hardly think—”
“Furthermore,” Sybil continued, not allowing the interruption, “I am the Duchess of Vestiaire. My husband trusts my judgment completely as do the other members of this committee who voted unanimously to put me in charge of this project. If you find my qualifications insufficient, you’re welcome to withdraw your support and find other ways to occupy your time. ”
There. Let her try to dismiss me now.
The room had gone dead silent. Lady Hartwell stared at her with obvious shock, clearly unused to being challenged so directly.
“Well,” the older woman said finally, her voice tight with suppressed fury, “I see marriage has given you quite the sense of your own importance.”
“Marriage has given me the resources and position to help people who need it. I intend to use both to their fullest extent.” Sybil’s smile was polite but steel-edged. “Now, unless you have constructive suggestions about the charity, I believe we’ve concluded our business here.”
Lady Hartwell gathered her reticule with sharp, angry movements. “Indeed, we have. Good day, ladies.”
She swept from the room with as much dignity as she could muster, leaving behind a stunned silence.
“Well,” Lady Pemberton said finally, “that was certainly… direct.”
“I apologize if I was too forceful,” Sybil said, suddenly uncertain. “But I won’t allow anyone to undermine this project or suggest I’m unfit to lead it.”
“Forceful?” Lady Worthington laughed, the sound bright and approving. “My dear, that was magnificent. Lady Hartwell has been terrorizing committee meetings for years. It’s about time someone put her in her place.”
“Really?”
“Really. You handled that with exactly the authority your position demands.” Lady Pemberton began gathering her papers with obvious satisfaction. “I suspect word of this will spread rather quickly through society. Which can only help our cause.”
Word will spread that the new Duchess of Vestiaire won’t be bullied or dismissed.
As Sybil made her way home in the carriage, she found herself replaying the confrontation with growing confidence. For the first time since her marriage, she’d truly felt like a duchess—not just Hugo’s wife but a woman with power and position in her own right.
The thought of sharing this victory with her husband made her glow with anticipation, and beneath that, the secret knowledge of what she might be carrying made everything seem bright with possibility.
If I am pregnant, our child will have a mother who stands up for what’s right. A mother who isn’t afraid to use her position to help others.
The carriage pulled up in front of their townhouse, and Sybil practically floated up the front steps. She found Hugo in his study, reviewing correspondence with his steward.
“How did the committee meeting go?” he asked, looking up with a smile that faded when he saw her expression. “What happened? You look…”
“Triumphant?”
“That’s one word for it. What did you do?”
So she told him. Everything, from Lady Hartwell’s snide implications to her own firm response. Hugo listened without interruption, his expression growing more approving with each detail.
“And then she left in a huff,” Sybil finished, “and Lady Worthington said I was magnificent.”
“You were magnificent,” Hugo said, rising from his chair to cross to her. “Absolutely magnificent. That’s exactly how a duchess should handle such situations.”
“You’re not concerned that I was too confrontational? Too direct?”
“I’m concerned that you might doubt yourself after such a perfect display of authority.
” Hugo’s hands came up to frame her face.
“Sybil, you stood up for yourself, for the project, and for the children you’re trying to help.
You used your position exactly as it should be used. I couldn’t be prouder.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For giving me the position that allowed me to stand up to her. For supporting my work. For believing in me.”
For giving me a life where I can be more than I ever dreamed possible.
Hugo’s thumb traced her cheek with devastating gentleness. “You gave yourself the strength to stand up to her. I just gave you the title to make it official.”
The title, yes. But also so much more. Love, partnership, the possibility of family.
Her hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach again, and this time, Hugo noticed.
“Are you feeling well? You’ve been touching your stomach rather frequently today.”
Now. Should I tell him now?
But even as the words formed, caution held her tongue. Too early. Too uncertain. Too precious to risk disappointment.
“Just excited, I think. About the fundraiser, about everything we’re building together.”
Everything we might be building together.
“Good,” Hugo said, pulling her closer. “Because this is just the beginning. You’re going to change things, Sybil. Make a real difference in the world.”
We’re going to change things. Together.
And as Hugo kissed her in the afternoon sunlight streaming through his study windows, Sybil allowed herself to believe that their future was as bright as it seemed.
Their future. And possibly their child’s future too.