Sibyl paused, recalling the hard look in the Duke’s eyes. “The Duke may be a complicated man, but he is adamant about protecting Rosie. He seemed offended at the thought of him harming her, and that is all that matters to me. I think he will be good to me.”
“If he is not, he will have both your brothers-in-law and us to answer to.”
Sibyl mustered a smile, and Hermia pulled her in for a hug. Collapsing into her sister’s arms, Sibyl sighed.
“You are an excellent mother, Sibyl,” Hermia whispered. “And you deserve to have the story I watched you read over and over for years. You deserve love and compassion and endless warmth every day for the rest of your life.”
Sibyl swallowed thickly, thinking once again of the Duke and his declaration that if she had been his, he would not need another woman in his bed.
She nodded and pulled away, trying not to think of love or how long she had dreamed of it. Instead, she thought of her impending wedding, wondering when it would take place.
The ceremony that was held two days later was far from what Sibyl had ever imagined.
Growing up, she had envisioned arches of roses she would walk through to reach her husband, who would be wearing a fine silver silk tailcoat and a broad smile. He would watch her with immense devotion, knowing that shewas the one he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
She had imagined friends upon friends lining the pews, her family growing, and herself young and bright, full of life and excitement and love for the man she would wed.
Her stomach dipped as she entered one of the smaller churches on the outskirts of London, an elegant but simple place. It was nothing like the grand churches where Isabella and Hermia got married. No, this church was small, quaint, and it felt both right under the circumstances and wrong for the girl she had once been.
Earlier that week, she had been a countess, and now she was walking down the aisle on her father’s arm to become the Duchess of Stonehelm, and that difference still had not fully sunk in.
To her right, her family did fill the pews, but she could see no friend among them. Indeed, it had been a long time since she had a true friend.
As for the man at the end of the aisle…
He was not in silver, but a fine, velvet tailcoat of the darkest gray that made his brown eyes look warmer despite their intensity.
Sibyl swallowed, tightening her arm around her father’s. She was quite close to him, as she loved to chatter about her books while he pored over his own. But even if he wanted to offer her any comfort now, he did not.
She was tired of waiting for things that did not come, so she fixed her eyes on her soon-to-be husband, a man who had already pulled her from the brink of ruin and faced her future.
When she stood at the altar, she could scarcely look at him. But he cleared his throat, studying her.
“You look… well,” he offered. “Despite everything. The gown suits you.”
“You did not have to go through the trouble of commissioning it for me,” she mumbled, glancing down at the plain but pretty white dress that had few lace adornments or pearls, nothing at all like the wedding gown she had once dreamed of.
Still, she was grateful. Greater sacrifices had been made.
“I promised I would handle everything,” he reminded her.
And he truly had.
As one, they turned to the vicar, and Sibyl let the nerves of being married twice by the age of twenty crash over her.
Heavens, Hermia had not even been married once at four-and-twenty, yet she had always considered Sibyl so young in comparison.
As they spoke their vows, Sibyl smiled at the sound of Rosie fussing in Hannah’s arms. She stole a glance at her daughter, unable to resist. But as she turned back to the vicar, she caught the Duke clenching his jaw and staring at Rosie, too.
Hermia became a stepparent,Sibyl assured herself.The Duke does not have to be a father figure to Rosie. Besides, he knows what he agreed to.
She swallowed down her worries and focused back on the vows as they drew to a close. She waited for some sort of declaration from the Duke, some promise of safety and security, but he only nodded curtly before turning to his only guest.
An auburn-haired man with tight curls stood tall in the front pew on his side, his shoulders relaxed and his smile easy when Sibyl caught his eye.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“That is the Marquess of Averby,” the Duke replied. “I will introduce you properly once you bid farewell to your family.”
