“They are following behind in a carriage with one of my footmen,” he assured her quickly. “Do not fret.”
But fret was all Sibyl found herself doing as the carriage rolled towards the countryside, leaving London and its recent horrors far, far behind. Her eyes strayed not to the buildings and townhouses she was thinking a merciful goodbye to, but to the carriage that held her daughter.
She ought to have checked. She should have kissed her daughter’s forehead before she got into the carriage. She should have?—
“Your daughter is fine, Duchess,” the Duke said, frustration lacing his voice. “Do you think I would wish her harm?”
“Do excuse me if I do not trust anybody at the moment,” Sibyl snapped back, the tension of the day finally crashing through her now that she was away from the eyes of her family, the well-wishers, and the distraction of the ceremony itself.
“That is fair, but you do not need to crane your neck almost out the window every time we turn a corner,” the Duke protested. “The ride to Stonehelm is short, so your daughter will be fine without you.”
“I do what I must,” Sibyl huffed, craning her neck yet again to catch another glimpse of Rosie’s carriage, ensure it was following behind. If she squinted, she could see the small bundle in Hannah’s arms, safely held. “I do not need you to lecture me as though I am a child.”
The Duke was silent long enough that she dragged her focus back to him. She realized that was his intention: to distract her. He gave her a long, cool look.
“I am not lecturing you,” he eventually said, “I am making an observation, and you are far too nervous.”
Sibyl scoffed. “And justly so for my child!”
The Duke reared back, surprising her.
Was he truly offended?
“Do you truly think I would harm your child? How many times do I need to say it? I will never let anything happen to Rosie.”
“Rose.”
“What?”
“It is Rose to those who are not familiar with her.”
It was a foolish, prideful comment, but it was true. Still, it was petty of her to use that argument. The Duke cocked his head, amused.
“Your Grace, I still do not know you from a stranger, so how can I trust you? You stepped into my home and asserted your authority with scarcely an explanation. I have no reason to believe a word out of your mouth.”
“I am no stranger.” The Duke’s voice lowered to a growl. “I will make sure your daughter survives the chaos your late husband has left behind, and I am doing the same for you. That alone ought to matter.”
Sibyl bristled. “So you think I must believe everything you say and do because you are saving me? Trust is not so easily given or earned.”
“I know.”
“I would like to trust you,” she allowed. “So let me ask you something.”
The Duke looked across the carriage at her, waiting.
When she spoke, she was glad her voice didn’t tremble. “Why did you buy Edmund’s debts? What was your grievance with him?”
The Duke’s expression shuttered, and Sibyl knew she had pushed too far too quickly. “That is none of your concern.”
“Oh, but it is,” she scoffed. “For how do I know that your wrath towards him does not extend to my daughter and me?”
“Were you a Kerrington four years ago? Even two years ago?” he asked suddenly.
Sibyl shook her head.
The Duke leaned in, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Then my wrath does not extend to you.”
Sibyl’s breath caught when he braced his hand on the bench between them.
