“You are seeking a villain, Duchess, but it is not me. Your late husband was the real villain in your story. Not only in your story, but also in your daughter’s.”
Sibyl’s voice shook as she looked askance at him, trying to slow her pounding heart. “Then tell me more.”
He held her gaze for another few long moments, so long that she felt both unmoored and grounded at once—a dizzying sensation.
“What I will tell you, Duchess, is that you andRosewill have whatever your hearts’ desire. Nobody will harm you, nobody will come after you, and you will have my protection.”
Sibyl looked him up and down, nodding slowly. “Then thank you.”
Chapter Five
As promised, Stonehelm Hall came into view a short while later, and Sibyl had to stop her lips from parting in shock.
It was the most beautiful, grandest manor she had ever seen. Nestled in a thicket of trees, with all shining, bright windows, and vines creeping up the walls. Wings extended from the central part of the house, and already she could see servants bustling about through the windows and in the expansive gardens.
Far off, still within the boundaries of the estate, there was a lake. Sibyl’s heart soared at the sight of it. She had loved reading in summer by the lake in Wickleby Hall.
But while that had been a grand estate, it was nothing like this.
A wide, curving driveway guided the carriage right up to the main doors that stood atop a sweeping, stone staircase, where more servants were lined up to greet her.
Sibyl’s pulse jumped as she soared out of the carriage, joy lifting her out for once. The manor looked like something out of a fairytale, something beautiful and romantic, a grand setting for a grand love story. And while Sibyl knew that was not her own narrative, she loved the comfort it brought.
“It is as grand as my brothers-in-law’s residences,” she breathed, tipping her head back to marvel at the height of the building.
“It is yours, too,” the Duke told her, closing the door behind him.
He didn’t touch her this time, but he did guide her towards the second carriage that had pulled up. Sibyl made a dash for the door, yanking it open and sighing in relief as soon as Rosie was pushed into her arms.
“Heavens, you are all right,” she whispered into her baby’s forehead, nuzzling her soft skin.
“Of course she is,” the Duke muttered. “One day, you will listen to me.”
“You are still a stranger,” she reminded him, only to turn around and find him rolling his eyes before beckoning her towards the front steps.
Holding her daughter close to her chest, Sibyl tried to imagine how Hermia or Isabella would have greeted their staff. A pleasant smile, straight back, confidence radiating from them, even if they felt nervous.
So Sibyl adapted, as she knew she would have to, and posed as perfect a duchess as she could be, reminding herself that she had already successfully run a household as a countess. Kerrington House was nowhere near the size or grandeur of Stonehelm Hall, but she had still done it.
Nodding her head in acknowledgement to the cook, the butler—an older man, almost too old looking to still be working, named Mr. Alterton, who cooed at Rosie fondly, and then a handful of chambermaids.
Finally, Sibyl met Mrs. Pentwood, the housekeeper, a woman who looked slightly younger than her mother. There was a fierce, proud smile on her face as she welcomed the new Duchess to Stonehelm Hall.
Sibyl smiled back, glancing at the Duke, but he only nodded at her once before disappearing inside.
For a moment, she stood there on the steps, uncertain, not knowing how to begin her new life.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Pentwood prompted, sweeping a hand towards the open doors. “Let me show you and your daughter to your rooms. Your nursemaid may come, too.”
Sibyl nodded back to Hannah. They went inside, and once again she fought to keep her mouth from dropping open in wonder.
Despite the Duke’s dark preferences and demeanor, Stonehelm Hall was strangelybright.The walls were pale and trimmed with gold, and many paintings of villages and ocean landscapes lined the hallways.
She paused in the hallway to the bedchambers, eyeing up a painting of a flower-filled meadow, lilacs and pinks blooming on the canvas.
She cocked her head at it before Mrs. Pentwood cleared her throat.
“The…” She struggled to find the right words. “The décor does not seem to match His Grace’s taste.”
