“A good observation.” Mrs. Pentwood gave her a strange smile but didn’t elaborate.
Sibyl was too eager to retire to her room to question it. Besides, she wanted to see Rosie settled more than she wanted to question the housekeeper about a man whom she could go directly to and ask.
They moved onward, pausing at a white door painted with pink droplet-like shapes around the frame.
“His Grace requested that the nursery for Lady Rose be moved next to the Duchess’s chambers, which are, of course, now yours.”
“Thank you,” Sibyl said gratefully, relieved she would not have to stay far from her daughter.
Edmund had always insisted that, with Hannah around, Sibyl did not need to sleep next door to their child. But what mother didn’t want to be at her child’s side?
She recalled how far from her parents her childhood bedroom had felt, how far they had been whenever she was scared, or the storms wailed too loudly at her window in the countryside; hence, she wanted to make sure Rosie never felt that way.
The Duke’s promise to take care of them both echoed in her mind, and her conflicting feelings seemed to soften. Perhaps he really was looking out for them.
“Perhaps your nursemaid can take Rosie for a mid-afternoon nap to allow you some rest, Your Grace? It must have been a long day for you, after all.”
“Of course,” Hannah said quickly, curtseying and taking Rosie from Sibyl’s arms.
Still, as soon as Rosie was taken away, still swaddled in blankets and a baby gown, Sibyl was hesitant to let her go in this new, strange manor. Hannah’s presence was comforting enough to let go, but everything else was jarring.
She watched Hannah disappear into the nursery, straining to look until the last moment before she had to turn back to Mrs. Pentwood.
“I shall show you to your chambers,” the housekeeper said, gesturing for her to walk on to the next room. She opened the door for her and stepped back.
To her surprise, Sibyl stepped into a wide, circular room with brighter décor and silver furnishings. It was opulent and beautiful, expansive and luscious, and far bigger than her chamber in Kerrington House. Her breath caught as she took in the four-poster bed, framed with gauzy, white curtains, and the writing desk beneath the window.
“The writing desk has been stocked,” Mrs. Pentwood assured, noting her attention, “and His Grace was discreetly informed of your love of reading, so he had a personal collection brought up from the main library.”
She gestured with a graceful hand towards a bookcase, modest but plenty for a bedchamber. Sibyl’s eyes filled with tears at the sight, foolish but inevitable. She had lost that part of herself and grieved it, yet here it was, so willing to welcome her back with open arms.
I wonder who told him and when.
She moved further into the room as Mrs. Pentwood opened another door that led to a bathing chamber. Inside, a petite maidwas finishing laying out some oil vials on the windowsill next to a steaming bath.
“This is Charlotte,” Mrs. Pentwood introduced. “She is your lady’s maid here and shall assist with anything you require. Do not hesitate to ask any of us. His Grace has given very strict orders that any change you wish to make be carried out. We are at your service.”
“Thank you,” Sibyl said, not used to such steadfast servants. “Pleasure to meet you, Charlotte.”
“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.” Charlotte curtsied.
The staff at Kerrington House had been welcoming, and her butler had been ever so protective, the housekeeper firm and strict, but they had been more loyal to their master than Sibyl, even if they had come to pity her.
“There is one more thing, Your Grace,” Mrs. Pentwood added, pausing in the main bedroom as Sibyl walked back out. “This door here connects to His Grace’s. So you are nearest your daughter, but he is on your other side.”
It felt like a symbol of his promise to protect—that he was on her side, that he was never too far from her.
Sibyl nodded, eyeing the door curiously.
Is he in there now? Perhaps he’s in his study, already buried in work. Perhaps he left the estate altogether after I entered.
Pushing the Duke out of her mind, Sibyl nodded again.
Mrs. Pentwood excused herself, promising to call her for dinner soon enough.
Sibyl went back to the bathing chamber, just as Charlotte straightened. “Your bath is ready, Your Grace. I have laid out a selection of oils to use on your hair or?—”
“I would like to bathe alone, if you do not mind,” Sibyl said gently.
