She didn’t want to offend, but she couldn’t endure any more company. There had already been too many faces, too many voices this week, and she craved to simply sink into the hot water with her thoughts.
As soon as Charlotte curtseyed her way out of the bathing chamber, Sibyl yanked off her wedding gown and dropped it carelessly on the floor. Then, she picked it up and draped it over the chair near the door before turning back to the bath.
The hot water welcomed her into its soothing embrace, and she sighed, letting it submerge her head. Steam curled around her fingers on the tub’s edges, and her hair fanned out.
Fatigue weighed down her bones, making them feel heavy. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let her mind drift, feeling the water soothe away the week’s aches and tension.
But one thing remained: the Duke’s brown eyes, accentuated by his dark suit at the altar, but otherwise so hard and dark when he was angry. His voice echoed in her mind—how it had been soft with her one moment and berating the next. How he had looked at her, amused and intrigued, as if he couldn’t guess what she would say next.
And then there was Isabella’s teasing comment about how she and Hermia had discovered that dukes liked a little arguing.
Sibyl was not about to tread into such territory, but she couldn’t deny that her thoughts didn’t circle back to her new husband.
Chapter Six
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Mr. Alterton said, right as she stepped out into the hallway. “I just went to your chambers to fetch you. Dinner is served, and His Grace has requested that you dine with him tonight.”
It was getting darker outside by the time Sibyl slipped out of the nursery after helping Hannah put Rosie to bed.
While she trusted her nursemaid, it was Rosie’s first night in a new home. She was nervous, and Rosie had been fussing throughout the evening as if she knew she was in a new place.
She just wanted her daughter to be well settled and comfortable.
Sibyl froze. She had not expected the invitation. After all, Isabella had once confessed how many evenings she had spent alone in her chambers because she and Oscar had not wanted to spend time together at the beginning of their marriage. Sibyl had simply assumed the same.
Why would the Duke want to dine with her?
Butterflies fluttered deep in her stomach, and she nodded. Charlotte had dressed her for dinner—just in case—after her bath, so she was prepared to follow Mr. Alterton. After all, the Duke had saved her; she could hardly turn down one dinner invitation.
They had spent time together already. Surely an hour or so couldn’t be too bad.
The grand dining hall was the same as every other part of the manor: unexpectedly opulent and light. A chandelier hung above a long, dark dining table surrounded by more chairs than needed.
The table itself was laid with more candles and platters of food to be served. An empty wine glass sat at one end of the table, and at the other sat the Duke himself.
Gone was his gray tailcoat from their wedding ceremony, replaced by a sleek black tailcoat over a loose ivory shirt and a black waistcoat. His hair, mussed when she had first met him, had been combed perfectly for the wedding, but now it was messy again, as though he had endlessly run his fingers through it.
“Good evening.” His voice resonated through the dining hall, seemingly bouncing off every corner and wall.
Sibyl remembered how often she had thought of him during her bath and suppressed a shiver. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
He gave an amused huff. “Your Grace,” he echoed. “Do you wish to remain so formal?”
“That depends.” Heavens, her voice was a whisper as she moved closer to the seat opposite him.
As soon as she sat down, she felt miles away from him. Something about it felt both wrong and right.
“On?” he prompted.
The way he regarded her with a cocked eyebrow, that amused smile on his face, made her stomach flip.
“On whether you are ready to be informal with one another. I would assume a duke would see himself above a countess.”
“You are my Duchess,” he corrected. “My equal.”
“Regardless, I know where I come from.”
“So you wish to remain formal,” he said. It was not a question.
