What had made her so paranoid about leaving her child, even with her own nursemaid?
Gabriel understood how daunting caring for a baby could be, but had she always been so worried?
“I do not need to?—”
“Yes, you do,” he interrupted. “Hannah?”
Hannah reached for Rosie again.
“Now you are the one being rude, Your Grace,” Sibyl snapped. “I will not bend to your whim just because you’re my husband.”
“No, Duchess. As your husband, I wish to make sure that you have actually eaten something in the last twenty-four hours. Follow me. Your nursemaid has been looking after Lady Rose for four months already.”
He could see how reluctant she still was, how she hesitated even as she battled with the truth.
“An hour,” he told her. “Give me one hour.”
Seconds ticked by before Sibyl finally nodded and handed Rosie to Hannah.
Gabriel took her hand, making sure she followed him. He didn’t put it past her to try to slip into her chambers on their way back to the staircase.
She started at his touch, but he didn’t drop her hand, and he most definitely didn’t think of how soft her skin was, how her palm fit so snugly against his.
He led her into the dining hall and pulled out the chair she had sat in the night prior. Sibyl dropped into it heavily, and he noticed how she swayed slightly.
Gabriel bit back a question as he sat adjacent to her. He told himself it was only so he could stop her in case she fled again, but part of him knew he wanted to beclose to her.
He beckoned a footman over. “Please serve Her Grace a bowl of white soup, followed by the chickenfricassée. I do believe both dishes are her favorites.”
“Right away, Your Grace.” The footman bowed and retreated.
Gabriel kept his eyes on Sibyl, a knowing smile tugging at his lips when her stomach growled again, and her tongue poked out to wet her lips.
“You… chose well,” she muttered, averting her gaze.
“I could sense how hard it was for you to admit that.” He smiled wider.
“How did you find out about my preferences?”
Gabriel shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “In the days before our wedding, I visited your former housekeeper in Kerrington House. I also met with your parents’ housekeeper. I inquired about you lightly.”
“Lightly?” she echoed, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “How lightly?”
“Enough to arrange a selection of books by some of your favorite authors and know that reading is important to you. And enough to know that you used to write poetry.”
Sibyl blushed profusely. “It was a childhood thing.”
“Even your debut?” he prompted, knowing how smug he looked. “I have heard that your penchant for writing poetry continued up until your first marriage.”
“Are we pretending to get to know one another, Your Grace?” Sibyl challenged, and he realized he must have struck a nerve. “Yes, I enjoy reading, but I have scarcely read anything in the past year. And yes, I used to write poetry, but I have found myself lacking inspiration lately. I used to write about a life that I foolishly did not know at the time would not come true. I was a misguided romantic, lost in delusions of what my future would be like, only to be very harshly hit with the reality that it was not how I envisioned at all.” Her tone was brittle, snappish, and angry.
Gabriel leaned back, his smile fading. “Duchess?—”
“Do not sit there and pretend to know me, not when you refuse to askmeabout myself.Yes, you have chosen the meals well, but youdo not know me.I am not the person I once was.”
For a moment, Gabriel was at a loss for words, having not expected her outburst. Fatigue clouded her eyes, and her shoulders slumped.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I only wished to show you the lengths I went to to make sure you were as comfortable here as possible.”
