Silence descended over them, and soon, Sibyl’s meal was served. The soup andfricasséecame together, both placed before her. Gabriel heard her sniff before her stomach grumbled loudly.
She took a spoonful of soup, her eyes fluttering shut as she hummed in pleasure. He watched her enjoy the mouthful, and when her eyes opened, she blushed.
“You need sustenance just as much as your daughter,” he told her. “If you do not sustain yourself, then you won’t be able to look after her the way you want to. You cannot burn yourself out with sleepless nights and skipped meals. If you do not wish to dine with me—even though I will insist you do—then at least allow me to send meals to your chambers.”
Sibyl suddenly set down her spoon with a hard clatter, splashing soup on the table. He ground his teeth at the sight.
“I am fine,” she ground out.
“Duchess, you look exhausted,” he insisted, regarding her pale face intently. “Why are you not eating? Is this… a common occurrence?”
Her head jerked in his direction, her eyes narrowing to slits. “No, Your Grace, it is not. But when one is looking after a baby, time is scant and oftentimes lost. Sometimes, I simply forget. Other times, I am so focused on Rosie’s well-being that I cannot even think of my own. She is my world.”
Gabriel sighed, enduring her defensiveness. At least she had not risen from the table yet.
He wondered how much of that was because she really wanted to finish her meal and how much of it was because she was just too tired to move.
“Then I will leave you to enjoy your food,” he uttered, pushing to his feet.
“Wait,” she called. “Where are you going?”
He looked down at her, knowing that he had pushed her enough that evening, but she also needed to understand that they both had to learn to navigate this marriage.
“As you left me to dine alone, I ought to do the same.”
And then he walked out.
Even so, he later checked with the housekeeper to ensure that she had indeed finished her meal.
Chapter Eight
“If there is anything you wish to have stocked in the library, you can come to me, and I shall arrange it,” Mrs. Pentwood was telling Sibyl as they walked down the hall.
Sibyl was a couple of days into her first week at Stonehelm Hall and was still learning her way around. More than once, she had taken the wrong turn, only to find herself in yet another unused room.
“It is so strange,” she mused, peering into a room that was vacant of furniture save for a harp. “An estate so big, yet so empty. I cannot imagine how His Grace has endured living in such an empty manor.”
“He rarely spends time here, in all honesty,” Mrs. Pentwood revealed. “But then he spent so much time abroad, so he had little use for Stonehelm Hall.”
“Abroad?” Sibyl echoed, pausing with her hand on the door of an unused library. Dust motes danced in the air, and she wondered why it was not maintained like the rest of the rooms.
“Ah.” Mrs. Pentwood ducked her head, looking away. “I am certain His Grace will tell you about his adventures soon enough.”
“Adventures?” Sibyl frowned. “What sort of adventures?”
“As I said, I am certain he will tell you himself.”
She wondered why the housekeeper sounded so evasive, overcareful with her words.
“Very well,” she relented, returning to Mrs. Pentwood’s side to continue their tour.
It was taking her a while to fully explore the manor, for she didn’t want to be far from Rosie. Nor did she want to carry her baby all over the estate and risk having her fuss far from the nursery.
“I have noticed you have begun dining with His Grace,” Mrs. Pentwood said, in a blatant attempt to change the subject.
“I have,” Sibyl confirmed.
She thought back to the second dinner she had had, when she had been left alone by her husband, seething, exhausted, and frustrated.
