She hated how right he had been, how he had taken the care to find out more about her. True, it upset her that he had not asked her directly, but his intentions had unexpectedly touched her.
“The company must be nice,” Mrs. Pentwood commented, leading her down yet another hallway she had not encountered before. “Especially when you grew up in such a large family.”
“Indeed,” Sibyl lied, not wanting to tell the housekeeper that the mostly silent dinners were rather uncomfortable and made her feel uncertain of what to say or how to act.
The Duke often ate in the same silence, and it annoyed her. He clearly was not seeking company, just the propriety of eating together.
Either that, or he was insistent on making sure she ate.
“I am certain the two of you will grow closer soon enough,” Mrs. Pentwood added, sounding too optimistic.
I do not need to grow close to him,Sibyl thought bitterly.
But she was quickly distracted by the sight of a cracked door. Inside, something shimmering caught her eye, and she stoppedbefore pushing her way in. She found herself in a parlor, one that was clearly not used but still set up as one.
The furniture sported a coating of dust, and Sibyl peered at the portraits lining the wall, easily finding the Duke in most of them. She cocked her head, regarding the younger version of him that looked down at her.
A man with the same features towered over him in one portrait, his eyes just as hard and carrying an authority he clearly knew he had. On the other side, a woman with blonde hair severely pulled back into a knot had her hand on the Duke’s shoulder. Her eyes were green, kind, and soft even on the canvas.
“These were His Grace’s parents,” Mrs. Pentwood explained, coming to stand next to Sibyl. “Lord Frederick Redford and Lady Amelia Redford. The late Duchess was a lovely woman, practically the light of Stonehelm. Unfortunately, she passed when His Grace was only five-and-ten.”
Sibyl’s eyebrows pinched in sorrow at the thought of the Duke losing his mother at such a young age. “I didn’t know.”
“He grieved very deeply. They both did. Although when they lost their father just over a decade later, their grief was not as great.”
They? She thought.Both?
“He was… The late Duke was rather tyrannical. He raised His Grace as an heir, not as a son. His life only consisted of rules and obligations, with little room for anything else.”
Suddenly, it made sense to Sibyl why the Duke had demanded that they eat together, even if they did not want each other’s company. If his father had instilled propriety to such an extent, then it simply would have been in the Duke’s nature to follow those rules no matter what.
Sibyl’s attention was soon drawn to another portrait of the Duke standing next to a dark-haired girl, barely older than seven-and-ten. Her eyes were the same pretty green as the late Duchess’s, and Sibyl immediately noted the resemblance between her and the Duke.
Her smile was full of life in comparison to the Duke’s solemn expression, as though she was having fun while posing for the portrait, while he was only doing his duty. Her dress was pale blue, and she wore a necklace that?—
Sibyl turned, the shimmering thing catching her eye. It was the very same necklace, peculiarly hung around the antler of a silver deer figurine on the windowsill.
She turned back, looking up at the painting again. “Who was she?”
“That was Lady Letitia Redford,” Mrs. Pentwood replied. “His Grace’s sister.”
“He has never mentioned a sister.” Sibyl’s frown deepened. “Where is she now?”
Mrs. Pentwood fell silent for a very long time before gently steering Sibyl towards the door. “She passed when she was young. His Grace does not often speak about her, and I would not mention her to him if I were you, Your Grace.”
Again, her voice was gentle, but the warning was clear.
Sibyl nodded, confused and curious.
Why wouldn’t the Duke mention his sister, even if she had sadly passed away?
He knew so much about her life already, yet she knew nothing about his.
Eventually, Mrs. Pentwood explained the protocols and her new duties, from arranging dinner menus and hosting balls and parties to ensuring the household ran smoothly.
Sibyl had already decided she wanted to throw herself into her duties, both to avoid the Duke and to prove herself. Still, not even the thought of hosting her first ball or planning her first dinner party as the Duchess could distract her.
“Mrs. Pentwood,” she spoke up some time later, having been lost in her thoughts of Letitia and still wondering why the Duke had never mentioned her. They were about to head out intothe garden, and she was already thinking about venturing to the lake. “I have noticed that His Grace always disappears after dinner on horseback. Do you know where he goes?”
