Gabriel could give Sibyl riches, estates beyond her imagination, protection, a library—athousandlibraries—but he still did not know how to give himself.
“It is too soon,” he insisted. “I should not have to worry about such things now.”
“Then do not worry,” Nicholas told him. “Embracesuch things.”
Gabriel sighed heavily. “You have always believed you are smart with words.”
“And you have always pretended to dislike it. In reality, you are grateful that I’m not afraid to say these things to you.”
“Am I now?”
“Yes.” Nicholas laughed, standing up. “Otherwise, you would have walked away from our friendship years ago. Now, come on, let us go get a drink in a place you will not start a fight.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes and stood up before falling into step beside Nicholas. All the while, his thoughts remained on his wife, wondering whether she was enjoying her time with her family and what she had said about him. If she had mentioned the kiss.
The Wickleby sisters were close-knit; that much he knew. Fiercely protective of one another, there was no way Sibyl could keep anything from them. He himself had not told Nicholas, because his friend would have encouraged him to further pursue intimacy.
But he could not. Not after he had seen the panic in his wife’s eyes. Not when he believed he had already pushed past her limits.
No, he had to find a way to ignore his desire for her, to let her approach him next time should she ever want to.
He could not—would not—give in again.
Chapter Twelve
Days had passed since they had traveled back to Stonehelm Hall. And to Gabriel’s obvious frustration, nothing much had changed.
Sibyl reverted to abandoning their mealtimes, and still he refused to force her to join him. Although, as the days passed, she often found herself pausing outside the dining hall, considering going in. If Gabriel ever heard her pausing outside, he did not call out to her. She always ended up ordering her dinner to be sent up to her chambers.
Mercifully, that day Gabriel had been out since breakfast, and Sibyl had not needed to worry about avoiding him. Instead, she had spent a glorious day walking around the lake with Rosie, humming some tunes to keep the little girl’s spirits high. She had been crying less and less, and Sibyl could only hope that her daughter was finally settling into their new home.
She wished she could say the same, for her only obstacle to settling in was the master of the manor.
“How is she doing?” Hannah asked now.
Sibyl turned towards the nursery doorway, still holding a damp, cool cloth to Rosie’s head. “She is still too hot,” she sighed. “I do not know what happened. We were having a lovely time at the lake, and she was happy, babbling away. She had not cried once, and then suddenly she started burning up. Her temperature has not gone down since, and no amount of cool compresses has helped.”
“That can happen with children, especially if she is adjusting to the colder countryside air after being in the city,” Hannah assured her.
Sibyl nodded, not entirely comforted, and rocked Rosie again. Her mother had once told her that Alicia had been prone to fevers as a baby and that they used to simply wait for them to break. But Sibyl didn’t want to ask her mother for advice now, and she hoped that Rosie’s fever would break before her mother would even have the chance to ride to Stonehelm Hall.
Lowering herself into the rocking chair, she kissed Rosie’s forehead. But as soon as she settled, Rosie started wailing. Her little body squirmed wildly, her eyes closing as tears streamed down her face.
“Oh no,” Sibyl cooed. “Oh, my sweet, poor baby. You must be in so much pain.”
Her heart aching miserably, she looked up at Hannah, panic rising in her chest. She needed to be better. She needed to be composed.
“Can you prepare another cool compress? This one has warmed a little too much, I think.”
Hannah was out of the room immediately.
Sibyl held her baby close. “I know it hurts,” she whispered. “I am sorry, I cannot take away the pain. I am right here, and I will stop at nothing to make you comfortable again.”
But Rosie’s cries only grew louder and more pained.
Sibyl struggled to keep her composure. She hated seeing her daughter hurting, and waiting to call for a physician felt unbearable, but she didn’t know when the right time was.
For a moment, she thought of the Duke’s age and how much younger his sister had looked in those portraits. That first night, when Rosie had cried terribly, he had been there in an instant, wanting to help. Would he know anything about a baby’s fever?
