Sibyl gritted her teeth, telling herself that she did not need her husband’s help. That, if anything, his absence was better, in case he was angered by Rosie’s cries.
Still, her eyes kept drifting to the window, watching for the black horse the Duke had ridden away on that morning as though he couldn’t get away from the manor fast enough.
Hannah soon returned and pressed the fresh compress to Rosie’s forehead. Her own face was pinched with worry. She then offered a beaker of milk to Sibyl.
“I thought this might help,” she said. “It is only slightly warmed up.”
“Thank you.”
As Sibyl reached out, Rosie squirmed once more, her arms flailing out, and the beaker was knocked right out of Hannah’s hands. Sibyl cried out as it fell into her lap, milk spilling all over her gown.
She froze as her daughter’s cries grew shrill, her heart thundering in her ears.
“Let me take her, Your Grace,” Hannah urged, holding out her arms.
“No,” Sibyl insisted. “I can do this.”
“You can, but you may also take a moment to breathe and change your dress.”
“She has not even had her afternoon nap,” Sibyl bemoaned, looking down at her daughter in distress. “She gets fussier when she doesn’t have it.”
“We can try,” Hannah assured her. “We can call for more milk, and the compress will help cool?—”
But Sibyl was already on her feet, shaking her head. “No, no, I cannot wait any longer. I wish to send for a physician. I cannot bear watching her cry out in pain.”
Hannah nodded. “Then I will send for one.”
She left the room quickly, and Sibyl held her daughter close once more, fighting her own tears of frustration. She felt so helpless.
“Please do not cry,” she whispered, stroking her baby’s damp wisps of hair. “I know it hurts, my sweet girl, but we shall see you through this. The physician will arrive soon.”
She tried to set Rosie down in her cot, hoping that the comfort of the mattress and blanket would soothe her into a sleep despite her fever, but Rosie just wailed harder.
Sibyl ended up pacing back and forth with her, rocking her gently and trying to keep her own head above the wave of panic.
Heavens, she wished she were not alone at that moment.
As soon as Gabriel arrived back home, he was hit with the sound of Rosie’s wails.
After the roar of the crowd at the King’s Hound, his ears had still not stopped ringing, and now he winced as her pained cries echoed through the manor.
He rushed upstairs, ignoring the ache in his body from the punches he had taken. He hadn’t needed to, but a part of him had needed to feel those blows to quiet his thoughts when his own fists had failed to do it.
It had all come to a head once more: his attraction to Sibyl, his need for her, tangled up with his wrath towards Edmund and the desire to exact revenge. And then there was the confirmation of more planning permissions for the rehabilitation center in Italy, dredging up the grief that he worked so, so hard to bury.
But the boxing matches that day hadn’t been enough, and he was still too wired with everything he couldn’t think about. Still, he forced himself to relax right as he entered the nursery and found Sibyl’s eyes shimmering with tears as Rosie wailed in her arms.
“What happened?” he asked, striding further into the room.
“She has caught a fever,” Sibyl said, her voice thin. Her hands trembled as she held Rosie closer. “It—It will not break, and Isent for a physician, but he has not arrived yet, and I—” She heaved for breath. “I do not know what else to do.” Her voice cracked.
Gabriel found himself at her side in an instant, instinctively reaching for her to comfort her, but his hands curled into fists at the last moment.
“Let me take her from you,” he spoke over Rosie’s cries. “You are overwhelmed, and you look as though you have not rested. And…” He frowned, sniffing. “Is that milk I smell?”
At that, Sibyl gave a half-sob, half-laugh. But he could tell it was the laugh of a woman who didn’t know what else to do.
“She spilled milk on me earlier.” She glanced down at her damp skirts, which now clung to her thighs.
