“I will be comfortable enough.”
“Your parents will also be there, I presume?”
Sibyl sighed. “Indeed.”
“Then I shall not be attending.”
Sibyl’s head snapped up, ready to berate him, only to find him smirking at her.
“I am teasing you,” he drawled. “Although I do admit I am in no hurry to meet your parents again.”
“Trust me,” Sibyl sighed, “another reunion with them is hardly something I am excited about.”
Gabriel’s face softened as he laughed under his breath. “Have they really been so terrible all your life?”
“My life, as well as my sisters’, yes. But let us not get into that, for now. I will choose a gown from my wardrobe?—”
“I will buy you a new gown,” Gabriel interrupted, raising a hand as if anticipating her protests. They all died on her tongue anyway.
He said nothing further and only resumed eating. Sibyl watched him, confused beyond measure by this man, who could be so sharp-tongued and avoidant with her, yet had held her daughter through her fever and immediately offered to buy her new clothes.
And yet, as confusing as it was, it feltnice.It felt special, in a way.
Sibyl nodded. “Thank you.”
“You do not have to thank me. Just accept what I offer without toomuch protest.”
The young Marquess and Marchioness of Livingston had wed not long after Sibyl’s first wedding. Together, they stood in the entrance hall, dazzling and handsome in their matching emerald-green attire.
The Marchioness was already showing signs of being with child, and Sibyl averted her gaze, trying not to think about her ownmiserable, lonely pregnancy. Yet she could sense the Marquess wrap his arm around his wife’s waist, happily speaking about her due date.
At her side, Gabriel tugged her closer without being tooclose. They moved further up the queue, and Sibyl fought the urge to toy nervously with her reticule.
Was her dress beautiful enough? Did she look like a duchess, or a young girl trying to play dress-up in a role far too big for her?
Did Gabriel feel her tremble?
All her excitement from that week coiled into a ball of dread that lodged in the pit of her stomach. After their hosts greeted them, Gabriel guided her to the circular space where other guests milled about, drinking and chatting.
Beneath the chandelier, Sibyl looked up at her husband, only to find his eyes already on her.
The dress she wore was very different from her usual style. Often dressed in florals and pastels—for her mother had always insisted she remain soft and angelic, unlike her sisters apparently—she wasn’t used to wearing such a bold color.
The navy blue dress was cinched tight around her waist and pushed up her chest, and while she had often compared her figure to Hermia’s curvier one, she couldn’t deny that having Rosie had enhanced her breasts.
Her bodice had a faint shimmer, the neckline pretty and delicate, but the skirt was sweeping, falling to the floor in a rush of inky color.
Sibyl felt… attractive. Self-conscious, but attractive.
Her eyes flicked back to Gabriel, noticing his nostrils flaring as he took her in. His gaze lingered on her neck, and she wondered what he was thinking.
She pressed a hand to her throat, realizing she had forgotten to wear a necklace. Still, she had put on the silver bracelet her father had gifted her on her debut.
“Do I look all right, Gabriel?” she asked.
“You look exquisite,” Gabriel murmured.
She blinked at the open admiration in his voice. She had expected him to avoid the question, but he answered her without even breaking eye contact.
