“I noticed you did not eat anything at the ball,” he said, stepping further into the room. He nudged the door shut with his foot before flashing her a smile. “I brought treats.”
“You did?” She craned her neck, making him laugh.
“Impatient,” he teased, coming to stand at the side of the bed.
He paused, setting down the tray on her nightstand. She eyed the bowl of fruit that had been chopped up finely, as well as the plate of sugared sweets and?—
“Chocolate,” she gushed. “I have not had chocolate in so long!”
Gabriel looked askance at her. “You have not?”
She shook her head. “Edmund told me I should not eat it after giving birth; he stopped buying it. It could not afford it, I imagine,” she scoffed.
Gabriel lowered himself onto the edge of her bed without asking.
Sibyl felt strangely comforted by the fact. Part of her wanted to sit closer to him, to feel his shoulder against hers, to pull backher white bedsheets and invite him in. The other part did not want to push her luck.
“Well, I am not so inclined to give you poor advice,” Gabriel muttered, holding up the tray. “Eat to your heart’s content, Duchess.”
Sibyl popped a square of chocolate into her mouth along with a strawberry. The blend of tastes made her close her eyes in bliss.
“Besides,” Gabriel continued, plucking a yellow and red sweet, “it is time we shared a meal properly again. Breakfast is good, but I miss—” He broke off, clearing his throat. “Never mind.”
“What do you miss?” Sibyl prompted.
Gabriel fell silent for so long that she thought he would refuse to answer, but eventually he spoke again. “I miss looking at you in the candlelight at dinner.”
Sibyl blushed furiously, suddenly very interested in the pattern on her next chocolate square. Gabriel reached for a piece as well.
Her eyes snagged on his lightly scarred hands. His scars would be barely visible in the daylight, she imagined, but the candlelight seemed to accentuate them.
She did not ask, but he noticed her staring.
“You are right about what you said earlier,” he said, breaking the silence. “I do evade questions, and it only pushes you further away.” A long sigh slipped past his lips.
Sibyl held her breath, waiting.
“The person who was connected to Edmund was my sister. Her name was Letitia. She was… She was the light of my life.”
“The girl in the portrait,” Sibyl whispered.
Gabriel nodded.
Sibyl swallowed. “Mrs. Pentwood did not tell me a lot about her. Only that she existed, and that she was very loved, but no longer…”
“Alive,” Gabriel finished, his voice tight. “But she loved this estate even more than the townhouse. I had always thought a young lady would love Stonehelm House, as it was right in the middle of the ton, central to the social scene. But no. Letitia enjoyed the rolling hills and the cooler air of the countryside. She used to say that she felt hidden. Like the hills could give her anything—a story, a secret—and it would rise in the distance, and it would be all hers. I think she fancied herself quite like Kathy fromWuthering Heights.”
He laughed softly. “She was always sneaking away, her skirts flying. Even as a young girl, she was a wildfire. To tame her was a fool’s errand.”
“She sounds very different from you,” Sibyl noted.
“Indeed.” Gabriel popped a raspberry into his mouth. “She burned fiercely, she did. But she loved Stonehelm Hall, and thatis why it remains decorated so brightly. My gift to her on her debut was to redecorate the whole place as she saw fit. I bought her other things, of course, but that was my offer. My idea was to gift her Stonehelm Hall upon her betrothal and move to a smaller estate.”
“And the necklace,” Sibyl murmured, her face paling. “That was also hers?”
“My mother’s,” he corrected. “It was a gift from my father, but my mother wanted Letitia to have it when she debuted. She told me to tell Letitia to wait for love, to chase it endlessly when she found it. And oh, she did, but—but she chased it into darkness. Into a danger that can only come from a woman who thinks she is in love, but is, in fact, being used.”
“Edmund,” Sibyl gasped, her blood running cold.
