He had not thought that she would come to mean a great deal to him.
When he had proposed, he had simply thought she would want to live as far away from him as possible within the boundaries of his estates. But she had wormed her way beneath his skin and begun to peel back his layers.
Bit by bit, Sibyl had bared him, as one bared themself to the winter chill. Yet he found that he rather liked it.
And he shouldn’t. He should have pushed her away, focusing instead on boxing, on the rehabilitation center in Italy, on anything but…
But falling for her.
For his wife.
For his Duchess.
He stared down at the letter he was penning to the anonymous investor. To his left was a letter from Preston—or rather, another invitation to dinner. But Gabriel had yet to answer it.
Instead, he focused on the letter he was writing. He had obtained the investor’s address from Lord Godfrey and had been corresponding with them to ensure they were not just looking to make quick money.
Tell me more about the friend you mentioned in your initial proposal,Gabriel had written in his first letter.
A response had come a week later.
She was bright, and she was beautiful. I think she would have danced on a knife’s edge if she could, but her life was taken toosoon. In the brief moments of her lucidity, I think I had fallen in love with her, but she talked endlessly about a lover who would one day come back for her. That lover never came back, to my knowledge, but her heart had already been taken.
Regardless, do let me know your thoughts. It will mean a lot to me to be involved in this.
Regards,
Daneil Greenwood.
The name had been vaguely familiar, but Gabriel could not quite pin down the memory ofwhy.Furthermore, he had not wanted to think that his investor had been talking about Letitia, that the similarities were merely a coincidence, but it brought him comfort to pretend anyway. It brought him the certainty with which he wrote now.
He agreed to the investment. He agreed to open up his business to another who truly cared.
Just as he sealed the letter, a cry sounded from upstairs. He was on his feet immediately, his instincts driving him to the nursery, where Rosie was wailing and squirming in her cot.
Sibyl shuffled out of her room, her eyes heavy with sleep.
Gabriel gazed down the hall at her. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured. “Let me take care of her.”
“She… she is only your stepdaughter,” Sibyl said, her voice thick with fatigue. “You do not have?—”
“I shall do as I please, wife.” He smiled at her, letting her know that he was being caring, not controlling.
Sibyl eventually nodded, glancing worriedly at the nursery before retreating to her room.
Gabriel went to the cot and scooped up Rosie, holding her to his chest. He had held her enough times now that it was becoming second nature.
Her cries were truly something terrible and heartbreaking, and Gabriel once again found himself singing under his breath. Her fussing increased, as though she knew she was not being held by her mother.
“I know, I know,” he whispered. “But I am here for you, too. I am not your mama or your nursemaid, but I do hope you’d get to know me better. Is it my singing? Perhaps my voice is painful to your ears?”
At that, Rosie stopped fussing, her cries fading into little hiccups. Her eyes blinked at him, innocent and wide, and his heart beat furiously in his chest as he looked down at her.
“There we go,” he cooed, stroking her cheek.
As he paced the room, rocking her gently, not daring to look away from her, something shifted inside him. Realization struck him as it had downstairs in his study.
Rosie was not just his stepdaughter. No, she had come to mean a great deal to him.
