She tried to maintain proper etiquette, cutting delicate bites and chewing slowly, but the food was so good, and she was so hungry that it took enormous effort not to abandon all pretense and simply devour everything in sight.
“You needn’t stand on ceremony,” the Duke said quietly. “I can see you’re famished.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your hands are trembling again. You’ve been staring at that piece of chicken as though you’re afraid it might escape.” A ghost of amusement flickered in his eyes. “Eat, Lady Sybil. I won’t think less of you for having an appetite.”
Lady Sybil. He keeps using my title.
“Though, I confess, I find myself curious what circumstances would lead a woman of breeding to run an orphanage in a villagerather than gracing London ballrooms,” he continued when she didn’t respond.
The bread turned to ash in her mouth. Here it came—the questions, the judgment, the inevitable withdrawal when he learned about the scandal that had driven her from society.
Tell him. Get it over with.
She straightened her spine, meeting his gaze directly. “I’m very sure you are aware of the Gilles family story, Your Grace.” She watched his face carefully, waiting for the moment of remembrance. It came quickly—a slight widening of his eyes, a tightening around his mouth that suggested he’d indeed heard the whispered rumors about her family’s disgrace.
She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Everyone knew of her story.
But instead of the mocking answer she expected, the Duke simply nodded.
“I see.” His tone was neutral, giving nothing away. “And how long have you been managing the orphanage?”
That was it? No pointed questions about why an earl’s daughter had fallen so far from grace? No subtle inquiry about the scandal that had driven her from her proper place in society?
He knows. I can see it in his eyes. But he’s not going to push.
The relief was so overwhelming she nearly laughed. “Eight years, Your Grace. Since I was twenty.”
“A considerable undertaking for someone so young.”
“I had inspiration. My sister…” She stopped, the familiar grief tightening her throat. “Well. That’s ancient history now.”
Don’t think about Emmie. Not tonight.
“You’ve built something remarkable,” the Duke said quietly. “What I witnessed today—the way those children trust you, depend on you—that kind of loyalty isn’t easily earned.”
“They’re good girls. They deserve every chance I can give them.”
“You truly care about them.”
It wasn’t a question, and something in his voice made her look up from her plate. The usual coldness was gone from his expression, replaced by something that looked almost like… admiration?
He’s probably just being polite.
“Of course, I care about them,” she said simply. “They have no one else.”
Hugo nodded slowly, as though her answer satisfied some internal question. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but charged with a tension she couldn’t quite name.
Why do I feel like I’m being evaluated? And why do I care so much about passing whatever test this is?
“Your Grace,” she said finally, “I must thank you again for your assistance today. If you and the villagers hadn’t acted so quickly to contain the fire, I’m not certain I could have reached the children in time.”
“You risked your life for those children.”
“They’re my responsibility.”
