At least the physical pain gives me something concrete to focus on.
“Are you quite well, Sybil?” Rosalie asked suddenly. “You seem rather quiet.”
Quiet. Yes, that’s one way to describe the sound of dreams dying.
“Just thoughtful about tonight. I want everything to go perfectly for you.”
“It will,” Hugo said confidently. “The Pembertons would be fools to reject a connection to our family.”
“What if they ask about my mother?” Rosalie’s voice went small, uncertain. “What if they’ve heard things?”
Hugo’s expression darkened. “Your mother was the daughter of an earl. If anyone suggests otherwise, they’ll answer to me.”
Protective papa. He’ll be just as fierce defending any children we might have.
Sybil turned quickly toward the window to hide her expression. In the glass, she caught a reflection of Hugo watching her with concern.
He knows something’s wrong. He always knows.
“Sybil?” his voice was gentle. “You’re certain you’re feeling well?”
“Perfectly fine,” she lied smoothly. “Just excited for Rosalie.”
The carriage drew to a halt outside Pemberton House which blazed with light from every window. Other carriages lined the street, disgorging London’s finest in their evening splendor.
Lord and Lady Pemberton waited in their elegant foyer, both dressed immaculately and wearing expressions of cautious welcome. Lady Pemberton was a handsome woman in her fifties with sharp eyes that seemed to catalog every detail of their appearance.
“Your Graces,” she curtsied precisely. “How honored we are to welcome you to our home.”
“The honor is entirely ours,” Hugo replied with ducal courtesy. “You’ve created a magnificent evening.”
“Lady Rosalie, how lovely to see you again,” Lady Pemberton turned her welcoming gaze on Hugo’s daughter. “You look absolutely radiant this evening.”
Rosalie curtsied beautifully. “Your Ladyship is very kind to include me tonight.”
“Nonsense. You’re practically family already.” Lady Pemberton’s smile grew genuinely warm. “Thomas speaks of little else these days.”
“Your Grace, you’re positively glowing this evening. How are the new orphanages progressing?”
“Very well, thank you for asking, My Lord. The Southwark location should open next month as we discussed.”
“Excellent news. Lady Pemberton has been quite inspired by your approach to systematic charity work.”
They moved into the main ballroom, where couples were already forming sets for country dances. The music was lively, the conversation animated, the entire scene radiating joy and celebration.
Rosalie was immediately claimed by young Lord Pemberton, who looked absurdly pleased to escort her onto the dance floor. They made a handsome couple—he fair and earnest, she dark and vivacious.
They look happy. That’s what matters tonight.
“She’s doing beautifully,” Hugo murmured beside her. “Look how naturally she moves in society.”
“She’s a credit to your raising,” Sybil replied, meaning it completely.
“Our raising,” he corrected gently. “She’s flourished under your guidance these past months.”
Another cramp seized her, sharp enough to make her catch her breath. Hugo noticed immediately, his hand moving to her elbow.
“Sybil? What’s wrong?”
