Sybil began fashioning a sling for the broken arm, using more strips from her petticoat. “This will hurt when I move your arm, but it must be done to prevent further damage.”
“I trust you,” Rosalie said simply.
Those three words hit Sybil harder than they should have.I trust you.When was the last time someone had said that to her? When was the last time she’d deserved to hear it?
Emmie trusted me, too. And look how that ended.
She carefully positioned Rosalie’s arm in the makeshift sling, trying to ignore the girl’s sharp intake of breath. “There. Much better. The bone will heal properly if we keep it immobilized.”
“How do you know all this?” Rosalie asked, studying Sybil’s face with curious pale blue eyes. “Are you a physician’s daughter?”
“Something like that.” Sybil secured the sling with practiced knots. “I run an orphanage just outside the village. When you care for thirty-seven girls, you learn to treat everything from scraped knees to broken bones.”
Though Father’s physician taught me far more during Emmie’s illness than I ever wished to know,she thought grimly, pushing away memories of desperate late-night consultations and expensive treatments that had ultimately proved futile.
And sometimes you learn there are things you cannot cure. People you cannot save.
“An orphanage?” Rosalie’s eyes widened. “How wonderful! I’ve always thought… that is, I’ve wondered what it might be like to do something truly meaningful with one’s life.”
Sybil glanced at her sharply. There was something in the girl’s tone—a longing that reminded her painfully of another young woman who’d wanted more than society offered.
“Most would say a lady’s meaningful work is to marry well and bear sons,” she said carefully.
“Most people say a great many foolish things.” Rosalie’s spirit was clearly returning as the pain subsided. “I think running an orphanage sounds far more interesting than embroidering cushions and practicing watercolors.”
Emmie would have liked this girl.
The thought came unbidden, and with it, a sharp pang of loss. Emmie had possessed that same bright curiosity, that same desire to make something of herself beyond what their parents expected.
“The work has its rewards,” Sybil said quietly. “Though it can be… challenging.”
“I imagine so. But how satisfying it must be to know you’re truly helping?—”
The thundering of hooves cut through Rosalie’s words. Sybil looked up to see a rider approaching at dangerous speed—a man on a massive black stallion, his dark coat billowing behind him like storm clouds.
Even from a distance, she recognized him. The Duke of Vestiaire. She’d seen him in town, always alone, always looking as though he could freeze hell itself with a single glance.
Oh, God. He’s going to think this is my fault somehow.
The horse skidded to a halt mere feet from where they sat, and the Duke leaped down with fluid grace despite his obvious urgency. Up close, he was even more imposing than she’d imagined—tall and broad-shouldered with sharp features that looked carved from granite. His amber eyes swept over the scene, taking in his daughter’s torn clothes, the blood, and the makeshift bandages.
“What happened?” his voice was low, controlled, but Sybil could hear the barely leashed fear beneath it.
“Papa!” Rosalie tried to sit up straighter. “I’m all right, truly. This lady saved me.”
The Duke’s gaze shifted to Sybil, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She’d heard whispers about those eyes—how theycould strip a man’s soul bare and how even the most hardened lords in Parliament wilted under their scrutiny.
Dear heavens. No wonder young men are terrified of him.
“I asked what happened,” he repeated, his attention fixed entirely on her now.
Sybil fought the urge to fidget with her skirts. She was a grown woman, not some simpering debutante. “Her horse threw her. The arm is broken, and there was a head wound, but both are treatable injuries.”
Be professional. Be competent. Don’t let him see how those amber eyes make your heart race like a schoolgirl’s.
“Thrown?” his jaw tightened. “How?”
“A snake spooked Buttercup,” Rosalie interjected. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Papa. If this lady hadn’t been here…” She trailed off, the implication hanging heavy in the air.
