She nodded though her lower lip was still trembling. “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I know you didn’t.” He pulled her into a fierce hug, breathing in the scent of lake water and little girl. “But you must promise me you’ll be more careful. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
“I promise,” she whispered against his shoulder.
As he carried her toward the house, Hugo’s mind was already racing ahead to the conversation he needed to have with his daughters. But more than that, he was thinking about the woman currently residing in his guest quarters—the woman who’d faced down fire and smoke to save two children who weren’t even hers.
She would have handled this better. She would have known what to say, how to reach them without losing her temper.
The realization only strengthened his resolve. His daughters needed more than he could give them alone. They needed someone who understood the delicate balance between spirit and propriety, someone who could guide them without crushing the very qualities that made them unique.
They needed Sybil.
And I need her too though not for the reasons I told her.
The thought came unbidden, followed immediately by a surge of something that felt uncomfortably like longing. He pushed it aside with practiced efficiency. This wasn’t about what he wanted—it was about what his daughters needed.
Keep telling yourself that.
Chapter Seven
An hour later, Hugo sat in his study staring at a letter he’d started and discarded three times. The morning’s events had only confirmed what he’d already known—time was running out. Rosalie’s debut was less than two months away, and if today was any indication, she was nowhere near ready for the scrutiny of London society.
She needs guidance. They all do.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his brooding. “Come.”
To his surprise, it was Sybil who entered, looking considerably more composed than she had the night before. She’d changed into a simple day dress of deep green that brought out the color of her eyes, and her hair was neatly arranged despite the early hour.
How does she manage to look so perfectly put together? It’s not even eight o’clock.
“Your Grace,” she said with a small curtsy. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I heard there was some excitement at the lake this morning. I wanted to ensure everyone was unharmed.”
Of course, she does. Because that’s the kind of woman she is—always thinking of others first.
“Everyone is fine, thank you,” he replied, gesturing for her to take the chair across from his desk. “Though I fear my daughters’ behavior was less than exemplary.”
“Children often test boundaries,” she said diplomatically. “Particularly when they’re feeling unsettled or uncertain about their circumstances.”
Diplomatic indeed. She’s giving them far more credit than they deserve.
“Is that your professional opinion, or are you speaking from experience with thirty-seven equally headstrong girls?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Both, I’m afraid. Though I must say, your daughters seem particularly… spirited.”
“Spirited.” He let out a bitter laugh. “That’s a polite way of putting it. This morning, they were jumping between rocks in the middle of the lake. Melanie fell in.”
The smile disappeared from Sybil’s face immediately. “Is she hurt?”
“No, thank God. But she could have been. She could have drowned, all because Rosalie thought it would be entertaining to teach her sisters dangerous stunts.”
And I lost my temper and shouted at them like my father used to shout at me.
“I see.” Sybil was quiet for a moment, her intelligent eyes studying his face. “And how are you feeling about all of this?”
The question caught him off guard. How was he feeling? When was the last time anyone had asked him that?
Terrified. Frustrated. Completely out of my depth.
