He’s learning. Taking our conversation to heart about listening before reacting.
The realization sent an unexpected flutter of pride through her chest. He’d actually heard what she’d said about compromise and understanding and had adapted his approach based on her counsel.
When was the last time a man actually listened to my advice and changed his behavior accordingly?
The answer was simple—never.
Hugo caught her looking at him and raised an eyebrow in silent question. She found herself smiling despite her efforts to remain composed, warmth spreading through her at this evidence of his growth.
He’s trying. For his daughters, yes, but also… for me?
The thought was dangerous territory, but she couldn’t quite push it away.
Hugo’s mouth curved in response to her smile, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other across the breakfast table while Rosalie chattered excitedly about ball gowns and dancing.
This is how it should be,Sybil thought with startling clarity.This partnership, this understanding, this sense of working toward common goals…
Then Hugo’s gaze dropped to her mouth again, and she realized she’d been biting her lower lip while lost in thought. The innocent gesture seemed to affect him profoundly—his amber eyes darkened with something that made her stomach flutter and her breath catch.
Stop looking at me like that in front of your daughter.
But even as the thought formed, she found herself unable to look away. There was something mesmerizing about the way he watched her, as though she were the most fascinating creature he’d ever encountered.
“I think,” Hugo said suddenly, his voice rougher than usual, “that we should probably discuss your wardrobe requirements for the Season, Rosalie.”
Rosalie blinked in confusion. “But Papa, we were just discussing invitations.”
“Were we?” Hugo dragged his attention back to his daughter with visible effort. “Yes, of course. The invitations.”
He’s as affected as I am.The realization should have been alarming. Instead, it sent excitement spiraling through her in ways she didn’t want to examine.
“Perhaps,” Sybil said carefully, “we should plan to visit the modiste next week. It will take time to prepare an appropriate wardrobe.”
“Excellent suggestion,” Hugo agreed though his eyes kept drifting back to her face. “Very… practical.”
There’s that word again. Practical. As if anything about the way he’s looking at me could be called practical.
“Oh, how exciting!” Rosalie exclaimed. “New gowns, new slippers, perhaps even some jewelry? This is going to be the most wonderful Season!”
If only it were that simple.
But as Sybil watched the interplay between father and daughter, seeing how Hugo had managed to guide Rosalie away from her more dangerous enthusiasms without crushing her spirit entirely, she found herself thinking that perhaps it could be.
Perhaps they really could navigate the treacherous waters of London society together. Perhaps this partnership they were building could extend beyond mere convenience into something that resembled…
Don’t think it. Don’t even consider the possibility.
But as Hugo caught her eye and gave her a small, private smile—one that held acknowledgment of her earlier advice andgratitude for her support—Sybil couldn’t quite suppress the dangerous hope blooming in her chest.
This is what marriage should feel like.
The thought came unbidden, followed immediately by panic. Because if she started thinking of their arrangement in those terms, if she began to want more than he was prepared to give…
Focus on practical matters. Focus on Rosalie’s Season and the children’s welfare, and anything except the way your husband makes you feel when he looks at you like that.
But even as she tried to redirect her thoughts, Sybil couldn’t shake the growing certainty that whatever was developing between them had moved far beyond the bounds of a practical arrangement.
And perhaps,whispered a treacherous voice in her mind,that’s not entirely a bad thing.
