Page 83 of Gabriela and His Grace

“We’re going to share a chamber?”

Sebastian stumbled to a halt and looked down at her. “I—I…” He shook his head, his ears turning pink. “I thought you might feel more comfortable if I was close by. But forgive me for making that decision without asking you first. I can ask Mrs. Evers to have my mother’s set of rooms prepared—”

“Sebastian,” Gabby interjected, tightening her grip on his hand, “of course I would like to share a chamber with you. I just hadn’t expected you to want to share one with me.”

He blinked. “Why not? I want you within an arm’s reach at all times.”

“Surely not at all times,” she said, shaking her head.

His brows drew together. “Well, I suppose not.” When she laughed, he joined her. After a moment, his expression turned serious. “I’ve just always hoped, although I doubted it would happen, that whenever I brought my duchess to the manor for the first time, she would want to be more than just my duchess. She’d also…well, she’d also want to be my wife.”

There was a difference, and her lungs constricted as she considered how isolated Sebastian must have been navigating the world wearing a mask of haughty aloofness when he was truly anything but. Without another thought, Gabby reached up to cup Sebastian’s cheeks and kissed him. She didn’t care who saw; in fact, she hoped the servants witnessed how much their new mistress liked her husband.

Liked? What an insignificant word to describe how her body flushed with emotion whenever Sebastian looked at her. Teased her. Kissed her. Yet like was the only word she was willing to use.

Resting back on her feet, Gabby grinned up at Sebastian’s flushed face. “Will you escort me to our chamber?”

Sebastian’s eyes searched hers, and then, rather shyly, he led her up the stairs.

23

Gabby’s transition into her role as the Duchess of Whitfield was easier than she had expected, thanks in no small part to her long-deceased mother-in-law.

If the stories told by the staff were true, the late duchess had been a saint. Despite her husband’s neglect, the duchess had made Whitfield Manor a warm, inviting home even as the building itself threatened to fall down around them.

While giving her a tour of the pantry and larder, Mrs. Evers regaled Gabby with tales of Beatrice, the late duchess. How she organized events at the manor and invited not just retainers but residents of the nearby village to attend as well. She visited the homes of sick families, bringing them baskets stuffed with food and possets of herbs designed to help the ailing. The late duchess ensured the local schoolhouse was always well stocked with books and firewood.

“Did the duke play with the village children in the surrounding fields and meadows?” Gabby asked, her mind conjuring an image of a young Sebastian in short trousers laughing and running free.

Mrs. Evers’s expression darkened. “No, unfortunately. The late duke was adamant that Master Sebastian not interact with any of the village children.”

“But why?” Gabby was astounded.

The housekeeper sighed. “His Grace believed the village families and their children were not the sort of friends befitting a ducal heir. Master Sebastian had only the duchess and his tutors as companions.”

Suddenly realizing she was gaping, Gabby snapped her mouth closed. “How lonesome.”

“Indeed. The old duke once arrived at the manor earlier than expected, and found Master Sebastian in his shirtsleeves, playing blindman’s bluff with several of the village boys. His anger was a sight to behold.” Mrs. Evers swallowed. “I don’t know what the duke told those boys’ parents, but they never played with Master Sebastian again.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, too stunned, too heartbroken for Sebastian, to speak.

The older woman’s eyes were far away and not on the shelves of linens in front of them. “Her Grace, the staff, and I did our best to give him a happy childhood, but he must have been lonely. How could he not be?”

Gabby bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Sebastian was a popular and respected member of society, and women certainly desired his company. It seemed to her, however, that he called very few people friends. Sirius. Gideon. Brodie, perhaps. Now she could include herself in that group. Her husband was devoted to those friends and helped them in any way he could. Hadn’t he shown her he cared for her? Hadn’t he made her feel valued and cherished, even in their short time together? Every day she came to realize that the notorious Duke of Whitfield possessed a gracious and tender heart.

And perhaps his childhood had been just as lonely as her own.

This thought ran through Gabby’s mind as Mrs. Evers continued her tour, and it helped her to see all the details she had initially overlooked or explained away. Like how clean and welcoming the manor was despite its age and dilapidated appearance. How every staff member she encountered greeted her with a smile, their uniforms pressed and tidy. How Sebastian was referenced in affectionate terms. Whitfield Manor, and the dukedom as a whole, may have slid into disrepair thanks to the spiteful inattentiveness of the late duke, but the duchess, and later Sebastian, had done their best to care for its staff and they were loved in return.

Now that Gabby was here, along with her ample dowry, she was determined to help Sebastian repair what was lost and, maybe, create something new together.

After a tour of the family wing of the manor, Gabby paused by the staircase that led to the attic where she assumed the nursery and schoolrooms were located. Was that laughter she heard? Children’s laughter?

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Evers called, turning to look back at Gabby from the landing half a flight below her. “Is everything all right?”

“Did you hear that?” Gabby cocked her head, straining to listen. “I thought I heard something.”

The housekeeper frowned, her gaze darting to the attic stairs.