Rosaline considered the question for several moments before slowly shaking her head. “I confess he has said nothing of the sort.” She looked genuinely puzzled. “The brothers do not always share every burden with one another, particularly Damien.” A thoughtful expression crossed her features. “Still, I shall ask Laurent this evening. If there is something troubling your husband, Laurent may know more than he has realized.”
“Would you?” Seraphine asked quietly, relief flickering across her face.
“Of course,” Rosaline replied warmly, patting her hand. “You need only ask and I will write to you if anything is said that would explain such a thing.”
Seraphine rose and wandered towards the tall window overlooking the gardens. The roses swayed gently beyond the glass, free to bend wherever the breeze carried them. The irony was almost laughable. “I do not know what to do,” she admittedsoftly. “I escaped Father's endless rules only to discover that marriage has presented me with another set.”
Rosaline joined her by the window and folded her arms thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” she began carefully, “you should give Damien a few days.” Seeing Seraphine's doubtful expression, she smiled gently. “Hear me out before you scowl exactly like Father used to.”
“I do not scowl like Father,” Seraphine protested, though a reluctant frown tugged at her lips.
Rosaline laughed. “No, your scowl is considerably prettier.” She nudged her sister's shoulder affectionately. “My point is this, your marriage happened with astonishing speed. Damien scarcely had time to prepare himself, and neither did you. He may simply be overwhelmed.”
“Overwhelmed?” Seraphine echoed skeptically.
“Yes.” Rosaline nodded. “He has always struck me as a man who feels deeply but expresses almost none of it.” She paused. “Perhaps he is merely being overprotective. Men often mistake protection for wisdom. Give him a little time to realize he cannot lock away his Duchess like a priceless painting.”
Seraphine huffed a tiny laugh. “That does sound rather like him.”
“I suspect,” Rosaline continued with amused confidence, “that once his remarkable brain catches up with his poor judgement, he shall apologize.” She lifted one elegant shoulder. “Perhaps not gracefully, mind you. Damien does not strike me as a man who apologizes elegantly.”
The image of Damien stiffly attempting an apology almost made Seraphine laugh aloud. “No,” she admitted, smiling despite herself. “He would probably apologize as though negotiating a business contract.”
“There, you see?” Rosaline grinned triumphantly. “Your sense of humor has returned. We are making progress already.”
Some of the tightness in Seraphine's chest eased at last.
Perhaps Rosaline is right. Damien is simply adjusting to a marriage neither of us expected. It does not excuse his behavior, but it makes it feel a little less frightening.
She breathed more steadily than she had all morning.
After several quiet moments, Seraphine turned back towards her sister. “Rosaline?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes?”
“If... if things do not settle between us...” She hesitated before forcing herself to continue. “Would I be welcome in Scotland with you and Laurent?”
Rosaline did not answer with words immediately. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped both arms around her younger sister. Seraphine melted into the embrace she had missed for so many months.
“My darling,” Rosaline whispered, stroking her hair affectionately, “you are my sister. You shall always have a home with us.” She drew back just enough to smile through suspiciously bright eyes. “For a fortnight, for a year, or forever if necessary. Our door shall never be closed to you.”
Emotion tightened Seraphine's throat. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Rosaline squeezed her hands firmly. “Though,” she added with a mischievous smile, “I still believe your Duke shall come to his senses before you have the chance to pack a single trunk.”
Seraphine looked towards the gardens once more, uncertain whether to believe it. Yet for the first time since breakfast, hope returned in the smallest measure. Sometimes all a troubled heart required was the quiet certainty that, whatever happened next, family would always leave the door open.
But is it enough…?
Damien entered Boodles without breaking stride, his expression as severe as the grey London sky beyond the windows.Gentlemen lounging over newspapers and brandy instinctively glanced up before quickly returning to their conversations. Few men willingly held the Duke of Wexford's gaze for long. Damien scarcely noticed them. His mind had remained fixed upon one person since leaving Wexford Manor, and the weight pressing against his ribs had only grown heavier with every passing hour.
A servant approached with an immediate bow. "Your Grace," he said respectfully, inclining his head. "His Grace, the Duke of Northwick, is expecting you."
Damien acknowledged the man with the smallest nod before following him deeper into the club. The scent of polished oak, tobacco and fresh coffee lingered in the corridors. Ordinarily, he appreciated the familiar calm of Boodles. Today, however, even the refined surroundings failed to quiet the storm brewing within him. Every wasted minute gave Lord Pemberley another opportunity to act.
Benedict Hale rose from his chair the moment Damien entered the card room. Tall, impeccably dressed and wearing the grin of a man who had never regretted a poor decision in his life, he spread his arms theatrically.
"There you are," Benedict declared, clasping Damien firmly by the forearm. "Your message sounded positively ominous. You have dragged me away from a perfectly respectable afternoon of doing absolutely nothing. Tell me this urgency was worth it."
