"I scarcely tried to find a husband during previous Seasons," Seraphine confessed. "Everyone believed I was merely being particular." She shook her head. "I was frightened. I keptwondering whether every gentleman would eventually become like Father. Controlling. Cold. Unkind."
Maria reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "You were protecting yourself."
"I thought Damien was different," Seraphine said.
"You still believe that?" Maria asked.
Seraphine closed her eyes. "I do not know what I believe anymore."
Maria's voice remained calm. "Then perhaps do not decide today. You have both been through a great deal in a brief time," Maria continued. "You married almost as suddenly as summer rain arrives. His Grace is frightened of something, though I cannot say what. You are frightened of becoming trapped again." She smiled gently. "Fear has a dreadful habit of making sensible people behave most insensibly."
Seraphine gave a small sniff. "So your advice is... patience?"
"My advice," Maria said, handing her a fresh handkerchief, "is that neither tears nor packing trunks should occur until after a good night's sleep."
Seraphine accepted the handkerchief. "You always did make everything sound wonderfully practical."
"It is one of my finest qualities."
For the first time since fleeing the corridor, Seraphine felt the tightness in her chest ease ever so slightly.
The pain remained. So did the confusion, but somewhere beneath it lay a quiet, aching certainty that she had not stopped loving Damien.
That was the cruelest part of all.
I love him. I truly do. Whether he wants me or not.
Chapter Thirty
Damien stood before the tall windows of his study with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out across the lawns of Wexford Manor as Seraphine rode horseback with the groomsman trailing her. He had allowed her to roam the estate freely but not beyond, and always with a chaperone.
The morning had been consumed by letters, estate accounts, and messages from Gantry, none of which contained the information he desperately needed. Lord Pemberley remained invisible. Every hour that passed tightened the knot inside Damien's chest. He had spent a lifetime solving problems through careful planning, yet this one refused to yield. The Duke of Wexford felt utterly powerless.
A brisk knock sounded upon the study door.
"Enter," Damien called without turning.
The door opened and Thalia swept inside, removing her gloves as she walked in with confidence..
"What do you want?" Damien asked flatly, finally turning to face his sister.
"I received a rather distressing letter from Seraphine," Thalia replied, closing the door behind her before meeting his gaze. "I came intending to speak with her."
Damien gave an impatient huff and returned to the window. "She has gone riding around the estate with the groom."
"Oh," Thalia said brightly as she crossed the room.
She lowered herself into one of the leather armchairs beside the hearth as though settling in for afternoon tea rather than confronting one of England's most intimidating Dukes.
"Good," she said with satisfaction, smoothing her skirts. "Then I have time to speak with you instead."
Damien pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is it now?" he asked, already regretting allowing her through the door.
Thalia folded her hands neatly in her lap. "It is rather unusual," she began thoughtfully, "for a bride to be writing distressed letters scarcely days after her wedding." She tilted her head. "What has happened?"
Damien walked towards his desk and began rearranging papers that required no rearranging.
"It is none of your business," Damien said.
