Chapter Four
It is difficult to believe that I have reached a point in life where attending a house party feels less like a social engagement and more like a campaign for survival.
Seraphine was not going to the welcome party for amusement, nor for dancing, conversation, or any of the pleasures such gatherings usually offered. She was there to find a husband, and preferably before the month expired and the new Earl of Donmere cheerfully bundled her off to Westborough Abbey.
The reality of it all felt faintly absurd, yet desperation had a way of making absurd plans seem entirely reasonable.
She descended the stairs to join the others. Amberhall Manor had transformed entirely since her arrival that afternoon.
As she stepped out onto the terrace, she paused for a moment to take in the scene before her. Lanterns hung from trees and cast pools of golden light across the gardens. Music driftedthrough the evening air, mingling with the sound of laughter and conversation. Guests wandered along winding paths or gathered in small groups amongst the flowerbeds, their bright clothing creating splashes of color against the darkening landscape.
“It is beautiful. Enchanting, even,” she muttered to herself.
Under different circumstances, Seraphine would have thrown herself into the festivities without a second thought. She would have sought out Thalia, laughed with friends, and enjoyed herself thoroughly.
Instead, she found herself surveying the crowd with the calculating eye of a General preparing for battle.
Potential husbands.
Lord Ashbury immediately caught her attention. He stood beside the fountain, smiling broadly as he attempted to charm three ladies at once. Judging by the expressions on his face, he believed himself enormously successful.
Seraphine watched for several seconds before deciding that maintaining such enthusiasm looked exhausting.
Her gaze moved onward.
Mr. Sinclair appears considerably more promising. Pleasant features, respectable family, agreeable manners.
Unfortunately, he was staring at a blonde young woman as though she personally hung the moon in the sky.
A lost cause.
Seraphine suppressed a sigh and continued her search. Then she noticed Lord Pemberley.
He stood beneath a lantern near the edge of the lawn, speaking with another gentleman. Even from a distance he presented a respectable figure. He was handsome enough, well dressed, and carried himself with confidence. More importantly, he possessed a title and remained conspicuously unattached.
She gazed upon him and hope stirred within her.
Now there is a possibility.
Drawing a steady breath, Seraphine crossed the lawn and approached the group of ladies and gentlemen that stood with Pemberley and inserted herself into that conversation.
“Lord Pemberley,” she said brightly as she moved next to him..
His face lit immediately.
“Lady Seraphine,” he replied, bowing. “You look delightful this evening.”
The compliment was ordinary enough.
Encouraging, even.
For several minutes, the conversation progressed pleasantly. They discussed the estate, mutual acquaintances, and the various entertainments planned for the week.
Gradually, however, Seraphine became aware that they were no longer standing where they had begun.
They had been walking for several minutes before Seraphine became aware of it. At first, she paid little attention. Guests wandered constantly through Amberhall's gardens, drifting from one conversation to another beneath the lantern-lit trees. It seemed natural that Lord Pemberley should suggest a stroll.
Yet gradually she noticed the changes around them.
