He looked almost surprised, one brow lifting as though he had not expected such mercy.
"You could not have known," she said.
"I should have," he said.
"No," she said gently, shaking her head. "The blame belongs entirely to the man who chose betrayal, not to the man who trusted him."
He released a slow breath. "You are remarkably kind."
"I have discovered," she replied with a faint smile, "that carrying resentment is dreadfully exhausting."
Thalia nodded in agreement. "There speaks a wise Duchess." She lifted her glass in Seraphine's direction.
Benedict bowed with exaggerated solemnity. "I shall endeavor to deserve such generosity in future."
Damien gave a dry snort, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "I recommend beginning by refraining from hiring traitorous investigators."
Benedict straightened, one brow lifting in mock offence. "I believe that is excellent advice."
Even Damien allowed himself a quiet chuckle, and the four of them shared an easy laugh as the orchestra began the opening notes of the next waltz.
A familiar voice caught her attention. Mr. Harper stood before her.
He was exactly as she remembered him from Amberhall Manor. Handsome, charming, and entirely aware of the effect he had upon women. His smile had always been effortless, his manner perfectly practiced. He possessed the sort of charm that made every lady feel as though she were the only person in the room.
There had been a time when Seraphine had found him interesting.
Now, however, she understood that charm and devotion were entirely different things. A pleasant smile could be offered to everyone. True care was much rarer.
Still, she could not deny that his appearance amused her. Perhaps because she knew precisely how her husband would react.
Damien, Duke of Wexford, was a man of extraordinary restraint. He could negotiate business dealings, manage estates, and intimidate men twice his age without showing the slightest emotion.
But when it came to Seraphine, his control was far less dependable.
"You look remarkably well, Your Grace. Would you like to dance?" Mr. Harper asked.
Before she could respond to Mr. Harper’s request, Damien grasped her elbow. His expression was polite, and Seraphine had learned that was often when he was the most dangerous.
"I am sorry to say that my wife is otherwise engaged," Damien said.
He smoothly removed her from the conversation and guided her away from the crowded ballroom. Though she should have been irritated by his interruption, she found herself fighting a smile.
There was something undeniably endearing about seeing the most intimidating man in England become quietly possessive over his wife.
He led her through the corridors away from the music and conversation. Seraphine found herself laughing softly at his quiet jealousy. The library welcomed them with warmth and silence. The fire cast a golden glow over the shelves of old books, and the sounds of the ballroom faded behind the closed door.
For a moment, they simply stood there, away from Society, away from expectations, just themselves.
This man has spent so long believing happiness is something meant for other people that he still struggles to accept it when it belongs to him.
She saw the vulnerability he rarely revealed. The uncertainty beneath the confidence. The quiet disbelief that she was truly his wife.
But she had chosen him, she loved him, and at that moment her heart softened completely.
"Why have you brought me here?" she asked.
He looked around the room. "I needed a quiet place to do this."
