The Duke had not moved from his position beside the pillar. One shoulder rested against the stone, his posture deceptively relaxed, yet his gaze remained fixed upon her retreating figure. The sight sent another unexpected flutter through her stomach. Annoyed with herself, she immediately attempted to dismiss it.
It is ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous.
Yet the sensation lingered stubbornly, refusing to be ignored no matter how firmly she scolded herself. By the time she reached the terrace, she was still thinking about him which only irritated her further. Fortunately, the rest of the evening passed surprisingly well.
Once returned to the party, Seraphine found herself swept into conversations with ladies she had not seen in months. There were card games, music, laughter, and enough amusing stories to distract her from thoughts of convents, Earls, and impossible Dukes.
At one point, Lady Branson became so animated whilst recounting a disastrous dinner party involving an intoxicated Viscount and an unfortunate ornamental fountain that Seraphine laughed until tears gathered in her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she tried to compose herself, shaking her head when Lady Branson insisted the story had been greatly improved by the Viscount's insistence that he had meant to fall into the water.
It felt good to laugh. Good to forget.
I feel safer knowing he is somewhere nearby. Why is that?
The realization annoyed her immensely. She did not require protection. She had survived years beneath her father's roof.
And yet the memory of Lord Pemberley's hand tightening around her arm returned with uncomfortable clarity. She remembered the sudden fear that had curled through her stomach, the isolation of that dark path, and the ugly certainty in his voice when he had assumed she had no one to defend her.
Then she remembered the Duke appearing behind him, remembered the cold fury in his eyes and the way Lord Pemberley had barely had time to turn before finding himself sprawled against a hedge. The memory of the punch surfaced so vividly that a small smile tugged unexpectedly at her lips. It was ridiculous, really. She ought not to take satisfaction in violence. Yet there had been something deeply gratifying about watching an arrogant man discover that his actions carried consequences.
By the time she retired for the evening, her thoughts remained no less tangled. Fortunately, Rosaline's room offered a welcome distraction. The sisters settled before the fire, enjoying the quiet comfort of one another's company while little Annie occupied herself by attempting to consume one of her own socks with great determination.
Rosaline caught sight of the offence in progress and immediately leaned forward to confiscate the sock.
“Absolutely not,” she informed her daughter firmly as she plucked it from her grasp.
Annie stared at her with an expression of profound betrayal.
Seraphine laughed at once. “She resembles you,” she observed, nodding toward the child's indignant face.
Rosaline pressed her hand dramatically to her chest. “How dare you,” she replied, though amusement danced in her eyes.
“She does,” Seraphine insisted, pointing at Annie as though presenting evidence before a jury.
“Then heaven help her,” Rosaline declared, shaking her head mournfully.
The sisters dissolved into laughter, and Annie, apparently deciding she was being mocked, waved her arms in protest.
Being with her sister felt comforting.
Familiar. Safe.
Eventually Rosaline set Annie upon her lap and glanced toward her sister.
“So,” she asked casually, smoothing a curl from the child's forehead, “how is our dear cousin enjoying his new title?”
The question made Seraphine's smile falter.
William. The idiot.
The reminder settled heavily upon her chest.
Immediately she thought of deadlines, ultimatums, and the looming threat of Westborough Abbey. She thought of the pressure that followed her everywhere and the increasingly desperate search for a husband. Yet she had no intention of sharing any of that with Rosaline.
Her sister had a husband she adored. A healthy child, another on the way. A happy life. Seraphine could not bear the thought of burdening her sister with worries she could do nothing to solve. Rosaline had fought hard for her happiness. She deserved to enjoy it without learning that Seraphine's future currently hung by a thread.
“He seems… quite settled,” Seraphine replied carefully, smoothing an imaginary crease from her skirts as she avoided her sister's gaze.
Rosaline adjusted Annie on her lap and studied her with narrowed eyes. “Does she?” she asked, her tone deceptively casual.
