Beside him sat Mr. Hawthorne, a younger son but reportedly in possession of a comfortable inheritance.
Excellent. Two possibilities.
Already feeling considerably more optimistic than she had upon waking, Seraphine slipped gracefully into the empty seat between them. Lord Richards immediately straightened and offered her a warm smile as he inclined his head towards her.
“Lady Seraphine,” he said, his expression brightening. “What a pleasant way to begin the morning.”
Beside her, Mr. Hawthorne nodded with enthusiastic agreement. “I was just thinking the same thing,” he added, flashing what he likely believed was a charming smile.
Seraphine returned both smiles politely as she settled her napkin across her lap.
Wonderful. Perhaps today will prove more successful than yesterday after all.
Two eligible gentlemen, both apparently delighted by her company, and an entire morning ahead of her.
Unfortunately, she then made the mistake of glancing across the table. The Duke of Wexford sat directly opposite her.
Of course he did.
The Duke appeared entirely at ease; one hand wrapped around a coffee cup as though he had not a care in the world. When his gaze lifted and met hers, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
Seraphine immediately became suspicious.
She had come to recognize that particular expression. It never preceded anything pleasant. In fact, it usually signaled that the Duke was about to become thoroughly insufferable.
She should have trusted her instincts.
Lord Richards had barely begun an earnest discussion about the unusually mild weather when the Duke of Wexford set down his coffee cup and casually inserted himself into the conversation.
“Richards,” he said, setting down his cup. “How is your former maid?”
The entire table seemed to pause. Lord Richards froze so abruptly that even his fork halted halfway to his mouth. Confusion flashed across his face as he stared at the Duke across the table.
“What?” he asked, his voice noticeably tighter than before.
The Duke offered him a pleasant smile. “The maid,” he said lightly. “The one involved in that unfortunate misunderstanding.”
Lord Richards's face immediately turned a spectacular shade of crimson. “There was no misunderstanding,” he said stiffly, shifting in his chair.
“Oh?” The Duke leaned back with all the ease of a man discussing the weather rather than publicly dismantling another gentleman's reputation. “Then I suppose her father challenged you to a duel for an entirely unrelated reason.”
Around them, several guests suddenly became fascinated by their breakfasts. One lady nearly buried her face in her teacup.
Lord Richards looked horrified. “It was years ago,” he muttered.
“Was it?” the Duke asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“It was resolved,” Lord Richards insisted, gripping his napkin.
“How fortunate,” the Duke replied smoothly.
An agonizing silence settled over that section of the table. Seraphine could practically feel Lord Richards's desire to vanish into the floorboards.
A moment later he pushed back his chair so abruptly that it scraped loudly against the floor.
“I have just remembered an appointment,” he announced.
At breakfast. Inside a country house?
