Yet as she crossed the ballroom, weaving elegantly between clusters of guests and couples moving across the dance floor, a quiet disappointment settled in her chest.
Which is rather unfair.
Damien had done exactly what he promised. She could hardly accuse him of neglecting his duty. He had found three respectable gentlemen, three eligible bachelors who met every requirement she had demanded.
Lord Shelding possessed considerable wealth and an enthusiasm for estate management that bordered on alarming. Lord Cunningham was sensible, courteous, and entirely free of scandal. Lord Everend was pleasant company, charming enough to make conversation enjoyable without ever venturing into impropriety.
Objectively, they were excellent choices. Lord Shelding, Lord Cunningham, and Lord Everend possessed all the qualities a sensible woman ought to seek in a husband. They were respectable, financially secure, and free from any scandal that might threaten a future marriage. Each of them held a title, maintained a good reputation, and appeared to possess reasonably pleasant temperaments. By every practical measure, Damien had fulfilled his promise to her. She ought to have been delighted by the outcome.
Instead, she felt strangely underwhelmed. The realization irritated her more than she cared to admit, particularly because she could not identify a sensible reason for it. She did not require excitement in a husband, nor had she ever imagined herself pursuing some grand romantic attachment.
Excitement is unreliable, and romance does not pay estate debts or secure inheritances.
What she needed was stability, protection, and a future that remained firmly under her control.
What I need is a respectable husband.
And yet, despite understanding exactly what was at stake, she could not shake the feeling that something was missing. The sensation lingered stubbornly at the back of her mind no matter how firmly she attempted to dismiss it. Finding a husband before William's deadline arrived and destroyed everything she had worked so hard to preserve remained her primary objective.Nothing else should have mattered. Nothing else could afford to matter. Still, the dissatisfaction remained.
“Are you having a pleasant time?” Thalia asked.
Seraphine was suddenly brought out of her thoughts. “Indeed I am.”
“I see your dance card has been very full indeed,” Thalia said.
“Full is an understatement,” Rosaline said joining them with her husband Laurent at her side.
“Oh, Laurent so good to see you,” Seraphine curtsied.
“I arrived late, forgive my tardiness. I had business to deal with in town before joining you all,” he said.
“Better late than never as they say,” Thalia said.
As her sister and friends spoke to each other about muddy roads on the journey and mingling guests, her thoughts drifted somewhere they ought not to go. They drifted toward a certain infuriating Duke with entirely too much confidence and entirely too much influence over her thoughts. Toward green eyes that seemed capable of seeing straight through her. Toward a man who seemed determined to interfere with her life at every possible opportunity.
The ballroom suddenly felt warm, far warmer than it had only moments before. She needed a moment to herself before she returned to the endless parade of polite smiles and pleasant conversation.
Just one moment to breathe.
“I believe I need some refreshment after all that dancing,” she said excusing herself. She made her way toward the punch but then turned down a corridor when no one was looking.
Slipping quietly from the crowded room, she made her way through a side drawing room that was completely empty. She stepped onto a secluded balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens below.
After a moment, footsteps sounded behind her, causing her shoulders to stiffen at once. Turning, she found herself entirely unsurprised by the sight before her.
Damien standing in the doorway. The soft glow from the ballroom spilled across his broad shoulders, outlining his imposing frame against the darkness beyond. Neither of them spoke before he stepped onto the balcony.
“How did you find them?” Damien asked, slipping his hands behind his back as he regarded her steadily. His voice revealed nothing at all. Not curiosity. Not concern. Nothing. Seraphine suspected that was entirely intentional.
“They were all decent,” Seraphine replied, smoothing an imaginary crease from her skirts as she met his gaze.
Something flickered across his expression. It vanished before she could identify it. “Decent?” Damien repeated, lifting a skeptical brow.
“Yes,” she answered calmly.
“Lord Shelding appears very enthusiastic about drainage,” Seraphine said, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself.
Damien snorted and glanced away briefly. The unexpected sound almost made her smile.
