“He is merely a possibility,” she said quietly, twisting her napkin between her fingers.
Rosaline's expression softened. “A possibility?”
“Nothing more,” Seraphine replied, keeping her eyes fixed on Damien across the room.
“You sound unconvinced,” Rosaline observed gently.
Seraphine hesitated before answering. “It is too early to tell.”
Even as she said the words, her eyes found Damien once more.
And that, more than anything, irritated her.
“And here’s your mother,” Laurent said as he approached holding little two-year-old Annie.
“Indeed, here I am,” Rosaline smiled.
“I will hold her.” Seraphine reached out her hands and accepted the handover of her niece Annie. She held her on her lap while Rosaline gave the child a piece of toast.
Seraphine loved seeing her sister be so matronly, and she wondered herself…
Will I ever be a happy mother too?
The morning passed at a much slower pace than the excitement of the soirée. Amberhall Manor seemed filled with groaning guests who had remained awake far too late the previous evening. Some nursed headaches. Others sought refuge in quiet corners with tea and books. Even the usually energeticatmosphere of the house had softened into something more subdued. Seraphine found herself grateful for it. The quieter the day became, the easier it should have been to avoid one particular Duke.
Unfortunately, avoiding Damien requires considerably more effort than avoiding ordinary people.
Every time she entered a room, she found herself checking whether he was there. If she heard a deep male voice, her stomach immediately betrayed her by assuming it belonged to him. The realization irritated her immensely. She had spent the entire morning reminding herself that his kiss had changed nothing. He still did not wish to marry her. He still intended to remain stubborn and impossible. Therefore, she ought to stop thinking about him entirely. So she sought refuge in the library.
It was one of her favorite rooms at Amberhall, lined from floor to ceiling with books bound in rich leather. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, illuminating polished shelves and comfortable chairs arranged beside the hearth. The room carried the familiar scent of paper and wood polish. It was peaceful. Or at least it would have been peaceful if Thalia's young child had not been racing through it like a tiny hurricane.
“Jeremy, darling, books are not stepping stones,” Thalia called out. Her tone carried the long-suffering patience of a mother who had repeated the same instruction many times before.
Seraphine laughed.
“I know,” Thalia replied dryly as she continued searching the shelves. “I would have laughed as well if I were not responsible for his upbringing.”
Jeremy promptly darted towards another section of the room.
Seraphine shook her head fondly. “He has your talent for creating chaos.”
“That is a very rude thing to say to a duchess,” Thalia teased while pulling a book free from the shelf. “It is fortunate we are friends.”
“It is fortunate indeed,” Seraphine smiled.
The Duchess settled beside Seraphine in one of the chairs, smoothing her skirts as she glanced after her daughter. A softness entered her features that never failed to catch Seraphine's attention.
“May I ask you something?” she said after a moment.
Thalia immediately looked interested, lowering the book she had been holding onto her lap. “Of course.”
Seraphine hesitated. The question had seemed simple enough a moment ago, yet now she found herself strangely reluctant to voice it aloud. Her fingers twisted together in her lap before she finally said, “Are you truly happy?”
Thalia blinked in surprise and leaned back slightly in her chair. “That was not what I expected.”
“I am serious,” Seraphine replied, meeting her gaze.
The Duchess studied her carefully, some of her amusement fading as she sensed the sincerity behind the question. “About being married?”
