The coachman adjusted the reins while a footman opened the carriage door. Drawing one deep, steadying breath, Seraphine climbed inside, knowing that with the closing of that carriage door, she was leaving far more than Amberhall Manor behind.
My innocence… and him.
Chapter Twenty-One
If Lord Whickham speaks even despite his promise, Seraphine's reputation will be irreparably damaged. Society would forgive me with little more than a raised brow and a knowing smirk. Seraphine would not receive such mercy.
Damien stood before the hearth in the library with a glass of brandy in one hand, staring into the dancing flames without truly seeing them.
He took a slow swallow of brandy and closed his eyes. Every time he did, he saw Seraphine standing in that cramped storage room, her lips flushed from his kisses, her breathing uneven as she looked up at him. He had lost control. Not entirely, but enough. A man who prided himself on strategy and restraint had allowed desire to overrule reason. It was an unforgivable lapse, and the consequences belonged to her far more than they ever would to him.
He already knew what honor demanded. There was no escape from it. She would bear every cruel whisper alone. The thought settled heavily upon his shoulders. There was only one respectable solution left.
“Marriage…” he muttered.
The word sat in his mind like an unwanted sentence already passed. Oddly enough, marrying Seraphine was not the part that filled him with dread. If anything, the notion came far too easily now. The true terror lay beyond the wedding breakfast, beyond the vows, beyond placing his name beside hers forever. That was where his confidence abandoned him entirely.
He stared deeper into the fire as old memories surfaced unbidden. His father had ruled Wexford Manor with impeccable discipline and absolute emotional restraint. Nothing escaped his notice. Every account was balanced, every servant feared him, and every child obeyed without question. Yet the house had never been warm. It had never truly been alive. Efficiency had replaced affection until the walls themselves had seemed cold.
His mother had been the heart of the estate. She had smiled through lonely dinners, hosted elegant soirées, soothed frightened servants, and loved children who scarcely saw their father except to receive correction. Little by little, her laughter had faded. The brightness in her eyes had dimmed until eventually she merely existed within the grand house rather than lived inside it. Damien had been old enough to recognize it only after it was too late.
She had not died of illness alone. She had died of loneliness caused by my father’s indifference.
His jaw tightened. His father had offered nothing. No warmth. No tenderness. No companionship. Merely duty.
Damien swallowed another mouthful of brandy. His mother had slowly withered beneath a husband who fulfilled every obligation except the one that mattered most.
And I am like him…
"There you are," Caspian said as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
He smiled faintly before noticing the half empty decanter beside Damien. "I have been searching the entire house for you."
Damien glanced over his shoulder before taking another measured sip of brandy.
"Why?" he asked evenly, setting the glass upon the mantelpiece. "Has Amberhall collapsed without my presence?"
One corner of Caspian's mouth twitched upward. "Not quite."
Caspian wandered further into the room before folding his arms. "Lord Whickham mentioned that something happened between yourself and Lady Seraphine today." He watched Damiencarefully as he continued. "He would say nothing more, only that Laurent and I ought to keep an eye upon you." He raised a brow. "Would you care to explain?"
Damien closed his eyes for the briefest moment.
"Of course the weasel has begun talking," he muttered beneath his breath.
Caspian chuckled softly. "If it eases your mind," he replied, lifting one shoulder, "he was remarkably discreet." He leaned casually against the nearest bookcase. "It was only Laurent and me who heard him. No ladies were nearby." His expression grew more serious. "He did not reveal anything incriminating."
Damien nodded once. "I have the matter entirely under control," he said firmly, his tone allowing no room for further discussion. He reached for his brandy again, though somehow it no longer tasted quite so satisfying. "There is nothing requiring your intervention."
Caspian studied him for several moments before giving a slow nod. "Very well," he said quietly. "I trust your judgement."
Before either man could speak again, the library door opened once more.
"Oh, there you both are," Thalia said brightly as she entered, though her smile carried a hint of confusion. "I have been wondering where everyone disappeared to."
Damien looked at his sister, another reminder of his father.
His sister had carried that same sadness long before meeting Caspian. Their father's impossible standards had crushed every spark of confidence she possessed. Damien still remembered finding her crying alone in the gardens after receiving another cutting remark disguised as fatherly instruction. She had learned to smile through disappointment just as their mother had. Thankfully, fate had been kinder to Thalia than it had ever been to their mother.
