Thalia was already directing servants despite it being her brother's wedding breakfast, unable to resist organizing every detail.
Lady Branson chatted animatedly with Lady Kane, while Katherine and Hannah admired the floral arrangements that decorated every table. Lord Everend and Lord Shelding stood together discussing horses as though nothing extraordinary had occurred that morning.
"You appear remarkably cheerful," Benedict observed as he wandered over, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing servant. Flashing his usual effortless grin, he leaned lazily against the window beside Damien. "Either marriage agrees with you, or you've perfected the art of looking delighted while being secretly miserable.”
Damien cast him a flat look before taking a measured sip of brandy. "I will not appease your jests on my wedding day."
Benedict laughed outright. "I have no intention of making jests, merely an observation."
Damien ignored the remark, though his attention drifted across the room of its own accord. Seraphine stood surrounded by Rosaline, Thalia, Lady Branson, and the younger ladies, laughing softly at something Katherine had said. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching the white silk scarf draped elegantly around her shoulders. The delicate fabric glowed against her gown, making her seem almost ethereal. She looked happier than he had expected, and somehow more beautiful than she had standing at the altar scarcely an hour before.
My wife.
The thought settled over him with astonishing force.
She is truly my wife.
Not a hopeful possibility. Not a duty waiting to be fulfilled. Not the lady who had once appeared unexpectedly in his drawing room asking him to marry her. She bore his name now. Duchess of Wexford.
His gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than it ought to have, and an unfamiliar possessiveness stirred deep within him. Every instinct urged him to cross the room, stand beside her, and ensure no one troubled her again. The impulse unsettled him almost as much as it comforted him.
"You are staring," Benedict murmured knowingly, following his friend's gaze. He lifted one brow before hiding a smile behind his champagne glass. "I do believe our formidable Duke has discovered he possesses eyes after all."
Damien remained perfectly still. "I am ensuring my guests are comfortable."
Benedict barked a laugh. "Naturally. I often inspect the same guest every thirty seconds when conducting such important duties."
Before Damien could devise an appropriately cutting reply, another gentleman approached with measured confidence.
"Your Grace," the newcomer said smoothly, offering a courteous bow. "Allow me to congratulate you upon your marriage."
Damien turned automatically, irritation already prickling before recognition struck.
Augustus Bowditch. Lord Pemberley.
The same man whose jaw Damien had very nearly broken at Amberhall after witnessing him attempting to lure Seraphine away from the guests.
His expression cooled instantly.
"You possess remarkable courage," Damien said evenly, setting his glass upon a nearby table. "How dare you show your face beneath my roof?"
Augustus merely smiled, the expression never reaching his calculating eyes.
"Surely a wedding is a time for forgiveness." He adjusted the cuffs of his coat with infuriating composure. "Besides, I wished only to offer congratulations to your charming bride."
Damien stepped closer until scarcely a foot separated them.
"I suggest," he said quietly, "that you reconsider."
Lord Pemberley tilted his head with exaggerated innocence before letting his gaze drift towards Seraphine across the hall. "She looks exquisite," he remarked wistfully. "Though I confess, Your Grace, you ought to take greater care concealing your... activities."
Damien's jaw tightened.
Augustus smiled faintly. "That beautiful white scarf she wears could yet prove your demise."
Ice flooded Damien's veins.
Without another word he seized Lord Pemberley firmly by the arm and steered him through a side doorway into a deserted corridor. The heavy oak door closed behind them with a decisive click. The pleasant sounds of celebration disappeared, replaced by thick silence. Damien spun the man sharply and slammed him back against the paneled wall, fisting a hand in the front of his coat.
