Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The journey to Amberhall Manor in the countryside proved far more pleasant than Seraphine had expected.
Lady Branson, a longtime friend of the family, and her daughters had happily welcomed her into their carriage, and by the time the estate came into view, all four ladies were thoroughly engaged in discussing the upcoming house party.
“I heard there will be a boating competition,” Hannah Branson said excitedly as she peered through the carriage window.
Katherine laughed. “And I heard Lord Ashbury intends to embarrass himself at archery again.”
“He does that every year,” Lady Branson agreed. “One wonders why he continues attempting it.”
“Hope springs eternal,” Seraphine said with a smile.
The women laughed. The atmosphere inside the carriage was warm and genuinely jolly. It was such a welcome change from Donmere House that Seraphine felt relaxed for the first time in days.
Outside, Amberhall Manor emerged from the rolling countryside.
The sprawling estate sat atop a gentle rise, constructed from pale stone that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Gardens stretched in every direction. Guests and servants moved about the front drive in organized chaos as carriage after carriage arrived.
Hannah pressed her face closer to the carriage window as Amberhall Manor came fully into view and clasped her hands together in delight.
“Oh, look at all the people!” she exclaimed, watching the steady stream of arriving guests and servants moving across the front drive.
Seraphine leaned slightly to look past her and took in the bustling scene.
Carriages lined the sweeping approach, footmen hurried between arrivals, and elegant ladies in travelling gowns were already ascending the grand steps.
“A mere forty or fifty guests,” she said solemnly, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement.
Lady Branson laughed outright and shook her head at her. “You have spent too much time with the Duchess,” she said, adjusting her gloves. “Only the Duchess of Amberhall could describe fifty guests as an intimate gathering.”
The carriage rolled smoothly to a stop before the grand entrance, and immediately several footmen stepped forward with practiced efficiency. Excitement rippled through the carriage as the ladies gathered reticules, gloves, and shawls.
Katherine smoothed her skirts and smiled brightly. “This shall be wonderful,” she declared, her eyes shining with anticipation.
“It had better be,” Lady Branson replied as she inspected her reflection in the glass. “I brought six new gowns, and I refuse to have packed them for nothing.”
The others laughed as the carriage door swung open.
Still smiling, Seraphine descended first. The journey had put her in unusually good spirits, and for the first time in weeks she felt almost carefree.
Her attention remained fixed behind her as she stepped down from the carriage, which was precisely why she failed to notice someone standing directly in her path.
She collided with a hard, immovable surface. The impact startled a gasp from her lips. For one bewildered instant she thought she had walked into a stone pillar.
Then a strong hand closed firmly around her arm while another settled against her waist, steadying her before she could stumble backwards. The world tilted alarmingly for a moment before righting itself.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Mortified, she lifted her head. And found herself staring directly into a pair of cold green eyes. Her stomach dropped.
Oh no. Damien. The Duke of Wexford. Of course it would be him.
For a heartbeat she simply stared. He looked exactly as she remembered, tall, imposing, and entirely too handsome for a man who spent so much time looking disapproving. His dark coat fit his broad shoulders perfectly, and his expression revealed absolutely nothing.
“Careful,” he said, his deep voice calm as he steadied her fully before she could embarrass herself further.
The simple word sent an unwelcome flutter through her stomach.
Nerves, she told herself immediately.
Pure nerves and nothing more.
Anyone would feel unsettled after nearly falling flat on their face in front of dozens of guests.
Behind her, she became aware that Lady Branson and her daughters had fallen completely silent. Their chipper chatter vanished as though someone had extinguished it with a candle snuffer. Seraphine did not need to turn around to know they were all staring.
Wonderful.
She had arrived at Amberhall Manor and managed to make a spectacle of herself within seconds.
The Duke released her only once it was certain she had regained her balance. His hands disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind an irritating awareness of where they had been. Seraphine straightened her shoulders at once, determined to recover what remained of her dignity.
“Your Grace.”
The Duke inclined his head. A single sharp glance swept across the three women as they descended the carriage. Seraphine watched the transformation with reluctant admiration. It was remarkable how much authority one man could communicate without uttering a single word.
Lady Branson straightened immediately.
“Your Grace.” The ladies curtsied. The Duke bowed sharply.
“Well, we should not keep the Duchess waiting,” Lady Branson said briskly as she adjusted her gloves and offered Seraphine an apologetic smile.
“Quite right,” Katherine agreed, already taking a step towards the entrance.
“And I simply must see my room,” Hannah added, though she had shown no such urgency a moment earlier.
Within moments they had abandoned Seraphine entirely, disappearing through the grand doors with suspicious haste.
Traitors.
Seraphine watched them go before turning back towards the Duke. The broad stone steps suddenly felt much larger and far more exposed than they had a moment ago. Guests bustled around the drive below, servants hurried between carriages, yet somehow it felt as though they were standing alone.
Has he told anyone that I proposed to him in the night? Will he speak of it to me, or forget it happened?
Her companion regarded her steadily, his expression unreadable.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, slipping his hands behind his back as though he were conducting a formal interrogation rather than greeting a guest.
The question was so blunt that her indignation immediately returned.
“I could ask the same of you,” she replied, lifting her chin as she met his gaze.
One dark eyebrow rose. “Thalia is my sister,” he reminded her, his tone suggesting this should have been painfully obvious.
“Ah yes,” Seraphine said with exaggerated thoughtfulness as she clasped her hands before her. “I had nearly forgotten.”
The Duke folded his arms across his chest. “Something you did not forget a few nights ago,” he added dryly.
Do not dare speak of my foolish proposal.
Seraphine bit back a smile. “She happens to be my best friend,” she informed him, gesturing towards the house behind them.
“And therefore, you were invited,” he concluded.
“I was. She came to Donmere House to invite me herself,” she confirmed with satisfaction.
The Duke nodded thoughtfully, though there was a suspicious glint in his eyes. “I was invited via a letter,” he said flatly.
For a moment Seraphine simply stared at him. Then a grin escaped before she could stop it.
“How formal,” she observed, her smile growing wider.
“Apparently my sister felt it necessary,” he said, sounding faintly aggrieved by the fact.
Seraphine's smile widened triumphantly. For some reason she found the image of the formidable Duke of Wexford receiving a formal invitation to his own sister's house deeply amusing.
The Duke noticed her amusement immediately and narrowed his eyes.
“You seem pleased by this,” he observed, watching her far too closely.
“I am,” Seraphine admitted, unable to suppress her grin.
“Why?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as though genuinely curious.
“Because for once I appear to have outranked a duke.” To her astonishment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile. But close. The sight unsettled her far more than his scowling ever had because it made her heart leap. She quickly looked away. There was something profoundly unfair about a man becoming more attractive when he almost smiled.
Damien tilted his head slightly as he regarded her, his expression settling into dry resignation.
“I would not become too comfortable with the achievement,” he said.
Seraphine clasped her hands behind her back and lifted her chin. “I intend to treasure it forever,” she informed him with a bright smile that was deliberately provoking.
A faint look of long-suffering crossed his face. “I was afraid of that,” he replied, rubbing a hand across his jaw.
The exchange should not have felt so natural.
Yet somehow it did. Most gentlemen inspired her polite manners and carefully measured responses.
The Duke inspired quite the opposite. Around him, she became argumentative.
Defiant. Entirely too willing to challenge him simply because he expected her not to.
It was a side of herself she rarely revealed.
Certainly not while in polite Society. Perhaps it is because he irritates me so thoroughly.
The Duke’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer than necessary. The trace of amusement disappeared from his features, and something in the atmosphere shifted. The easy humor between them faded, replaced by a tension she could not quite name.
He took a slow step closer. “Since we're discussing proper invitations,” he said, his voice lowering slightly as he looked down at her, “perhaps we should discuss proper behavior.”
Seraphine immediately frowned at him. “My behavior is perfectly proper,” she declared, planting her hands firmly on her hips.
The Duke’s eyes flickered briefly to the gesture before returning to her face. “Hm,” he murmured, the sound carrying enough skepticism to be deeply insulting.
Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, taking a step towards him as though challenging him to explain himself.
“It means,” the Duke replied calmly, “that you improperly arrived at my house in the middle of the night.”
Her cheeks heated at once. That was hardly fair. She had been desperate that night, cornered by circumstances and running out of options. Yet the Duke spoke of it as though she had climbed through his window armed with a pistol.
“You make it sound scandalous,” she said, lifting her chin as she fixed him with an indignant look.
His expression remained infuriatingly calm as he looked down at her. “It was scandalous,” he replied without hesitation.
“It was practical,” Seraphine shot back, folding her arms across her chest.
“It was reckless,” he countered, not missing a beat.
“It was necessary,” she insisted, taking a small step forward.
His words should not have affected her. Yet they did. Something in the way he said them made her heart stumble unexpectedly.
Annoying. Very annoying.
She looked away for a moment, gathering herself, only to find that the Duke was still watching her. His gaze was steady and intent.
“You had better not behave inappropriately in my sister's home,” he said at last, his tone deceptively mild.
Seraphine stared at him in disbelief. “Inappropriately?” she repeated, her eyebrows shooting upward.
Drawing herself up to her full height, she attempted to look imposing. Unfortunately, the Duke still towered over her by several inches.
“I shall have you know, Your Grace,” she said with great dignity, “that I will be the picture of the good girl.”
A strange gleam appeared in his eyes. Then came that infuriating smirk. Not a full smile. Somehow worse. The sort of expression that suggested he knew something she did not. Seraphine immediately distrusted it.
“Will you indeed?” he asked, one dark eyebrow lifting.
“Yes,” she replied firmly, refusing to be intimidated.
His gaze swept over her face, lingering just long enough to make her uncomfortably aware of it. He looked entirely entertained by the conversation. As though he was enjoying himself. As though provoking her had become a favorite pastime.
Before she could demand an explanation for that ridiculous smirk, the front doors burst open behind them.
“Seraphine!” Thalia practically flew down the steps, skirts gathered in her hands as she hurried towards them. Her face lit up the moment she spotted her friend.
“There you are!” she exclaimed, reaching Seraphine and immediately seizing both her hands.
Seraphine laughed despite herself. “Good afternoon to you as well.”
Only then did Thalia glance between them. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as they landed on her brother.
“What have you done now, Damien?” she demanded.
The Duke looked deeply offended by the accusation. “I have done nothing,” he replied, spreading his hands slightly as though he were the injured party.
Seraphine, meanwhile, found herself smiling. Genuine excitement stirred within her. The house party had finally begun.
And judging by the look the Duke sent her before Thalia dragged her inside…
It promises to be anything but dull.