Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Seraphine smiled and danced when politeness required it. She laughed when conversation demanded it. She listened attentively, asked thoughtful questions, and conducted herself exactly as she had been taught since childhood.
A proper Society lady. No one watching her would have suspected that her future hung by a thread.
That I searched for a husband with the threat of becoming of a nun over my head.
As the evening progressed, Damien's chosen suitors took their turns.
Lord Shelding had spoken enthusiastically.
“Improvement to the drainage systems on my estate have progressed,” he said.
Seraphine listened with sincere interest. “That is…remarkable,” she said because she had manners, but even she had begun to suspect the man felt more passion for irrigation than for human companionship.
Lord Cunningham had been perfectly agreeable.
Unfortunately, he had also been perfectly dull and said little at all.
Lord Everend had fared the best of the three. He was kind, pleasant, and possessed a decent sense of humor. “And when the chickens were set loose, I thought that the room would have fainted,” he said recalling a good joke.
“That is very funny indeed. I wish I could have seen such a spectacle,” she laughed.
And yet… Something was missing.
As she finished her dance with Lord Everend, Seraphine offered him a flawless curtsy.
“Thank you for the dance, my lord.”
“The pleasure was entirely mine, Lady Seraphine,” he replied warmly.
She smiled politely before taking her leave. Not a single aspect of her behavior could be faulted. Lord Everend bowed in return, clearly pleased by their dance, and she rewarded him with one final gracious smile before moving away.
Exactly as it ought to be. No mistakes. No impropriety. No reason for Society to criticize.
Seraphine had spent years mastering every rule expected of a lady. She knew precisely how to conduct herself in company, how to navigate a ballroom, how to converse without encouraging gossip, and how to leave an interaction with grace. Tonight would be no different.
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.
“That is true,” he admitted with a reluctant shake of his head.
“Lord Cunningham was pleasant…pleasantly quiet,” she continued, tilting her head thoughtfully.
“He is,” Damien agreed, his gaze returning to her face.
“Lord Everend was kind and surprisingly funny. I laughed quite often, actually,” Seraphine added softly, watching him carefully for a reaction.
Damien's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly before he schooled his expression once more.
The movement was so slight she might have imagined it.
Yet she was almost certain she had not. The silence that followed lingered between them.
And somehow it felt far more revealing than any words either of them had spoken.
“Thank you,” Seraphine said softly, clasping her hands before her.
The words seemed to catch him off guard.
His brows lifted slightly before settling again.
For a man who always appeared prepared for battle, gratitude seemed to surprise him.
He stared at her for a moment as though searching for some hidden meaning. The expression made her smile.
“For what?” Damien asked, shifting his weight as he regarded her carefully. His gaze settled on her face and remained there. Steady. Uncomfortable.
Attentive.
Seraphine suddenly became aware of every breath she took. The intensity of his attention made her pulse flutter.
“For helping me, of course. It is possible Lord Everend might be the one,” Seraphine replied, offering him a small smile as she lifted one shoulder in a faint shrug.
Damien's expression hardened by the smallest degree. “You are welcome,” he said after a pause, lowering his gaze briefly before meeting hers again. The moment stretched between them. Neither seemed quite willing to end it. The quiet felt oddly intimate.
“I can take matters from here,” Seraphine said at last, breaking the silence as she stepped back. She turned gracefully, intending to leave before the conversation became any stranger.
Or more intoxicating.
The decision felt sensible. Necessary, even. Unfortunately, Damien appeared to have other ideas. Before she had taken more than a step, he moved, blocking her path.