Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Damien found it unsettling to watch Seraphine with Lord Everend.
Foolish. I picked the man out myself to be her suitor. I should be glad to see that courtship flourish.
But he was not. He could see in Seraphine’s eyes that something was amiss before they were interrupted by Everend, but he did not know what troubled her.
He turned on his heel to enter the house, but Caspian blocked his path.
“Ah, Wexford, enjoying the gardens?” he asked.
“They are fine gardens,” Damien replied.
He was in no mood for small chatter and wanted to return inside or he would be forced to watch Seraphine walk hand in hand with Everend.
“And the gardens of Wexford Manor, how do you manage?” Caspian asked.
“I manage fine and they are doing well. Why ask such a question?” Damien looked at him suspiciously.
Caspian dropped his shoulders in resignation and sighed, “I confess your sister has asked me to prod.”
Damien straightened. “Prod?”
“I was going to ask why do you not take a wife, a duchess to manage those gardens of Wexford Manor and so forth…” Caspian raised a brow. “Then I was to find out who you might be courting if anyone.”
Damien shook his head. “Of course my sister wants to know such things. Well you may inform her that I court no one.”
“I see,” Caspian said.
“As for the matter of a duchess… I do not plan on marrying. It will be up to my brother to carry on the Wexford name for I will not be having children either,” Damien said.
Caspian froze in place. “No marriage. No children. What has brought on such an unnatural notion? All men seek marriage and legacy. Especially men of our station,” he said.
“My reasons are my own. You may report back to my sister that you tried your best. But now, if you will excuse me…” he said.
Damien brushed past Caspian and entered the house. His mood had darkened.
My sister is meddling in what she should not be meddling in. I have no intention of marrying. She of all people should know that I am more like my father than I wish to be and that is reason enough to never subject a wife to that kind of treatment.
As he made his way upstairs, he paused at a window. Down below in the gardens, Seraphine laughed at something that Everend said. It felt like a blow to his gut.
Good. She should be happy. She deserves it. But I cannot be the one to give it to her.
Later that evening, before dinner was announced, the guests gathered in Amberhall Manor's drawing room.
Conversation drifted through the elegant space while servants moved quietly amongst the guests, carrying trays of wine and lemonade.
The atmosphere was far less formal, allowing people to mingle freely before the meal.
Seraphine stood near one of the tall windows, observing the room with careful attention.
If I am to find a husband, I cannot afford to waste opportunities. One month is slipping away far too quickly. But is this truly what I want? I am so confused.
She smoothed a hand over her skirts and scanned the gentlemen scattered throughout the room.
Lord Shelding was currently discussing crop yields with an elderly baron.
Lord Cunningham appeared trapped by Lady Branson and her two daughters.
Lord Everend was nowhere to be seen. Her gaze eventually landed upon another gentleman she vaguely knew.
Lord Nathanson stood near the fireplace, handsome enough, reasonably young, and currently laughing at something another guest had said. Seraphine drew a quiet breath. There was no reason not to move in that direction.
Determined, she began crossing the room.
Yet the closer she came, the more uncertain she felt.
The gentleman's smile seemed pleasant enough, but what did that truly mean?
Her father had smiled in public. Her father had charmed people.
Her father had hidden his cruelty behind good manners and a noble title. The memory caused her steps to falter.
Seraphine stopped entirely.
A strange feeling settled in her stomach. Lord Nathanson had done nothing wrong. He had not even spoken to her. Yet uncertainty rooted her firmly in place.
What if I choose poorly? What if I find myself trapped with a husband who appeared respectable to Society but proved far worse behind closed doors? Is that worse than the abbey?
The thought chilled her despite the warmth of the room. Then she looked up to see that Damien was watching her. Her breath hitched at the sight. Without another thought, she turned away.
She wandered toward a nearby painting and pretended great interest in the landscape depicted there. It was a rather ordinary painting of a river and some sheep.
Seraphine stared at it as though it was the most interesting painting she had ever seen. Anything was preferable to admitting she had lost her nerve. She folded her hands neatly and focused on looking occupied.
She knew that Damien was nearby because she heard Thalia address him.
“Is that a smile I see on my brother's face?” she asked.
“I believe you are mistaken, sister. You should consult a physician regarding your eyesight.”
Thalia laughed. “My eyesight is perfectly adequate,” Thalia said.
Seraphine continued to listen while admiring the painting, pretending not to eavesdrop. Unfortunately, Damien soon appeared beside her.
He glanced at the painting thoughtfully, tilting his head as though conducting a serious artistic evaluation. “Remarkable.”
“It is a good painting,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the canvas.
“It is certainly one of the best paintings ever created,” he replied.
Despite herself, she nearly smiled.
“What do you want?” She finally turned her head slightly, regarding him from the corner of her eye.
Damien folded his hands behind his back and continued studying the artwork. “I was curious.”
“Curiosity is a dangerous thing.” She arched a brow.
“That is often true.” One corner of his mouth twitched.
She sighed and looked back at the painted sheep. Then she felt his hand brush against hers. Her breath hitched at the accidental touch. A heat rushed through her and she knew that a blush had formed on her cheeks.
She felt him lean away from her as though not to cause such a touch again.
His gaze shifted toward her. “What stopped you from approaching Lord Nathanson?”
Seraphine stiffened, her fingers tightening around each other.
“It is none of your business,” she said coolly.
“It is my business.” Damien's attention remained fixed on her rather than the painting.
“No.” She shook her head once.
“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation.
She turned to face him properly, her expression narrowing with suspicion. “How?”
Damien's eyes gleamed with amusement. “You requested my assistance, sweetheart. Therefore, I have become invested in the outcome.”
Seraphine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I do not recall signing any contracts.” She folded her arms and lifted her chin.
“Verbal agreements count,” Damien replied, one corner of his mouth twitching as he regarded her.
“Not this one.” She shot him a pointed look.
“They do in my experience.” He shrugged lightly, entirely unbothered by her irritation.
The infuriating man.
She looked away. “I am not telling you why I turned away from Nathanson.” Her fingers tightened around each other as she stared at the painting.
“Why?” Damien tilted his head slightly, studying her profile.
“Because you will dismiss it.” She glanced back at him.
His eyes moved to her lips. Something shifted in his expression. For once, he looked genuinely curious. “I promise I won't.” His voice softened as he met her gaze, the teasing edge disappearing from his tone.
Seraphine hesitated. The way he looked at her mouth had her heart pumping. She had to look away.
His promise surprised her. Most people dismissed her concerns immediately.
Most people had never lived under the rule of the late Earl of Donmere.
Most people had never spent years learning to measure a man's temper before entering a room.
Her fingers tightened together. She disliked discussing such things.
Damien waited patiently. Which somehow made it worse. Finally, she sighed and let her gaze drift back to the painting. “I am afraid,” she admitted, twisting her fingers together in front of her. The words felt strange leaving her mouth.
Damien remained silent, merely watching her with an unreadable expression. She drew a slow breath before continuing quietly.
“I worry I shall choose poorly.”
His gaze sharpened at once, and he shifted slightly to face her more fully. “What do you mean?”
Seraphine looked down at her clasped hands, unable to meet his eyes. “My father appeared respectable.”
The admission hurt.
“He was charming when he wished to be.” She traced the edge of her sleeve with her thumb. “Society liked him. Most people thought him wonderful.” She swallowed hard and lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “Yet he was not wonderful.”
Damien's expression darkened, the amusement disappearing entirely from his face. “And now?” he asked, his voice quieter than before.
She laughed softly without humor and shook her head. “Now every gentleman seems like a gamble.”
The confession lingered between them. For a moment, neither spoke. Seraphine kept her eyes fixed on the floor while Damien studied her in thoughtful silence.
Then his voice softened. “A reasonable concern.”
Seraphine blinked and finally looked up at him. That was not dismissal. That was understanding. Unexpectedly, relief washed through her.
“You truly think so?” she asked, searching his face.
“I do,” Damien replied with a slight nod.
The simple answer eased something tight inside her chest. They stood in comfortable silence for several moments before Damien spoke again.
“Why are you in such a hurry to marry?” he asked.
Seraphine froze. The question should not have surprised her, but it did.
I can hardly tell him I’m facing a forced future at Westborough Abbey. If Thalia discovered such a thing, she would worry endlessly. Rosaline would do the same. No. I will bear this burden in silence.