Chapter 16 #2
Seraphine lowered the strawberry she had been about to eat and exchanged a puzzled look with Rosaline.
Around them, conversations began to die away as guests turned towards the Duchess of Amberhall.
Nothing good ever came from that particular expression on Thalia's face.
It was the same look she wore before convincing respectable ladies to participate in ridiculous games involving flour and humiliation.
“What could she be up to now?” Seraphine asked Rosaline quietly as she watched her friend hurry towards the edge of the pond.
“Last time she wore that smile, I ended up with my face buried inside a mountain of flour.” She shuddered theatrically.
“I am still finding traces of it in places flour ought never to reach.”
Rosaline laughed and adjusted the bonnet of little Annie, who was attempting to eat a daisy.
“With Thalia,” she replied, rescuing the flower from her daughter, “it could be absolutely anything. The woman treats entertainment as though it were a military campaign.” Her eyes followed the Duchess fondly. “And somehow everyone survives.”
The sisters rose from their blanket as the crowd gradually gathered near the pond.
At the dock stood Thalia and Caspian, both looking entirely too pleased with themselves.
The late afternoon sunlight danced across the water, while five small rowing boats bobbed gently beside the wooden pier.
Servants stood nearby trying unsuccessfully to hide their amusement.
Caspian stepped forward and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Attention!” he called loudly. “Attention, everyone!” His voice carried easily across the lawn.
Gradually the chatter faded until all eyes turned towards him. Beside him, Thalia looked as though she might burst from excitement if left waiting much longer.
Once silence settled, Thalia spread her arms dramatically. “To conclude today's picnic,” she declared, “we have arranged a gentleman's boat race!”
Her announcement was met by immediate cheers and laughter. Several ladies applauded enthusiastically while others began whispering excitedly amongst themselves.
Seraphine could not help laughing. “Of course she has,” she murmured. “Why am I not surprised?”
Around her, guests surged towards the docks with renewed energy. Even elderly dowagers seemed suddenly interested in the proceedings. There was something undeniably entertaining about watching grown men make fools of themselves.
Rosaline and Seraphine linked their arms together as they joined the crowd.
“Because watching gentlemen compete appeals to every woman alive,” she replied with complete seriousness.
“Especially when they become competitive.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Men lose all sense when challenged.”
“That cannot possibly be true,” Seraphine said.
Rosaline looked at her. “Very well,” she admitted. “It is probably true.”
They found a place near the front of the gathering just as Caspian raised a silver pin for everyone to see.
Sunlight glinted off the polished surface.
“The winner,” he announced grandly, “shall receive this magnificent prize! A glorious pure silver pin.” A cheer rose from the crowd.
“Now then, what gentlemen dare compete?”
Seraphine's heart unexpectedly skipped. She immediately knew whose name she was waiting to hear. Which was ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. And yet she found herself scanning the crowd anyway. Rosaline apparently noticed.
“Oh dear,” her sister murmured.
Seraphine ignored her. One gentleman stepped forward.
“Lord Whickham,” Rosaline narrated helpfully. “Of course. He would race a swan if someone challenged him.”
Whickham bowed dramatically to the crowd, earning several laughs. Another gentleman joined him beside the boats.
“Lord Cunningham,” Rosaline continued, sounding surprised. “Now that is unexpected.”
“It is a boat race,” Seraphine pointed out.
“Exactly, and he is a quiet man of sorts,” Rosaline said.
A third man stepped forward. “Lord Nathanson.”
Seraphine nodded politely. Then another joined the growing line.
“Oh,” Rosaline said with interest. “Lord Everend.”
Seraphine immediately regretted looking at him because Rosaline's grin widened.
“I daresay he would happily hand that silver pin straight to you if he wins.”
“Oh, Rosaline, do not be silly,” Seraphine replied, trying and failing to suppress her blush. “The man has known me for scarcely a few days.”
“Men have accomplished greater foolishness in less time,” Rosaline said, her grin widening as she folded her arms across her chest.
Before Seraphine could argue, Rosaline's expression abruptly changed. The teasing amusement vanished from her face. She straightened slightly and stared towards the crowd gathered near the docks.
Then her eyes widened. “Oh.”
Seraphine frowned and turned towards her sister. “What is it?” she asked, following the direction of Rosaline's gaze.
Then, she forgot how to breathe. Rosaline lifted a hand and pointed discreetly at the competitors gathering beside the boats.
“The Duke of Wexford has stepped forward,” she said softly.
Damien emerged from the crowd and walked towards the dock with calm confidence. The cheering noticeably increased. Several ladies near Seraphine immediately straightened where they stood. One even sighed. Seraphine disliked that sigh more than she should have.
Damien removed his coat and handed it to a servant. Then he rolled his sleeves to his elbows before loosening his cravat and pulling it free. The movement was entirely practical.
It should not be so distracting.
Unfortunately, it was. Very distracting. Far more distracting than any gentleman had a right to be. Seraphine's gaze lingered far longer than was proper. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. Her breathing quickened. Then she sighed.
Rosaline made a suspicious noise beside her. “I heard that,” she muttered.
“I said nothing,” Seraphine said annoyed. She wished she had not admitted her thoughts about the Duke to her sister because now she felt very bare and vulnerable.
The race began. The five men climbed into separate boats and pushed away from the dock.
Cheers erupted from the side of the pond as the competitors began rowing furiously towards the opposite bank.
Water splashed. Oars cut through the surface.
Gentlemen who usually carried themselves with dignity suddenly looked remarkably determined.
Seraphine tried watching all five competitors.
She truly did. Yet her eyes kept finding Damien.
The powerful movement of his shoulders. The steady rhythm of his rowing.
The fierce concentration upon his face. Every pull of the oars sent the boat surging forward.
He looked entirely in command. Entirely unstoppable.
His back muscular and strong. The realization sent a strange warmth through her.
She felt the fabric of her dress grow taut against her skin and became aware of her corset brushing against the rosy peaks of her breasts.
Oh my, what is happening to me?
Lord Everend rowed admirably. Lord Whickham looked as though he was battling the pond itself. Lord Nathanson appeared exhausted halfway through. Yet Damien steadily pulled ahead until it became obvious that he would win.
The crowd began chanting his name. Seraphine found herself smiling despite her efforts not to.
Of course, Damien would probably defeat the sea itself if challenged.
With one final powerful stroke, his boat reached the finish first. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Laughter and applause echoed across the water.
As Damien stood on the boat to bow graciously in triumph, he did something that shocked Seraphine. He dove straight into the water.
The crowd gasped, then immediately burst into laughter.
Seconds later he stood up, water streaming from his dark hair and soaked shirt.
The thin white fabric clung shamelessly to him, outlining every hard line of his broad shoulders and the powerful shape of his chest beneath.
Water traced slow paths down his neck and disappeared beneath the soaked fabric, which suddenly revealed far more than it concealed.
A collective hush seemed to ripple through the ladies gathered along the dock before it dissolved into breathless whispers and poorly disguised staring.
One woman actually fanned herself. Another looked moments away from requesting smelling salts.
Seraphine's stomach performed an alarming little flutter as Damien pushed wet hair back from his forehead with complete indifference, apparently unaware of the devastation he was causing.
Good heavens. The collective swooning could likely be heard all the way to London.
“Oh my,” a woman whispered nearby.
“Heavens above,” breathed another.
A third lady looked ready to faint entirely. To Seraphine's horror, jealousy flared unexpectedly inside her. She did not like hearing other women admire him. She especially did not like how obvious their admiration was.
Which is absurd. I have no claim whatsoever.
Rosaline slowly leaned closer. A wicked smile curved her lips. “Well, well…still find the Duke intriguing?” she whispered.
Seraphine stared stubbornly at the pond. Unfortunately, that required looking directly at Damien, which only made matters worse.
“Oh, do be quiet,” Seraphine said bluntly.
Rosaline's laughter followed her all the way back towards the picnic blankets.