Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Seraphine stood before the looking glass that evening, trying unsuccessfully to focus on fastening the delicate pearl earrings at her ears.
Every time she thought she had gathered her composure, her mind betrayed her and drifted back to the afternoon.
More specifically, to Damien standing waist-deep in the pond with his shirt plastered against his body.
The memory alone made her breath catch. It was absurd. Utterly absurd.
She was a grown woman of twenty years and perfectly capable of conducting herself properly. Yet every recollection of water dripping from his dark hair seemed determined to undo months of careful discipline.
A sharp knock sounded at her door. Seraphine practically jumped. “Come in,” she called, perhaps a little too quickly.
The door opened and Thalia swept inside like a royal inspection party. One glance at the Duchess and Seraphine forgot all thoughts of ponds, Dukes, and damp shirts.
“Good heavens,” Seraphine exclaimed, staring openly. “You look magnificent.”
Thalia twirled once, causing the silver embroidery of her gown to catch the candlelight. “I know,” she said cheerfully. “Marriage has done wonders for me.”
“It appears your humility has suffered, though,” Seraphine said dryly, folding her arms.
“Terribly,” Thalia agreed with a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her chest as though mourning the loss.
Seraphine laughed despite herself. Thalia's gaze immediately landed on her dress. The smile vanished.
“Oh no,” she said, staring at the gown as though it had personally offended her.
Seraphine frowned. “What?”
“That will not do,” Thalia declared, pointing accusingly at the fabric.
“It is perfectly respectable,” Seraphine replied, smoothing a hand down the skirt.
“It is perfectly boring,” Thalia shot back, wrinkling her nose.
Before Seraphine could protest, Thalia marched directly towards the wardrobe and threw open both doors. Fabrics shifted as she rummaged through gowns with alarming determination.
“My dress is more than adequate for an evening of cards,” Seraphine informed her.
Thalia snorted. “Cards?” she repeated, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, my dear. This evening is much more exciting than cards.”
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. Whenever Thalia used that tone, trouble followed.
“What exactly have you planned?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Thalia triumphantly pulled out a gown and held it aloft like a battle standard. “A small gathering,” she said with suspicious innocence.
Seraphine pointed at her. “That smile says otherwise.”
“There will be gambling tables,” Thalia replied, smoothing an imaginary crease from the fabric.
Seraphine blinked. “Oh.”
“There will be billiards,” Thalia continued, rummaging through another shelf.
“Oh, I did not know…” Seraphine replied.
“And entertainment.” Thalia's grin widened. “There will also be locals joining us from the village,” she added, turning back towards her.
Seraphine stared at her for a long moment. “That does not sound remotely like a quiet evening,” she said dryly.
“Exactly.” Thalia beamed.
Thalia held up the gown she had selected. Seraphine immediately regretted it. The dress was deep crimson silk. The neckline plunged alarmingly low.
“No.” Seraphine stared at the gown as though it might leap from Thalia's hands and attack her.
Thalia raised a brow. “No?” she echoed, tilting her head.
“I shall not wear that.” Seraphine pointed accusingly at the scandalous neckline.
“You brought it.” Thalia gave the dress a little shake for emphasis.
“I do not know why.” Seraphine threw up her hands.
“You bought it because you want to wear it and tonight is the night for such a gown.” Thalia stepped closer and held the gown against Seraphine's front.
“That was clearly a moment of weakness when I packed this. I was in a rush.” Seraphine pushed the fabric away and groaned.
Thalia folded her arms. “You will put it on,” she declared firmly, fixing Seraphine with a look that suggested resistance was futile.
Seraphine folded her own. “I will not.”
Five minutes later she was wearing it. She descended the staircase beside Thalia feeling half scandalized and half convinced everyone in the room was staring directly at her neckline.
Amberhall's drawing room had been transformed.
Gaming tables occupied one side of the room.
Gentlemen gathered around billiard tables. Musicians played softly from a corner.
Candles glowed from every surface, turning the evening elegant and warm. It was far grander than any simple gathering. Then she saw Damien and immediately forgot everything else. He stood near the fireplace in a black evening coat. His crisp white shirt contrasted sharply against the dark fabric.
His broad shoulders seemed even broader tonight. Heat rushed through her, and she quickly looked away. Unfortunately, that did not stop her from being aware of him. Not at all.
“Stop frowning,” Thalia murmured.
“I was not,” Seraphine replied.
“You absolutely were.”
Before Seraphine could defend herself, Thalia brightened. “Oh excellent. There he is.”
“There who is?”
Thalia was already steering her forward. A gentleman stood near one of the gaming tables. He was handsome. Very handsome. Perhaps a few years older than Damien. His brown hair was neatly styled, and his smile carried an easy charm.
“Lady Seraphine,” Thalia announced. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Harper.”
The gentleman bowed smoothly. “An honor,” he said warmly.
Seraphine curtsied. “A pleasure, Mr. Harper.”
Thalia's eyes darted between them with alarming satisfaction, then she vanished like a matchmaking ghost. Mr. Harper laughed softly.
“I believe Her Grace has abandoned us deliberately,” he said.
“That sounds exactly like something she would do. I must apologize for such behavior,” she said.
“No apology needed for I like the company she has abandoned me to,” he said.
His smile widened. Seraphine immediately understood why Thalia had invited him. He was not titled, yet he possessed confidence, intelligence, and obvious prosperity. More importantly, he was easy and playful to speak with.
“Forgive my asking,” Seraphine said as they strolled towards one of the gaming tables, “but why were you not attending the house party itself?”
“I had gladly accepted the invitation,” Mr. Harper said, spreading his hands slightly as they walked.
Seraphine tilted her head. “Then what happened?”
“Business.” He pulled a face as though the very word offended him. He shook his head dramatically. “I only returned from the north yesterday afternoon,” he continued, letting out a resigned sigh.
“What unfortunate timing,” Seraphine said, her lips curving with sympathy.
“Quite.” He gave a rueful smile and ran a hand through his hair. His gaze lingered on her for a moment. “Especially now that I see what fun I have been missing.”
The way he said fun made Seraphine feel suddenly aware of herself. His eyes briefly traveled over her gown, not rudely, but certainly appreciatively. To her surprise, she felt herself smiling. Perhaps she ought to speak with gentlemen beyond Damien's carefully selected candidates.
Mr. Harper guided her towards a dice table. “Do you gamble, Lady Seraphine?” Mr. Harper asked as he pulled out a chair for her beside the dice table.
“Not successfully,” Seraphine admitted, smoothing her skirts as she sat down.
“Excellent.” His eyes lit with amusement.
She laughed and tilted her head. “Why is that excellent?”
Mr. Harper rested one hand against the edge of the table and leaned slightly closer. “Because it means I may teach you.” A grin tugged at his mouth as he gestured towards the dice. “And I assure you, teaching inexperienced gamblers is one of my finest talents.”
The game began. Within minutes Seraphine discovered she understood almost nothing. Mr. Harper patiently explained every rule, every strategy, and every opportunity. He stood beside her throughout.
“Try again,” he encouraged, sliding the dice towards her with an encouraging smile.
Seraphine picked them up and shook them between her palms before releasing them onto the table.
The dice bounced once, then twice, before finally settling. Her eyes widened as she leaned forward to inspect the result. “I won.”
“You did,” Mr. Harper said, laughing as he rested one hand against the edge of the table.
“Perhaps I am naturally gifted.” She lifted her chin with mock pride and gathered her winnings.
“Or perhaps I am an excellent teacher.”
“That seems more likely,” she replied, shooting him an amused look as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear.
Their laughter blended together. Soon she was winning regularly, not enormous amounts, but just enough to make the game exciting, and each victory delighted her.
“I cannot believe this,” she said, staring down at the dice before looking up at him with a delighted smile.
“You doubted me,” Mr. Harper replied, folding his arms and leaning casually against the edge of the table.
“I doubted myself.” She laughed and shook her head. “That seems the wiser course.”
“A sensible woman,” he said with a grin, inclining his head towards her as though awarding her a compliment.
His shoulder brushed hers, and his hand briefly grazed her arm while reaching for the dice. A small tingle traveled through her, not unpleasant, not overwhelming, merely noticeable. Seraphine found herself studying him.
He was handsome, pleasant, attentive, the sort of gentleman many ladies would happily pursue. And unlike Damien… her thoughts stopped abruptly.
No. I refuse to compare every man to Damien. That is exactly the problem.
The Duke of Wexford had occupied far too much space in her mind already. She needed sense, practicality, and a husband, not impossible dreams. Mr. Harper smiled down at her as she won another round.
“There,” he said proudly. “You are becoming quite dangerous.”
Seraphine laughed. “Dangerous?”
“Absolutely.” He lowered his voice. “If you continue winning at this rate, the gentlemen shall begin avoiding your table.”
Her smile widened. For the first time all day, she managed not to think about Damien, at least for a few minutes.
Unfortunately, the moment Seraphine looked across the crowded drawing room, her breath caught.
Damien was watching her. Not merely glancing in her direction.
Watching. His expression was dark enough to make lesser men retreat.
A faint scowl pulled at his mouth as his green eyes remained fixed on her from across the room. It surprised her.
If anything, he ought to be pleased. Was this not exactly what he wanted? A suitable gentleman has finally appeared.
Mr. Harper was charming, handsome, amusing, and capable of holding a conversation without discussing estate ledgers or livestock. By Damien's own standards, he should have been delighted. Instead, he looked positively murderous. The thought nearly made her smile.
“Lady Seraphine?” Mr. Harper's voice pulled her back.
She blinked and turned towards him. “My apologies,” she said with a small laugh. “I fear I was distracted.”
“I hope not by boredom,” he replied, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.
“Oh no. If I were bored, I should have escaped already.”
Mr. Harper grinned. “I shall consider that a victory.”
And I shall consider the scowl on Damien’s face a victory as well.