Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
The following morning, Donmere House felt far livelier than it had in weeks.
Seraphine had scarcely finished her breakfast when another carriage rolled into the drive.
She rose instinctively and hurried towards the entrance hall, her heart lifting.
Only one person would arrive with such perfect timing.
The front door swung open and Rosaline swept inside, her traveling cloak dusted from the road. The moment she saw Seraphine, her face broke into a radiant smile. Without hesitation she crossed the hall and gathered her sister into a warm embrace.
"There you are," Rosaline said, laughing softly as she held her at arm's length and looked her over. "I was beginning to think you intended to marry without allowing your own sister any involvement."
Seraphine managed to smile as she squeezed Rosaline's hands. "You know? How? And I assure you, I have scarcely had time to think at all."
Rosaline studied her carefully before looping her arm through Seraphine's.
"Laurent and I received a letter at Amberhall from the Duke yesterday evening," she explained as she guided her towards the drawing room. "He informed us that he had proposed to you, so Laurent and I came at once to his London townhouse."
Seraphine nearly laughed at the absurdity of the statement. "Proposed?" she echoed, shaking her head as they entered the room. "I believe announced would be the more accurate description."
Rosaline chuckled as she settled onto the sofa beside her sister. "Yes, that does sound rather like the Duke of Wexford." She tilted her head with unmistakable curiosity. "Still... I cannot pretend I was surprised."
Seraphine blinked. "You were not?"
Rosaline smiled knowingly and folded her gloved hands neatly in her lap. "Is it truly unexpected?" she asked gently. "We all saw how much attention he paid to you throughout the house party."
Seraphine looked down at her hands, suddenly fascinated by the folds of her muslin skirt. "You exaggerate."
"I do nothing of the sort," Rosaline replied, giving her arm an affectionate pat. "I told you when Laurent noticed it first. Then I began watching. Wherever you went, Damien's eyes were never terribly far behind."
Heat crept into Seraphine's cheeks despite herself. She remembered every glance, every argument, every stolen moment in the gardens. At the time she had believed herself foolish to imagine his interest. Now she scarcely knew what to believe. If he had cared for her, why had he spoken only of duty?
Rosaline watched her blush with unconcealed amusement. "There," she declared triumphantly, pointing a finger at her. "That blush tells me everything."
"It tells you nothing," Seraphine protested, though her smile betrayed her.
"It tells me," Rosaline replied with a laugh, "that my sister has become impossible to tease without proving my point."
Seraphine laughed despite herself, and the sound felt wonderfully unfamiliar after so many anxious days. For one precious moment, the burdens weighing upon her shoulders seemed lighter.
"Now I must apologize," Rosaline said.
Seraphine furrowed her brow in confusion, "For what?"
"If you do not recall, I warned you to not take the Duke seriously, because of his past relations with women. It seems that I was wrong about that and his attentions were entirely admirable the entire time," Rosaline said.
I cannot tell her that she was correct and he is only marrying me to save my reputation. Does she know about the storage room?
"No need to apologize at all, Rosaline. You were only doing what a sister should," Seraphine smiled. Then wanting to test the waters, "So... what happened after I left the house party? Any idle gossip or scandals?"
"Only the scandal of you departing in haste and not saying goodbye to me. You left me a note, how peculiar. Why did you not say goodbye?" Rosaline asked.
Seraphine hated lying to her sister, but she had no choice at the moment.
"I was merely trying to avoid riding back with Lady Branson and preferred to ride with Lady Kane. I did not want to write that in a letter in case a maid read it. Then, all would be lost," Seraphine joked.
"Oh, of course, now I see," Rosaline said. Then she clapped her hands together decisively before rising. "Now then," she announced. "Enough chatter. We are going shopping."
Seraphine stared at her. "Shopping?"
"For your wedding."
"I possess gowns already. I am sure that one would do," Seraphine said.
Rosaline stared back as though she had uttered complete nonsense.
"Wedding gowns, Seraphine," she said patiently. "Not gowns suitable for afternoon tea."
Seraphine sighed as she stood. "Rosaline, I do not possess sufficient funds for extravagant purchases."
Rosaline's smile only widened. Reaching into her reticule, she withdrew a folded letter and waved it triumphantly before her sister.
"The Duke anticipated that objection," she said, handing it over.
Seraphine unfolded the note with hesitant fingers. Inside rested a draft from Damien's solicitor for an amount so large she almost dropped the paper.
Her eyes widened. "This cannot possibly be necessary."
"Oh, I suspect His Grace believes it entirely necessary," Rosaline replied with a grin. "He instructed us to purchase whatever was required. His exact words were, 'Lady Seraphine shall want for nothing'. "
Seraphine stared at the paper in silence.
Why would a man intending only a marriage of duty display such generosity?
She wished desperately that she understood him. Every answer he provided only produced another question.
By midday they had traveled into London, where Bond Street bustled with elegant ladies, fashionable gentlemen, and glittering carriage traffic. Shop windows displayed fabrics, shimmering cloth, ribbons in every imaginable shade, and exquisite lace that looked too fragile even to touch.
Rosaline led the way with the confidence of a seasoned wife while Seraphine followed, trying not to gape openly at the displays. They stepped into one fashionable modiste's establishment where polished mahogany cabinets lined the walls and bolts of luxurious fabric stretched from floor to ceiling.
A cheerful assistant hurried forward and dipped into a graceful curtsey. "Good afternoon, my ladies. How may we assist you today?"
"My sister is to be married," Rosaline announced proudly, resting a hand upon Seraphine's shoulder.
The young woman gasped with delight. "Then congratulations are certainly in order."
"We require a wedding gown, traveling dresses, morning gowns, evening gowns, pelisses, gloves, slippers, bonnets and everything else the future Duchess of Wexford could possibly require."
The assistant’s eyes grew wide.
Seraphine looked horrified. "Rosaline."
"What?"
"I do not need all of those," Seraphine said.
Rosaline smiled sweetly. "Fortunately, your opinion carries very little weight today. And the wedding is in two days so we will require a gown that is already made that we could possibly embellish."
The assistant smiled, leading them towards an enormous mirror surrounded by softly glowing candles. Before long, bolts of fabrics, embroidered lace and delicate gauze had accumulated around Seraphine until she resembled the centerpiece of a particularly extravagant fabric exhibition.
For hours she endured fittings, measurements and endless discussions regarding sleeves, hems, embroidery, and ribbons. Rosaline debated colors with astonishing seriousness while Seraphine obediently stood upon the fitting platform wondering how anyone could devote so much passion to cuffs.
When one seamstress produced a gown decorated with an astonishing quantity of lace, Rosaline clasped her hands happily.
"Oh, this one is beautiful."
Seraphine glanced at it before wrinkling her nose. "It resembles a very elegant curtain."
Rosaline burst into laughter so suddenly that even the seamstresses began smiling.
"You are impossible," Rosaline declared between chuckles.
"I believe I inherited that trait from excellent company."
By the time the afternoon drew to a close, a wedding gown had been chosen, several gowns had been commissioned, along with gloves, slippers, reticules, and enough ribbons to decorate a ballroom. Seraphine climbed back into the carriage feeling thoroughly exhausted.
"I had forgotten," she admitted as the carriage rolled away, "what it was like to shop for such things."
Rosaline laughed. "Yes, it is like the old days, is it not?"
As they returned to Donmere House, Seraphine felt physically weary yet strangely calmer than she had in days. The excitement of the outing had distracted her from the uncertainty awaiting her.
Mrs. Pennyworth met her in the entrance hall with a warm smile. "Lady Seraphine," she said, accepting her gloves. "A package arrived whilst you were away."
"A package?"
The housekeeper nodded. "It is waiting in your bedchamber."
Curiosity stirred within her as she climbed the staircase. Entering her room, she immediately noticed a small cream-colored box resting neatly upon her dressing table. A wide pink silk ribbon had been tied into an elegant bow around it.
She approached slowly before loosening the ribbon and lifting the lid.
Nestled upon soft white tissue lay the most beautiful silk scarf she had ever seen. The fabric shimmered like moonlight across still water, impossibly smooth beneath her fingertips. Delicate embroidery traced the borders with tiny white roses worked so finely they appeared almost alive.
Resting atop the scarf was a single folded note.
With suddenly trembling fingers, Seraphine unfolded it.
Wear this at our wedding.
Nothing more. No signature. No explanation. She smiled despite herself.
It was such a small gesture, and yet it somehow felt far more personal than the enormous draft he had sent for the dresses. She lifted the scarf carefully and draped it across her shoulders before turning towards the mirror.
The silk rested softly against her skin. Almost as though it had been placed there by his own hands.