Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Damien stood before the tall windows of his study with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out across the lawns of Wexford Manor as Seraphine rode horseback with the groomsman trailing her. He had allowed her to roam the estate freely but not beyond, and always with a chaperone.
The morning had been consumed by letters, estate accounts, and messages from Gantry, none of which contained the information he desperately needed.
Lord Pemberley remained invisible. Every hour that passed tightened the knot inside Damien's chest. He had spent a lifetime solving problems through careful planning, yet this one refused to yield.
The Duke of Wexford felt utterly powerless.
A brisk knock sounded upon the study door.
"Enter," Damien called without turning.
The door opened and Thalia swept inside, removing her gloves as she walked in with confidence..
"What do you want?" Damien asked flatly, finally turning to face his sister.
"I received a rather distressing letter from Seraphine," Thalia replied, closing the door behind her before meeting his gaze. "I came intending to speak with her."
Damien gave an impatient huff and returned to the window. "She has gone riding around the estate with the groom."
"Oh," Thalia said brightly as she crossed the room.
She lowered herself into one of the leather armchairs beside the hearth as though settling in for afternoon tea rather than confronting one of England's most intimidating Dukes.
"Good," she said with satisfaction, smoothing her skirts. "Then I have time to speak with you instead."
Damien pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is it now?" he asked, already regretting allowing her through the door.
Thalia folded her hands neatly in her lap. "It is rather unusual," she began thoughtfully, "for a bride to be writing distressed letters scarcely days after her wedding." She tilted her head. "What has happened?"
Damien walked towards his desk and began rearranging papers that required no rearranging.
"It is none of your business," Damien said.
Thalia smiled. "You always say that," she remarked, her tone light but knowing.
"Because it generally isn't," he replied, one hand braced against the edge of his desk as though it might keep his patience intact.
She leaned back comfortably in the chair, settling herself as if she intended to remain there for the duration.
"You are my brother," she said patiently, tilting her head to one side. "Seraphine is one of my dearest friends." A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as she watched him. "I therefore consider it very much my business."
Damien exhaled slowly, dragging his hand down before letting it fall to his side. His sister possessed an extraordinary ability to remain cheerful whilst marching directly into matters that did not concern her. It was both one of her greatest strengths and one of his greatest frustrations.
"You will receive no explanation," he replied.
"I see." She nodded as though he had confirmed precisely what she had expected. "Then I shall simply remain seated until you decide otherwise."
Damien stared at her. "You cannot possibly intend to wait all day."
"I brought embroidery." She reached into the basket she had somehow smuggled into his study and triumphantly withdrew a hoop and colored threads.
Damien blinked. "You came prepared?"
"I have known you for years."
Despite everything weighing upon him, the corner of his mouth almost twitched. Almost. He sighed in surrender.
"There are matters," he said quietly, "that require my immediate attention."
Thalia did not interrupt.
"They concern Seraphine."
She frowned. "In what way?" Thalia asked, leaning forward slightly in her chair.
"I cannot tell you," Damien said.
Her eyebrows rose. "You cannot..."
"I cannot." He cut the words off with a sharp shake of his head.
She studied him carefully, her expression losing some of its earlier amusement. "Do they place her in danger?"
Damien remained silent for several moments, one hand braced against the edge of his desk before he answered at last. "They might."
The humor vanished from Thalia's face. She slowly placed the embroidery back into the basket. "Damien."
His name carried none of its usual teasing warmth.
"What has happened?"
He rubbed a weary hand across his face. "There are matters outside respectable Society that have begun following me home," Damien said, dragging a hand through his hair as though he might physically sweep the problem away.
Thalia looked thoroughly puzzled, her brows drawing together as she studied him. "I do not understand," she said.
"I know," Damien replied with a grim little shake of his head.
"And you cannot explain?" she asked.
"No," he said at once, turning back towards the window as though the view might offer him some mercy.
He hated lying to his sister, yet revealing the truth would expose far more than merely himself. He had spent years ensuring his family's hands remained clean while he alone dealt with the darker corners of commerce.
It would remain that way.
"I asked Seraphine to remain at Wexford Manor until I resolved everything."
Thalia nodded slowly. "And she refused."
"She believes I am keeping her prisoner," Damien said. A muscle worked in his cheek. "Perhaps she is not entirely wrong," he muttered, the words clipped and bitter.
The admission surprised even him. He remembered the look on Seraphine's face when she had spoken of her father, the terrible certainty in her eyes as she had implied he was becoming him.
The words still echoed relentlessly inside his head.
He had feared resembling his own father for years, and now the woman he loved had spoken her own fear aloud.
"So what is the solution?" Thalia asked, rising from the chair with a frown.
Damien rested one hand against the sill. "I agreed she should leave."
Thalia stared at him in open disbelief. "You what?"
"When Laurent and Rosaline return north..." He paused, as though the words themselves displeased him. He swallowed once, then forced himself to continue. "...Seraphine will accompany them to Scotland."
Silence filled the room. Finally Thalia stood, her skirts whispering around her ankles as she crossed the carpet.
"You cannot possibly be serious," she said, stopping before him with her hands planted firmly on her hips.
"I am entirely serious," Damien replied, though the flatness of his tone did little to disguise the strain beneath it.
She walked towards him until they stood only a few feet apart.
"You have been married less than a fortnight," Thalia said, staring at him in disbelief.
"I am aware," Damien replied.
"And then agreed to send her to another country?" Thalia finished, her voice rising with incredulity.
His silence answered for him.
"Oh, Damien." Thalia let out a breath. She sounded heartbroken. "You truly are a fool sometimes."
His eyes opened at once, and he fixed her with a flat stare. "I beg your pardon?"
"I say that with enormous affection," Thalia said, lifting one shoulder in a faint shrug as though that softened the blow.
"I somehow find that difficult to believe," Damien replied, folding his arms across his chest and giving her a look that would have intimidated most people.
Thalia folded her arms. "Do you imagine love is demonstrated by sending one's wife hundreds of miles away?" She fixed him with a look that was equal parts exasperation and pity.
"I imagine," Damien replied, "that love is keeping her safe."
"There is something you are not telling me," she said at last, her voice quieter now.
"Yes," Damien answered, the word clipped and final.
"And you never will?" Thalia asked, stepping closer as if proximity might coax the truth from him.
"No."
She sighed. "You inherited Father's stubbornness," Thalia said.
"I inherited considerably more than that," Damien replied, his mouth tightening.
"But thankfully," she said softly, stepping closer and lowering her voice, "not his heart."
Damien's jaw flexed. He turned his gaze back to her, though only briefly.
"I am beginning to question that," he muttered, the words rougher than he intended.
Thalia's expression gentled at once, and she reached out to touch his sleeve.
"No." She stepped closer. "I lived beneath Father's roof just as you did." Her voice became quiet. "You stood between him and me more times than you realize. You were only a boy," she said softly, her hand still resting on his arm.
"I failed Mother," Damien muttered, looking away.
"No," Thalia replied at once, giving his sleeve a gentle squeeze.
"I failed you," he continued, the words rougher this time as he stared at the floor.
"You most certainly did not," she answered, her voice firm as she stepped closer to catch his gaze. She smiled sadly. "Damien, Father never worried about whether he resembled a monster."
He looked back at her.
"You do," she said. "That alone makes you different."
His throat tightened, and he looked away for a moment before forcing himself to meet her gaze again.
"You love Seraphine," Thalia continued.
"I know," he said at last, the words clipped but honest.
"You are trying to protect her."
"I am." He drew in a slow breath.
"But protection offered without trust feels remarkably like imprisonment."
Every word landed with uncomfortable accuracy.
"You cannot build a marriage upon secrets forever," she said, her gaze steady on his face.
"I sincerely hope to prove you wrong," he said, though the words sounded thin even to his own ears.
"You won't," Thalia replied, lifting one shoulder in a small, knowing shrug. "Women do not require perfect husbands," she said.
"No?" Damien asked, one brow lifting despite himself.
"No," she said, with a faint smile tugging at her mouth. She smiled. "We simply want honest ones."
Damien stared at the floor.
Honesty. The one thing I cannot give her.
If Seraphine ever learned how many laws he had quietly broken to preserve the fortunes of Wexford… Would she still look at him with love? Or would she see only another man capable of disappointing her?