Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“We leave within the hour,” William said.
Seraphina held her breath as she nodded. William was already dressed for the road in a black traveling cloak, his boots polished, his hair damp from the morning wash.
“You really think this is it?” she repeated. “You have found the blackmailer?”
“The address Anthony located is on the outskirts, past the marshes,” William said, stepping just inside the threshold, his posture rigid, his hands resting on his riding gloves.
“It is a full day’s ride if we push the horses, longer if the weather turns.
If we leave now, we can reach the village before nightfall, secure quarters at the inn, and confront the woman at first light tomorrow. ”
“The woman...” Seraphina murmured. “You are certain it is a woman?”
“As certain as we can be without putting the signet ring in her hand ourselves,” he replied. “As I suspected, she was one of my father’s later... acquaintances. Does the name Amada Higgins ring any bells?”
Seraphina thought for a moment. “None at all.”
William nodded. “That is her name. She has the background, and she had access to my father’s estate. We have ruled out everyone else. It is her. I have also confirmed that she still possesses one of my father’s rings.”
Seraphina swallowed against the lump in her throat, taking a tentative step toward her wardrobe. “I see. Then I shall get ready to leave immediately.”
“I have already instructed that they prepare the closed carriage.” He paused, his gaze lingering on her face for a fraction of a second before dropping to the ground. “Are you sure you are ready for this, Seraphina? I can go, confront her myself, and have her arrested if that is what you wish.”
“No, I want to go. I want to find the culprit,” she said. “I have to be there when she explains why she did all of this. I want this finished.”
“As do I,” he said. He gave a single, stiff nod. “I will be waiting in the courtyard.”
He turned and strode down the corridor, his footsteps echoing into the hall.
Seraphina stood frozen beside her bed, her hands clutching the edge of the post.
It was the first time they had spoken directly to one another in nearly a week.
Seven agonizing days since that night in his study, since the heat of his body against hers, the feeling of his lips on her, and the humiliating, desperate babble of her own voice at the door.
Seven days in which he had effectively vanished, retreating into the depths of the estate or riding out before dawn, leaving her alone with her books, her thoughts, and the realization that everything was hurtling toward an inevitable, crushing end.
She sank slowly back onto the bed. It did not, however, take her seven days to accept that she was wrong. That she did not recognize herself anymore. That she felt... different now.
Euphemia had been right. God help her, her sweet, sentimental sister had been entirely right.
All her life, Seraphina had treated human emotion as a flaw in the human apparatus, a flaw that could be studied, categorized, and ultimately dismissed by a mind disciplined enough to master it.
When Euphemia had warned her, weeks ago, that matters of the heart did not obey the laws of physics or logic, Seraphina had scoffed. She had believed herself superior to the foolish, swooning heroines of circulating-library novels. She had believed her intellect was an unassailable shield.
How spectacularly, pathetically stupid she had been.
Logic was failing her now. It was failing her woefully.
Ever since that kiss... nothing made any sense.
Logic did not account for the way her hands trembled when she tried to write her columns, her mind continuously wandering back to that night...
that beautiful sensation of his mouth moving over hers.
The books had lied to her. The medical journals, the philosophical treatises, the scientific volumes...
none of them had adequately described what it felt like to fall.
They spoke of affection in vague, elevated terms of moral alignment and mutual respect.
They said nothing of the helpless gravity that pulled a person toward another until standing apart felt like breathing poison.
Euphemia had warned her that love was not a problem to be solved. Leonora had warned her that an arrangement like theirs could never end cordially, that someone always bled in the end, and William...
William had known.
That was perhaps the most humiliating truth of all.
William, with his calculating mind and his mastery of human nature, had seen straight through her defensive posturing weeks ago.
He had read her like an open ledger before she had even dared to admit the truth to herself.
He must have seen the way her eyes lingered on him, the way her composure fractured whenever he drew near, the way she tilted toward him like a flower desperately turning toward the sun.
He had known, and he had tried to draw the line to protect them both, while she had stood there like a fool, shouting about science and chemistry, arrogantly proclaiming her own absolute control.
Science had utterly failed her. Her intellect had abandoned her. She was not a master of logic; she was simply a hypocrite who had fallen in love with a man who had bargained for a business partner.
Concentrate, Seraphina. Now is not the time.
It took her maid nearly an hour to get Seraphina ready for the journey. The morning air was crisp as she descended the stone steps toward the courtyard.
William was standing beside the traveling carriage, speaking in low tones to the head groom. As Seraphina approached, he turned then to look at her before dismissing the groom.
“Seraphina,” he said, stepping toward her. He gestured toward another carriage parked near the stables. “If you would prefer... we can take separate conveyances. I know the ride will be long, and if you require space —”
“No,” she interrupted quickly. The thought of sitting alone in a carriage for hours, staring at the upholstery and drowning in her own self-pity, was unbearable.
But more than that, she refused to let him think she was cowering.
She refused to look like a frightened child avoiding her instructor.
“No, that is entirely unnecessary. Taking a single carriage is far more practical. It reduces the strain on the horses and allows us to make better time.”
William searched her face for a second before bowing his head slightly. “As you wish.”
He offered her his hand. Seraphina hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her palm in his.
Even through two layers of leather, his touch sent a tremor straight up her arm.
She stepped into the carriage, her skirts rustling, and took her seat against the squabs.
William climbed in after her, ducking his head beneath the low frame, and sat on the bench opposite her.
With a snap of the whip and the clatter of hooves on gravel, the carriage lurched forward, leaving Norwyn Manor behind.
For the first few hours, the silence between them was oppressive. William kept his face turned toward the window, watching the frosty fields of the countryside sweep past.
“It will be over soon,” he said quietly, breaking the silence without looking at her. “If this woman confirms she is the culprit, or yields who hired her, we can hand the matter over to the magistrates by the end of the week. The threat to your reputation will be entirely neutralized.”
“Yes,” Seraphina said, staring down at her tightly clasped hands in her lap. “I am eager to have it resolved. I want to return to my work without feeling as though an invisible hand is waiting to destroy everything I have built.”
“How is the work progressing by the way?” he asked, finally turning to her.
Seraphina blinked, surprised by the shift in topic. She looked up to find him watching her, curiously.
“It... it goes well,” she said tentatively. “The latest edition was published about two weeks ago.”
A ghost of a smile touched the corner of William’s mouth. “I know. I read it.”
Her breath hitched. “You did?”
“I did,” he murmured, shifting slightly in his seat, leaning his elbow against the window frame. “I noticed you included a rather specific proposal regarding the union of lamplighters.”
Seraphina smiled. “Ah. Yes. Well... the technical transition naturally demands a discussion regarding displaced labor. Someone had to suggest something. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It was my joke,” William said, his smile widening. “I believe I suggested retraining the lot of them to swat moths with their poles, given that turning London into a giant bonfire would attract half the insects in the county.”
“It was not your joke,” Seraphina defended, her competitive spirit flaring up despite her aching heart. “It was a serious economic consideration regarding the absorption of manual workers into post-industrial infrastructure. You merely phrased it with your usual absurd cynicism.”
“I recall distinctly saying that Mayfair would be positively swarming, and that swatting moths was the only logical outcome for men with long poles,” he countered coolly.
“Lo and behold, your column includes a brilliant, sharp commentary on reallocating civic workers to manage evening nuisances created by the new light. You stole my humor, Seraphina. Admit it.”
“I adapted it,” she scoffed. “I elevated banter into respectable journalistic commentary. Besides, I hear that the line was quite well received by the readers. They found the satire exceptionally astute.”
“Then I expect a commission,” William said dryly. “Or at the very least, an acknowledgment in your next column. If you ever require additional wit to liven up your treatises, you need only ask. I can be remarkably entertaining when the mood strikes.”