Sophie shrugged, a twinkle in her eyes, her fan flying through the air. “One does never know.”
Seleste groaned. “Remind me again why we are all in this carriage when we all have husbands and carriages of our own?”
When Sophie, Seline, and Sesily spoke, it was in unison. “For Sera.”
Seleste nodded and sighed. “The things we do for sisters.”
Sera looked to the window, unable to speak for the knot that formed in her throat at the words. She had been gone for three years. She’d left without a word, without stopping to tell her family—whom she had always loved beyond reason—what had happened. She’d dashed a note through her tears on the Bristol docks, telling them only, She did not live. I’m for America.
And once in Boston, she had not written, too afraid of what setting pen to paper might release. Sorrow. Grief. Regret. She’d stayed away, and they’d lived their lives. But when she’d returned, they had not hesitated. They’d resumed their loyal devotion, as though she’d never left.
Even though she’d missed so much. Two marriages. Four children. Birthdays and balls and scandals and so much that seemed at once less important and infinitely more. Her chest tight with emotion, Sera inhaled sharply in the silent carriage, nothing but the clattering wheels on the cobblestones to cover the sound.
Sophie leaned forward, reaching across to place her hand on Sera’s skirts. “Sera.”
Sera shook her head, unable to find words.
“You needn’t say anything,” she said. “We are beside you.”
Sera looked to her sister, the one she remembered holding as a baby. Dear Sophie, who had always been the quiet one. The unassuming one. Out of place. Except never unassuming. When it came time to show loyalty, it was Sophie who was always willing to fight.
It had been Sophie who had pushed Haven directly onto his ass in a fishpond when they’d happened upon him at a garden party with another woman. Believing Sera had betrayed him. Believing she had lied, and not only in omission.
It had been Sophie who defended her, even as she had not defended herself.
The actions had ruined Sophie’s reputation summarily. One did not strike a duke without repercussions—not even a duke to whom you were related. And still, her sister had not hesitated.
And truthfully, the image of Haven waist-deep in a fishpond was not unwelcome on Sera’s darkest nights.
But Sophie was wrong. Sera did have to speak now. If only to say, “I am very happy to be . . .” She trailed off, uncertain of the end of the sentence. It had seemed possible that she might finish with home.
Certainly, a scene such as this, crowded into a carriage with her sisters—who had once known her best in the world—had been home. But things had changed. And then there had been a time—fleeting and disastrous—when home had been wherever Haven was. And then there had been the hope of home again, lost with the child that had been so full of promise. Now, the truth—home was a strange, ephemeral thing. Was it possible that no one ever honestly knew its embrace?
No. Home wasn’t what made her happy in that moment.
She forced a smile. Looked at each of her sisters in turn. “I am very happy to be with you.”
That much was the truth. Even as they trundled toward Highley, where she would match her husband to another. As though it were a perfectly ordinary thing for a wife to find her replacement. As though it did not sting that he had clearly been planning to replace her all along.
Not that it should matter. And it didn’t. Not really. It was just pride.
That was it.
She looked to the window again.
“So . . .” Sesily began, and Sera prepared for the question, knowing that she had no doubt unlocked a deluge of them. And it was only fair, was it not? They were here, piled into a carriage with virtually no information about whys and wherefores, simply because she had asked. Certainly they deserved some answers.
She looked to Sesily who, of course, was the first to leap into the breach. Sesily had never in her life kept quiet when there was something important to be said. “Yes?”
“Is Caleb very handsome?”
There was a beat as the question fell into the carriage, surprising everyone. Seleste grinned. “You’ve finished with the men of England, then? On to America?”
“I’m not unwilling to consider the possibility.”
“Mother will go mad if you marry an American!” Sophie said. “Remember how furious she was when Seline married ‘that horse breeder’?”
“First,” came Seline’s exasperated reply, “Mark is not just any horse breeder. He’s richer than half the aristocracy.”
“Which means virtually nothing,” Sesily interjected. “Everyone knows half the aristocracy are poor as church mice.”
“Second . . .” Seline pressed on, “Mother knows better than to interject herself into another marriage. It hasn’t gone terribly well in the past. We’re headed to the country to secure Sera a divorce, for God’s sake.” It was difficult to argue that. “Which brings me to third, Mother will be thrilled beyond words to see Sesily married to anyone. Even a barkeep. From America.” The last was said the way one might pronounce a dread disease. Plague. Or leprosy.
“Not a barkeep, per se,” Sera said, softly.
They all heard her nonetheless, Sesily’s wide grin, the only indication that they were eager for her input. “Which brings me back to the important question at hand.”
Seline spoke at the same time. “Pub owner, then.”
“We prefer tavern,” Sera said.
Sophie shot forward again. “We.” She looked at the others. “She said we.”
“Bollocks,” Sesily said, reaching for the narrowly cracked window at the side of the coach and pushing it open as far as it would go—unfortunately, not far enough to move the air in the conveyance. “I suppose the more important question is not whether Mr. Calhoun is handsome, but rather if he is claimed.”
Sera shook her head. “He is not.”
“Handsome?” Sesily teased. “Pity.”
“Claimed.” Sera laughed, enjoying the feeling, rare and welcome. “He’s quite handsome, as a matter of fact.”
Sesily’s eyes lit up. “Excellent!”
“You are certain he is not claimed?” Seline asked thoughtfully. “You haven’t—”
Sera shook her head. “I haven’t.”
“At all?” Seline said, full of disbelief.
“At all.”
“You know none of us would judge you if you had,” Seleste leapt to say.
“Of course not. What with how awful Haven must have—” Seleste said, cutting herself off before she could finish the sentence, the result of their sisters’ combined, pointed stares. “Never mind.”
Except he hadn’t been awful.
She didn’t say the words. Hated that she even thought them. But in all the years that she had been away from him, she had not taken a lover. And thinking of him had been why.
“Well,” Sesily said. “Is he big and brutish? Warnick-sized? I should not turn away someone Warnick-sized.”
The outraged gasps and snickers around the carriage pulled Sera from her thoughts. “The Duke of Warnick?” If she recalled correctly, the Scotsman had inherited a dukedom years earlier and never came to London. “Is he in Society now?”
“Rarely. He’s King’s dearest friend,” Sophie said, referring to her husband with a wave of her hand. “And married to one of our dearest friends. You’ll meet Lily soon enough. She promised they’d be back in town in the autumn.”
“Oh,” Sera replied, unable to find other words. Hating that a whole person had entered their lives while she’d been gone. It was a silly thought, of course. No doubt dozens of people had done just that. And besides, she had Caleb, didn’t she?
“You’ll love her,” Sesily said. “Everyone does.”
“Everyone thinks she’s a proper scandal,” Seline said, looking to Sera. “She sat for a nude painting while you were away. It put Sesily’s dramatics to
shame.”
“Well. We love her. We love anyone with a scandalous past.” She grinned. “That’s why we like you so much, Sera. Now. To the point. Is he very large?”
Sera smiled. “Very.”
Not as tall as Haven. She ignored the thought.
“Excellent.”
“And very brash. Hates Englishmen.”
Sesily smirked. “Then he shall loathe Haven.”
“He already does.” She paused, then added, “He’s a good friend.”
Sesily watched her for a long moment. “You deserve one of those.”
She wasn’t sure she did, honestly.
“We shall all get along perfectly, then,” Sesily said. “Is he joining us?”
“No,” Sera answered, too quickly, nearly revealing the lie in the truth. Caleb was not joining them. He was to stay in London to keep the Sparrow in order. But that did not mean that Sera was leaving the tavern entirely. “He’s not.”
“Sera, we believe you haven’t.” Sesily offered an exceedingly clear hand motion, eliciting several snickers. “But is it possible that . . . you wish to?”
All the world, so interested in her sexual exploits. And none understanding that she hadn’t any exploits. That she didn’t want them. Ever again. “It’s not possible. Caleb is not joining me. You are. And that’s that.”
A pause again. And then, “Does Haven know we’re joining you?”
Sera hesitated, and the silence stretched through the carriage. “Not . . . exactly?”
“Well. There’s that, then,” Sophie said, matter-of-factly. “I did wonder why he had been so willing to open his doors to me. Considering . . .”
Seline laughed. “Considering the last time he saw you, you put him on his ass in a lake.”
“It was a pond,” Sophie pointed out, primly. “An indoor pond.”
“Oh, yes. That’s much better,” Seleste said.
Sophie waved away the jests and looked to Sera. “So, we might be turning right back round once we get there?”
“I’m not spending a minute longer than necessary in this carriage,” Sesily moaned. “It’s hot and miserable in here.”
Seleste pressed closer to Sera. “Oh, no.”
“I’m beginning to feel ill,” Sesily said.
“I don’t even have to look out the window to know we’ve left the city, then. It’s only a matter of time before Sesily casts up her accounts.” Seleste turned to Sera. “Someone told the driver that we’d likely be stopping and pushing her out the door?”
“I wasn’t quite so unfeeling as that, but yes.”
“Unfeeling. She’s a grown, adult human and she can’t ride in a carriage without being ill.”
Sesily groaned, and Sera thought she looked a bit green. “I don’t know how your earl puts up with you.”
Seleste smiled. “He likes a challenge.”
“Don’t look out the window, Sesily,” Sera offered.
“Ugggh.”
“In all honesty, Ses . . .” Sophie changed the topic, reaching down for the basket Sesily had brought with her. “If not pasties, what is in the basket?”
“Not food.”
Sophie sighed.
“Didn’t you have breakfast?” Seline said.
“I did. But surely it’s lunchtime now.”
“It’s half past nine.”
“Oh.”
“Good Lord. Your state is making you hungrier than usual, isn’t it?”
Sophie nodded, reaching for the basket. “Eating for two and all that. You are sure there are no tarts in here? Fruit? Bread? Oooh. Is there cheese?”
“Uuuughhh. Don’t say cheese.”
“Never mind. I shall look myself.” Ignoring Sesily’s groan, Sophie worked the latch on the basket.
Sesily sat straight up. “Wait! Don’t—”
A wild yowl rose from the basket, followed immediately by Sophie’s shriek of surprise as she leapt back and a massive ball of white fur shot out onto Seleste’s lap. Seleste shrieked as well, her arms coming to protect her face, as the animal clambered up her torso to reach the back of the bench, arching its back and clinging to the narrow space.
“What is it? What is it?” Seleste shot across the carriage, one hand clapped over her eyes, and planted herself between Seline and Sophie, eliciting a chorus of disapproval from the previously comfortable duo.
“For God’s sake, Seleste,” Seline said. “Stop screaming.”
Seleste stopped screaming.
Sophie found her voice. “That isn’t cheese.”
The cat let out a low growl.
“Now we’ll never get him back in the basket,” Sesily whined.
Sera began to laugh. The laughter came long and welcome, in great, heaving gasps. Seline caught it next, and then Sophie. And soon, the trio was unable to stop, the ebb tide of laughter swiftly overtaken by another rise, and another, until they’d lost complete control of themselves.
“It isn’t funny!” Seleste protested. “The thing attacked me!”
The thing in question hissed.
The carriage slowed, and a tap came at the roof. “My ladies? Is all well?”
“And now the coachman thinks we’ve all gone mad!”
Sera found breath enough to call out, “All is quite well, thank you!” before Seline and Sophie collapsed into laughter once more, bringing her along with them.
When it had once more receded, Sesily spoke, one hand over her eyes. “If I did not feel as though the insides of me were soon to be outside of me, I am sure I would find this whole scenario terribly diverting.”
Sera swallowed an inappropriate hiccup of laughter. Sesily’s motion sickness was not amusing. “Sesily,” she said, attempting calm collectedness. “Why did you bring a”—she smirked, unable to stop the amusement—“cat?”
“Why not? People bring animals to the country,” she said with a weak wave of the hand.
“Of all the mad—” Seleste interjected. “Animals like horses! Like hounds! Not cats!”
“Why not cats?” Sesily asked.
“Because it’s not as though you can saddle up a cat and ride out for the afternoon, or toss it a stick. They’re terribly antisocial.”
“Not Brummell.” They all blinked as the enormous white cat in question meowed and bumped his head against Sesily’s chin. “Brummell is all charm.”
“Oh, yes. That’s the very first descriptor I would use.”
Brummell narrowed his yellow eyes at Seleste and meowed in what could only be described as feline affront.
“Brummell,” Sera said.
“Quite.”
“I, for one, think he does his namesake proud,” Sophie said.
“Thank you,” Sesily said. “Seeing as the rest of you are paired off, I thought it was only right that I be allowed a handsome gentleman suitor of my own.” She paused.
“None of us are paired,” Seleste pointed out.
“Not in this precise moment, but you’re practically songbirds the rest of the time. Like squawking doves.”
“Doves coo,” Sophie pointed out.
“Whatever.” Sesily waved a hand. “Perfectly paired. Like a damn oil painting.”
“Sounds a terribly boring painting,” Seline said.
“Enough. You know what I mean.”
And Sera did know. “I am not paired like a dove.”
Sesily looked to her. “Then why are we headed to your husband?”
“Because he’s forcing me to go there.”
“Just as he forced you to return to London? As he forced you to storm Parliament and demand a divorce?”
“Sesily.” Sophie’s gentle warning went ignored.
“Just as he forced you to leave?”
Defensive, Sera narrowed her gaze on her sister. “What are you saying?”
For a moment, it seemed as though Sesily might answer the question honestly. As though she might say all the things that she must have been thinking. That they all must have been thinking. Instead, she sighed a
nd leaned her head back against the seat. Brummell took that moment to climb down from his perch and settle on her lap. “Only that it seems you are poking a bear, Seraphina. Why else arm yourself to the teeth?”
“How have I armed myself?”
“How else does a Dangerous Daughter arm herself?” This, from Sophie. “With the rest of us.”
Like that, the humor was gone from the moment, and Sera was returned to the present. To the fact that she was not simply out for a summer’s ride. To the fact that she was headed to the country, to the place she’d once loved as much as she’d loved its master.
The place where she’d lost herself. Left herself. The place she’d fled to begin anew.
Not anew. Again.
“And a cat, it seems,” Seleste added.
Sera ignored the attempt to lighten the mood. “I owe you all so many answers.”
Sophie shook her head. “You do not owe us anything. But if you would like to tell us what you desire, we are here to help you get it.”
Except they could not give her what she desired. They could not return her to the past, or catapult her into the future.
They could not restore what she had lost, or gift her with the only thing she could imagine would heal her wounds. Or make her forget she’d ever been married.
The only person who could do that was her husband, ironically. And so she careened toward him. To find her replacement. And fetch her divorce.
She would get her freedom. She would own the Sparrow. She would sing, and live a new life. And she would move forward.
She did not deny it seemed slightly easier with her sisters at her side, because of their loyalty. And there, in the shifting, clattering carriage, filled with stifling heat and an ornery cat, she resolved to tell them the truth.
“I have not been with Caleb.” Lord knew why she began there. But it seemed an important point. “I haven’t been with anyone since . . .”
Her sisters nodded. Understanding.
They didn’t understand, of course. But she appreciated the effort.
“Well,” said Seleste. “Once you’ve received your divorce, you’ll find another and build a life. Husband, children, the whole lot.”
They didn’t know. This was the secret she kept. The one she’d fled and would never forget.
“When I left, the day I left . . .” she trailed off. Tried again. “I cannot have another child.”
The Day of the Duchess Page 9