“You understand enough of my mother to know that she has never in her life had a spiritual thought, and you think she named me for an angel.”
He leaned against the door frame, folding his arms across his broad chest, as though it were perfectly normal for them to converse first thing in the morning. Casually. Like husband and wife. That half smile flickered again. “I think it, nonetheless.”
She gave a little laugh and returned her attention to the window. “I assure you the angelic was not in my mother’s mind when she named me. She thought it sounded aristocratic. That was her goal. Always.” She stopped, then added, “You know that goal intimately.”
The silence that fell between them should have been uncomfortable, full of that day long ago in this very house, when she and her mother had landed a duke. But it was not uncomfortable, not even when it summoned the memory of the horror on his face as he realized that they’d set a trap for him.
And they had trapped him. She’d trapped him. Because she’d never wanted anything more than him, and she’d believed that he wouldn’t have her without it. That he was too high and she too low, and happiness was not for them.
And happiness, it seemed, was not for them.
I would have married you.
We could have been.
The words had crashed around her, filled with his fury and betrayal. And the past tense. Everything with them, always in the past tense. Ephemera.
“Why are you awake?”
The change of topic did not unsettle her. It had been the hallmark of their short-lived relationship, quick movement of thought, rarely without the other easily following. “I wake early.” It was either that, or stay abed and let memory rattle. “And your future wife arrives today.”
“Not for hours.”
The sky had edged through grey and into pink, a deep, magnificent color that seemed too bright to be natural. “It’s going to rain,” she said, regretting the words the moment he moved, coming to stand behind her and follow her gaze to the sky.
“Not for hours,” he repeated.
He smelled the same. Like fresh earth and dark spice. She tried not to breathe too deeply, afraid of what that familiar scent might do to her. “Soon.”
The weather. They discussed the weather.
“Come riding with me.” They’d never ridden together. There had been talk of it, a hundred years ago, promises that they would spend the summer here, at Highley, on horseback, discovering it together. And then they’d married, and they hadn’t been able to stomach each other.
Or, rather, he hadn’t been able to stomach her. She could not blame him for that, she supposed. Except, she had blamed him. Even before he’d turned to another whom he could stomach better.
She looked at him. “Why?”
He lifted a shoulder. Let it fall. “Because you like to ride and it is not raining yet.”
She shook her head. “What game you are playing?”
“No games,” he said. “I ride in the mornings.”
“Enjoy yourself,” she said. “I’m to have breakfast with my sisters and prepare for your suitors.” She paused. “Suitors? Suitesses? Is there a word for young women vying for the attention of a duke?”
“Wisteria.”
She raised a brow at the word, the kindest of the whispered names she and her sisters had been called. Pretty, smelled nice, and very good at climbing. “Not so quickly, Duke. We haven’t seen or scented them, yet.”
He did smile at that, full and handsome, and she hated the hint of pleasure in the curve of his lips. Hated that it ghosted through her, there and gone so quickly, she’d never have noticed it if she weren’t so aware of him. And why? He was nothing but a barrier between her and freedom.
“Your sisters cannot protect you all the time, you know. We shall have to interact at some point.”
She’d cloistered herself with them after their arrival the other day, attempting to forget that he was in the house even as they prepared for what was to come. “We don’t have to be alone to interact.”
He raised a brow. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”
“Being alone with you has never worked out quite the way I imagined,” she said, knowing the words would be a blow.
The blow did not land as expected. “I think it worked out rather well, once or twice.”
Who was this man?
She tried again. “Oh, yes, Your Grace, being married to you has been the great wonder of my existence.”
He looked out the window. “Need I remind you that four women want a life with me so badly they are coming here to compete for it?”
She gave a little laugh. “You think that they want it? They don’t. They simply think they haven’t any other choice but to vie for your attention.” She hesitated, then, “How did you select the poor things?”
“It’s not so difficult to find unmarried women with an interest in marrying a duke.”
“Not even a duke who has been tied to scandal for years?”
“Not even that, surprisingly.”
It wasn’t surprising, though. He was handsome and young and rich and titled and any woman of sound mind would want him.
Not that she did. “And they were willing to wait until you had me declared dead? Husband hunting takes more patience than I recall.”
“You were a superior hunter.”
He didn’t mean the words the way they came, she knew. But they stung nonetheless, the reminder of the trap she’d lay. The mistake she’d made.
She looked away, back to the sun, edging over the fields. “Little do they know that in a matter of weeks, your attention will wander elsewhere.”
She hated herself for the bitterness in the words. After all that had happened, how was it that stumbling upon him with another woman was the only thing that seemed to matter?
Hated him even more when he said, “You left me—”
“You sent me away!” she said, unable to keep her voice from rising. “You stood in the house where we might have built a home, our wedding breakfast barely over, and you told me to leave you.” When he opened his mouth to reply, she found she was not through. “And do you know what is the great irony of it? The whole world thinks you ruined me before you married me, when the truth is that I was not ruined until after the fact. You ruined my hopes. My dreams. My future. You ruined my life. And I’ve had enough of that. I am here for one reason only, Your Grace. I want my life back. The one you stole.”
She was breathing heavily, full of anger that she rarely allowed release.
And damned if it didn’t feel good.
Even as she met his gaze and recognized his frustration. His anger. Good. She preferred him angry. Preferred to see her enemy. And they were enemies, were they not?
“If I stole your life, what did you do to mine? You disappeared, leaving all the world wondering where you’d gone. Imagining that I might have driven you away.”
She turned away again. “You did drive me away.” It was a lie, but she said it anyway, hoping it would hurt him.
Silence fell, and she ignored it, refusing to look at him, even when he said, “I worried you were dead. The doctors told me you might die. Do you have any idea how it felt to know you might have died?”
She did not hesitate. “I can only imagine you met the possibility with hope, considering you already had such a clear plan to replace me.”
She expected many responses to the smart retort—anger, sarcasm, dismissal. She received pure, unfettered honesty. “I never wished you dead.”
The words sent a wash of embarrassment through her before she could stop it. Even as she resisted the idea of allowing him to embarrass her. “No,” she said. “Only gone. So, let them come. And I shall give you what you wish. With pleasure.”
Only then did she realize that a small part of her wished he would acknowledge it, the fact that he’d breathed a sigh of relief on the day she’d disappeared. He did not.
“After you left, I—” He stopped, then bega
n again. “That last day, when—” He stopped the moment Sera closed her eyes against the words and the memory that came with them. The keen sense of loss. The child she could not forget. The future she had lost. The love. She should have thanked him for stopping, but he did not give her time, instead changing tack. Repeating himself. “I never wished you dead.”
She knew that, of course. “You made me angry.” It was the closest she would come to apologizing for lashing out at him.
Malcolm laughed then, the sound low and full of charm, just as she remembered. “I’ve always done that rather well.”
She couldn’t help her answering smile. “That much is true.”
“Come riding with me,” he repeated himself. “Before the others arrive.”
He said “the others” as though it were perfectly normal that a passel of young women was about to descend to vie for the role of duchess—the role she currently held. She shook her head once more. He was too tempting, even now. Even when she knew the way this ended.
“I could insist,” he said. “Make it a condition of the divorce.”
“You could,” she replied. “But you shan’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I don’t want to. And you won’t force it.”
“I forced you to come here and find your replacement.”
“Which benefits us both. But spending time with you is a fool’s errand. We’ve always liked each other too much in the moments, Malcolm. And they were never enough to make up for how we hurt each other.”
He looked away, out the window, and she silently begged him to leave her. He didn’t. Instead, he said, all calm, “We cannot ride, anyway.”
She followed the direction of his gaze to the spot in the distance where a carriage appeared, massive and black like a summer beetle, pulled by four matching horses and a pair of matched outriders. Her heart began to pound. “The first arrives.”
The words were barely out when a second carriage turned into the long drive. “And the second.”
Seven more vehicles trundled down the drive, black and serious, like mourners at a burial plot, and Sera turned to her husband. “Do they all know each other? Or are they exceedingly punctual?”
He cut her a look. “I assure you, I had no intention of the day beginning at seven o’clock in the morning.”
“Then they’ve consulted each other on arrival time.”
He harrumphed at the words. When she raised an inquisitive brow, he added, “More likely, the mothers knew that the early bird gets the worm.”
Sera couldn’t help her smile. “Well, Your Grace, you must admit, you are a terribly plump worm.”
He ignored her. “But why eight carriages? I only invited four.” His confusion turned nearly instantly to horror. “Dear God. You don’t think they brought sisters as well, do you?”
“They wouldn’t dare. Sisters are my weapon. These girls shall need to find their own.”
“Is that what this is? Battle?”
She cut him a look. “It’s marriage, Duke. Of course it’s a battle.”
One side of his mouth kicked up. “It always was with us.”
She turned away at the soft words. “From the very start.” She watched the line of coaches approach. “The second carriages come with assorted necessities. Our belongings should arrive today, as well.”
His brows knitted together. “It’s the largest and best appointed home in Britain. Are they afraid I shan’t feed them?”
“No. They’re afraid you won’t have ladies’ maids who are expert coiffeuses. And that you shan’t have dozens of perfectly tailored evening gowns. And shoes. And underthings.”
“They’re correct about that.”
“Of course they are. You’re a bachelor. This home requires . . . feminization. Which is one of my tests for your . . . let’s settle on suitesses for the time being.”
“It most certainly does not require feminization.” She’d never heard him so affronted. “And you have tests?”
“You asked me to find you a second wife, Duke. Considering what a hash you made with the first, I should think you’d be grateful for tests.”
“What, like foot races? And dressage?”
“You’re not far off, as a matter of fact.” His brows rose, and she rewarded his curiosity. “Lawn bowls, certainly.”
He nearly chuckled, and Sera was nearly pleased. Nearly remembered how handsome he was. Nearly remembered how wonderful it was to be the focus of his pleasure.
Nearly.
A firm knock sounded on the door, followed instantly by Sesily’s bellow. “Sera! Haven’s harem has arrived!”
Her lips twitched, and she was quite proud of herself for the serious look she gave her husband. The duke. This would be much easier if she stopped thinking of him as her husband. He wasn’t, after all. Not really. Not since their wedding. Not since before.
Not that it would be difficult for her, either way.
She was merely thinking of the other women. Of her replacement.
She cleared her throat, and called out, “Yes! I see them!”
“Well, we should go down and give them a look, don’t you think?”
“I do, rather,” Sera replied, enjoying Malcolm’s discomfort.
“Right then!” Sesily said, cheerfully. “I’ll just tell Sophie to squeeze into whatever frock still fits round her ever-expanding midsection.”
“Oi! I’m standing right here! Wearing a frock that fits quite well, thank you very much! And you’re one to talk, covered in cat fur. You’re not bringing him, are you?”
“Of course I am. It shall be the first test of their mettle! Also, Brummell has discerning taste.”
“As the beast enjoys your company, I can’t say I believe that.” Seline had arrived in the corridor beyond. “Come along, Sera!”
“Good God, there are a lot of them. And you think the house is not feminine enough?” Haven asked.
She smiled. “Not nearly, no.”
He growled his frustration, turning for the door to his chamber. “Don’t scare them off.”
“My sisters?” she asked, all innocence. “They don’t scare easily.”
“You know precisely whom I mean. If anyone can terrify a group of debutantes, it’s you lot.”
“They don’t call us the Dangerous Daughters for nothing, Your Grace.”
He did not laugh, and she realized the retort was not funny. Not for him. Not for her, either. Not when he turned back, time stretching with impressive weight, and said, “You never came with things.”
She stilled. She hadn’t come with things. Not with a trousseau, or a maid, or anything, really. None of those things mattered when she married him. But he’d been too angry to notice. “I was different.”
She hoped he’d let the answer stand without reply.
He didn’t. “Because you came for me.”
Every time.
She could have lied, but she didn’t wish to. She didn’t want to be someone she was not ever again. “Yes.”
He nodded and crossed over the threshold, closing the door behind him.
Only then did Sera say the rest. “I came for you. Just as I left for you.”
She smoothed her skirts and went to meet the women who hoped to marry her husband.
Chapter 12
Scrumptious Scandal! Seraphina to Select Successor!
The Talbot sisters met Haven’s suitesses in the drive, along with a collection of their secondary players—four mothers, one father, and three miniature dachshunds who did not care for Brummell, who hissed with fervor from the safety of Sesily’s arms.
Beyond the collection of guests, in the frenzied backdrop of the manor house courtyard, servants from within and without already rushed about, unloading trunks and hatboxes and saddles and—was that a bathtub? Why would they require a bathtub?—as the quartet of girls was thrust forward for Seraphina’s inspection, each with seemingly less understanding of the protocol required for the situation.
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br /> Not that this particular scenario was common enough to receive attention in Mrs. Coswell’s Book of Ladies’ Manners. Indeed, Sera thought Mrs. Coswell might summarily perish if she were apprised of the goings on at Highley.
There was no reason why they could not make the best of a strange situation, however. If these four were all that stood between Seraphina and her freedom, she was certainly willing to play her part. With a wide smile and even wider arms, she said, “Good morning, ladies.” The girls froze, eyes wide, looking first to each other and then to their respective mothers, clearly not knowing how to reply. Sera let her smile reach her eyes. “I am Lady Seraphina.” She deliberately used the address she’d had prior to her marriage.
The smallest of the four, a diminutive brunette stepped forward, dressed in shell pink and with features so small and delicate that they reminded Sera of a mouse, though not altogether unpleasantly. “Do we call you Your Grace?”
It was decided. She liked this one, who had no trouble getting right to the point. “I confess, I would prefer you not. After all, we’re all here to ensure that I am not Her Grace for any more time than is absolutely necessary.”
The assembled mothers and daughters tittered. “This is highly irregular,” one of the maters harrumphed. “Where is the duke? It’s wildly inappropriate that he send you lot to greet us.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sera said. “You lot?”
The older woman lifted her chin and sniffed at the air. “You take my meaning.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
One of the other women waved a hand in the direction of her sisters. “You and your sisters aren’t exactly good ton these days.”
“I’m a countess!” Seleste protested before pointing to Sophie. “And she is Marchioness of Eversley and the future Duchess of Lyne!”
“Yes,” the woman allowed, as though speaking to a child. “But none of you have come by your titles . . .”
Sesily’s brows snapped together. “Say honestly, and get back in your carriage, hag.”
The words were punctuated by a wild yowl from Brummell, and Sera resisted the urge to smile at her sister’s undying loyalty, which had its place, but in this instance, was not entirely helpful. She looked to the older woman as her brows shot up, mouth forming a perfect O. Before the furious mother could speak, Sera leapt in, placing herself between the two women.
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