Page 19 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

“My heart,” she stammered, pressing a hand over the center of her bodice, entirely flustered by the internal chaos. “It is accelerating at an unquantifiable rate. It must be a consequence of the late hour and the lack of rest from last night. It is affecting my internal mechanisms. I am certain I am developing a fever.”

Before she could protest, William closed the gap between them again. He reached out, his warm hand coming to rest flat against her forehead to evaluate her temperature.

The physical touch was like an electric current firing through her nerves. Seraphina’s face instantly heated up to a burning crimson beneath his palm. Her eyes locked onto the open collar of his shirt, her gaze tracking the line of his collarbone, her mind completely spinning as the proximity of him threatened to overwhelm her logic.

“You do not have a fever, Seraphina,” William murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against the temple of her forehead before he slowly lowered his hand. “Your skin is entirely normal.”

“I do have a fever,” she insisted sharply as she pulled away from his hand entirely. “I am the one experiencing the internal thermal imbalance, Your Grace, and I tell you, I am quite unwell.”

William stared at her, a clever look entering his eyes, though his face remained perfectly serious. “If you say so. But my proposition stands. A temporary contract, Seraphina. With no physical strings, to ensure the preservation of your family. It gives you the opportunity to fix this.”

Seraphina looked at him, and thought about the absolute safety his title would grant to Leonora. Her heart was still thrashing wildly in her chest, and it was difficult to think straight. She needed to escape this room. She needed to escape his gaze.

But her mind, ever the analytical machine, forced her to pause and weigh the logic of his words before she spoke.

He was right. Under any other circumstances, the proposition would be utter madness, but functionally, it was the most efficient equation available to her. If she became his wife, she would be cloaked in the power of his family name. The house of Norwyn carried a deeply entrenched weight in the ton. It was a name that commanded caution. A malicious extortionist might easily crush an anonymous spinster writing for a newspaper, but that same person would undoubtedly think twice, perhaps even retreat entirely before exposing the wife of a Duke.

The title would buy her the one commodity she desperately required. Time. It would give her the positioning she needed to uncover the blackmailer and fix the issue herself, without dragging her sisters down into ruin.

Yet, the thought of surrendering her hard-won independence tasted like defeat. She had vowed to remain a spinster, to dedicate her life entirely to her books, her columns, and her intellect. To bind herself to a man felt like erasing everything she had built.

‘But it is temporary, Seraphina,’ she reminded herself, clinging to his precise wording. There would be no physical strings, no consummation, and a clean annulment waiting for her the moment Alice was restored to health. Her work would not be forbidden, her goals would remain intact.

What could possibly go wrong?

“Very well,” she breathed and swallowed. “I agree to the terms. We shall marry under those exact parameters, and not a single variable more.”

William nodded and finally took a step back. “Deal.”

Seraphina turned on her heel and practically fled the study, her skirts twisting around her ankles as she hurried through the doorway. Standing alone, she leaned her back against the wall and let out a long, shaky breath.

Slowly, with every meter she put between herself and the door of the study, she noticed how the acceleration in her chest began to subside. The hammering slowed, her pulse gradually returning to its ordinary rhythm. She looked down at her hand, which was still trembling slightly against her skirts, and reasoned that the room probably needed to be aired out.

The study had been shut up all night with stale air and coal gas, and she was certain that the lack of proper oxygen had simply caused a temporary constriction of her respiratory tract.

CHAPTER TEN

“Explain yourself, Seraphina,” Leonora demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is a complete and total disaster. How, exactly, did this happen? You swore up and down that you would never get married. You have given us endless, exhausting speeches about the traps of marriage! Yet, I come back from a quick errand to find out you are marrying a Duke? How long have you been keeping this a secret? I had to wait for Effie to arrive for me to find out.”

“Oh, ignore her! I came the very second your letter arrived,” Euphemia squealed, reaching across the table to grab a fresh sheet of paper. “The moment I read that you accepted the Duke, I got on the carriage right away. A wedding, Seraphina! A grand wedding!”

Seraphina sat frozen between them, her teacup held halfway to her lips, her mind completely blank.

Her thoughts were spinning out of control. It did not feel real. It felt like she had somehow fallen into a strange, bizarre dream. In all her years of life, through all her reading, political writing, and careful planning, she had never imagined a world where she would become a Duchess. She was Seraphina Beaumont. She was supposed to be at her desk, writing political articles and pointing out the flaws in society from behind a secret name.

She was not supposed to be picking out wedding lace.

“I should have known something wasn’t right.” Leonora continued her pacing. “For the past two days you’ve been ridiculously quiet. What possessed you to accept his proposal? What were you thinking? Did you even think at all?”

“Don’t listen to Leonora’s negativity,” Euphemia said happily, waving her hand as she dipped her pen in ink. “We have so much to plan and so little time! First, the special license. The Duke will have to get one from the Archbishop so we don’t have to wait three weeks for the church announcements. That means the wedding can happen at St. George’s. If everything goes the way it should.”

“St. George’s?” Leonora gasped, throwing her hands in the air. “Euphemia, she barely knows the man! For all we know, he could be a terrible person. “She hasn’t the faintest idea what she is stepping into. Now, I know we all came to London hoping for love... and a happy home, and all those romantic notions. But doesn’t this entire business feel suspicious to you, Effie?”

Seraphina stared blankly at the tablecloth.

‘How did I say yes?’ she asked herself. ‘What went wrong with my logic?’

She remembered how William had looked in his study. She remembered the warmth of him, the crazy pounding in her chest, and his simple, practical promise. A shield. No physical strings. Total freedom for her writing. In that moment, it had made perfect sense. It was a clever move to save her family from disaster. But watching Euphemia write down a massive list of flowers, the promise felt less like a clever plan and more like a giant trap snapping shut.