Page 20 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

“For the dress,” Euphemia rambled on, writing as fast as her hand could move, “we need white lace over heavy silk. Nothing too fancy. Seraphina doesn’t care for ruffles, but a high lace collar will make her look like a proper Duchess. Oh, and the cake! We must tell the cook that a huge three-tiered plum cake is non-negotiable.”

“Did he force you into this?” Leonora asked. “You can tell us. Did he trap you in a corner? Did he threaten your reputation? Because if that arrogant man forced you⁠—”

“Do you truly think that any gentleman is capable of forcing our older sister, Seraphina, into anything?” Euphemia interrupted with a tilt of her head. “Can’t you see how romantic it is? It is just like a storybook!”

‘It is nothing like a storybook,’ Seraphina thought numbly, looking out the window.

She felt completely lost. The sharp, clever writer who could destroy a politician’s argument in five minutes was now utterly frozen by wedding planning. She had no idea how to be a bride. She had no idea how to pretend. The whole thing was a fake. A deal to protect her writing and help a traumatized child.

“Most importantly,” Euphemia continued, dropping her voice to a dramatic whisper as she leaned towards Seraphina on the sofa. “It is paramount we talk about the wedding night.”

Leonora groaned, dropping her head onto her hands. “Oh, please, no. We are not asking the right questions here.”

“No, Leonora, it matters!” Euphemia insisted. “Seraphina knows nothing about what married people do! She only reads science books and news reports! When I tried to explain love to you both before, she wasn’t even listening! Seraphina, pay attention. I am going to draw you a picture so you know what to expect.”

Leonora let out a frustrated groan. “Euphemia, if you draw our sister a picture right now, I am jumping into the river!”

“I am trying to help her!” Euphemia argued, holding her pen up like a sword. “You both are refusing to listen to me. Lady Byron did not have this talk with us, and I assure you, it is important.”

“I could not care less about that,” Leonora retorted.

“It is not for you right now. It is for Seraphina. Your time will come.”

Leonora scoffed and sat down. “That is what you believe.”

Euphemia placed a hand on her hip. “Leonora Ashcroft!”

“Could you both please stop talking?” Seraphina finally snapped.

The room went completely quiet.

Seraphina carefully set her teacup down. She sat up straight, using her best stern voice to freeze them both in place.

“Let us deal with this calmly, logically, and one thing at a time,” Seraphina said, looking back and forth between Leonora’s angry face and Euphemia’s messy, ink-covered hands. “Leonora, no one trapped me, forced me, or ruined me. I agreed to this deal with a clear head. It is a good deal. Euphemia, put the pen down. There will be no fancy lace, no giant plum cakes, and absolutely nobody is drawing pictures. I have read about duties and marriages. I will be fine.”

“But the books do not document every single thing!” Euphemia argued.

“I find that very hard to believe,” Seraphina countered. “The books I read are based on real facts and clear logic. Everything in nature follows plain rules, and science explains all of it.”

Euphemia placed the pen and paper on the table. “Books cannot tell you why your chest feels warm, or why your hands shake, or why your mind goes entirely blank when he looks at you!”

“Yes, it can,” Seraphina replied coolly, without missing a beat. “That is simply a fast heart rate brought on by excitement. Or perhaps just a warm room with poor airflow. It is a simple bodily reaction, nothing more. One does not need grand feelings to explain a basic physical response.”

Euphemia threw her hands up, thoroughly exasperated. “You cannot treat a marriage like an arithmetic problem! A husband is not a science project.”

“Of course he is,” Seraphina insisted. “Science follows clear rules. If you follow the right steps, you get the expected result. Relying on good sense will always work far better than relying on silly poetry.”

Euphemia slowly lowered her hand. She blinked once, then twice, as if trying to reorder the universe in her mind.

“Wait,” Euphemia said, her voice dropping to a breathy whisper. “Hold on a minute. Seraphina... are you not in love with him? Do you have no feelings for the Duke you are about to marry at all?”

Leonora let out a long, loud sigh of utter relief and threw her hands up toward the ceiling. “Thank you! That is what I have been trying to tell you for the past twenty minutes! That is precisely what I have been saying!”

Leonora turned to face Euphemia, ticking the facts off on her fingers. “She met His Grace while investigating who has been sending those wretched threat letters. She noticed the distinct quality of the vellum paper, identified a hidden blind stamp pressed into it, and tracked that seal straight to the Duke of Norwyn’s estate to confront him. Now she comes back to tell us that the man asked her to marry him, and she said yes!”

Leonora took a sharp breath, her eyes widening. “To make matters even worse, all of this began because she agreed to take charge of his ward. We do not even know who this ward is! Is the child his secret daughter? A distant relative? She has no idea who this person is!”

Euphemia gasped, clutching her chest as if taken aback by the absurdity of it all. “But Seraphina does not even like children!”