Page 30 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

Smiling to herself, she turned back to the shelves to find another book.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Oh, there you are, destroyer of books.”

William didn’t even look up from his desk as Seraphina walked into his study, though his voice carried effortlessly across the room. He dipped his quill into the inkwell, fighting the urge to look up at her. “Are you here to tear apart any more of my family’s historical volumes? Are you simply taking inventory of what is left to dismantle?”

Seraphina paused near the door. “Good morning, Your Grace. I can see you are still holding a grudge over last night.”

She stepped forward, her morning gown rustling softly, and set a rectangular package wrapped in brown parchment onto the corner of his desk.

“I have come to offer a peace offering,” she said smoothly, resting her hands over her waist. “An apology, if you will.”

William glanced at the package, then up at her, raising an eyebrow, suspicious. He reached out, flicking open the twine and folding back the parchment. Inside lay a pristine, crimson leather-bound volume, the very same 1792 trade registry that had met its tragic end on the library floor hours earlier.

He picked it up, feeling the leather under his fingers, and flipped open the title page. He stared at the blank, unmarked frontispiece for a long moment before looking back at her, unimpressed.

“It is a duplicate,” William said plainly, setting it back down on his blotter.

“It is an identical first edition,” Seraphina corrected, leaning forward slightly.

“It is missing the annotation,” William noted. “The copy you shredded last night contained marginal notes written in 1794 by William Pitt the Younger himself, addressed directly to my grandfather regarding foreign trade negotiations. It was a one-of-a-kind historical document. This is merely a very clean, very late printing.”

Seraphina let out a light, exasperated breath. “It contains the exact same text, Your Grace! The economic figures are identical. The print is immaculate. It fulfills every functional purpose of the original.”

“A book of that nature is not merely a functional item, Seraphina,” he countered, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “It was an artifact. Setting a replacement on my desk does not magically erase the fact that you tore an irreplaceable heirloom in half because you could not bear to lose an argument.”

“I did not tear it alone. You were holding the spine!”

William looked at her, frustrated. “Are we really going to argue about whose fault it is this morning?”

In truth, William knew she wasn’t entirely wrong during their argument the night before. Her use of the 1786 treaty was a stroke of effective rhetoric. It gave her argument weight; it gave the common reader an accessible parallel. It worked. But what infuriated him, what made him press her so relentlessly, was her refusal to grant that economic truth was rarely a singular monument. He didn’t need her to surrender her ideals; he simply wanted her to admit that opposing angles could coexist, that estate management was a delicate balance of compromise rather than a binary battle of good and evil. Instead, she had ripped his grandfather’s registry to shreds.

“It was an accident!” she fired back, her eyes flashing with heat. “It was nobody’s fault. I have gone out of my way to replace it. Most people would appreciate a person who takes the initiative to remedy a mistake.”

“Well I do not want it,” William replied smoothly, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement at her rising temper.

Seraphina closed her eyes, taking a breath to reclaim her composure. “Well... it is a fine copy, and it is yours. Frankly, the only reason I came up to your study in the first place was because I did not see you at breakfast to give it to you.”

William paused. “Did you want me to come down for breakfast?”

“No,” she said, pacing a step toward the window overlooking the estate grounds. “But I was left entirely to my own devices. I was met by a procession of staff so long I lost count after the eighteenth person. I had no idea you employed such an army here. Forty-two indoor staff, thirty-eight outdoor hands, and twelve groundskeepers. My goodness.”

He searched her face, his gaze turning assessing. “Why? Was it overwhelming for you?”

“Of course not,” Seraphina said instantly, lifting her chin. “I am perfectly capable of greeting staff. I was given a formal tour of the main estate. You have a remarkably beautiful estate, Your Grace. Also, your staff are most welcoming. That is a relief. I simply assumed... well, I thought I would see you at the table.”

She turned back to face him. “You were not there, and neither was Alice.”

“Alice rarely leaves her chambers in the morning,” William said quietly. “The staff takes breakfast to her room.”

Seraphina watched him closely. “I understand,” she replied gently. “I plan to go up and visit her later today to introduce myself properly.”

“Good. Be sure to stay away from her books. Let’s try to prevent another incident like this one.”

He caught her rolling her eyes just before he rose to his feet and picked up a pair of riding gloves and a sealed parchment envelope.

She frowned slightly. “Are you going somewhere?”