Page 51 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

“You are describing the textbook symptoms of falling desperately in love with a man!” Euphemia laughed.

“No, absolutely not.” Seraphina said, waving her hands. “I analyzed that option weeks ago and dismissed it entirely. We are completely incompatible. We argue constantly. I do not have the urge to spend every waking moment in his presence, in fact, I actively avoid him half the time precisely because his presence triggers this ridiculous glitch. Is that how a woman in love behaves?”

“Yes!” Euphemia countered. “When she is in massive, catastrophic denial. Good heavens, Seraphina, you are the most stubborn, brilliant fool in all of England! You are falling in love with the Duke of Norwyn!”

“Effie, please listen to me,” Seraphina pleaded. “I know my own mind. Romantic affection is not in my nature. I have never allowed my emotions to override my reason. Therefore, this reaction to William must be a physical anomaly, not an emotional one. Now, I know that’s what you want for me. But stop projecting. Just... look at this rationally.”

“I am looking at it rationally.”

“You are not.”

Euphemia groaned. “Love does not present itself in only one manner, Seraphina. You are human, no matter how many books you read to convince yourself otherwise.”

“It is not love,” Seraphina insisted stubbornly. “I am certain of it.”

“You are playing a dangerous game,” Euphemia whispered, leaning in so close her floral perfume brushed Seraphina’s cheek just before a tread sounded behind them. “You cannot analyze your way out of a heart that has already surrendered.”

“I am analyzing the facts,” Seraphina retorted. “You cannot possibly know me more than I know myself.”

“Yes, I can. I am your sister. I know you like the back of my hand.”

“Did you know I was E.R Voce?”

“That is a low blow, Seraphina,” Euphemia said. “Which reminds me that I am still profoundly upset with you for not telling me that.”

“I am sorry to interrupt,” William’s voice cut cleanly through their exchange as he stepped into the gallery. “But the orchestra is tuning their strings. I believe it’s time.”

Euphemia blinked, her lips curving into a smile as her gaze darted between them. “Time? Time for what, precisely?”

“The opening dance,” Seraphina said quickly, stepping forward to put a physical boundary between her sister and William. She offered Euphemia a look. “We shall continue this discussion later. In private.”

“Oh, I am afraid we will not have the chance tonight,” Euphemia replied. “Nathaniel and I must slip away early; he has an urgent meeting with the Cabinet secretary. But you must call on me at Mayfair as soon as possible. I feel we have barely scratched the surface of your... unique inquiry.”

Seraphina swallowed hard, her cheeks burning as William’s eyes narrowed.

“A unique inquiry?” William asked softly, bowing to Euphemia before turning his full attention back to his wife. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not in the slightest,” Seraphina said briskly. “Euphemia exaggerates.”

Euphemia merely offered another smile, and with a gentle brush against Seraphina’s shoulder, she slipped past them, exchanging a glance with her sister before vanishing down the corridor.

Seraphina turned to follow, but William moved before her, his frame smoothly blocking her path down the same corridor. He did not touch her, yet his presence felt as imposing as a stone wall.

He glanced upward, his eyes fixing on a massive oil painting hanging in a frame above a marble console table. “It is a fine piece, is it not?”

Seraphina forced her gaze away from his face and followed his line of sight. Hanging before them was an expansive landscape, a classic work by George Lambert depicting a dramatic English countryside at sunset, complete with rolling hills, a winding river, and a distant, storm-darkened sky catching the last golden light. It was precise, imposing, and impeccably regal.

“It is a Lambert,” Seraphina murmured, glad to anchor herself in objective knowledge rather than the erratic rhythm in her chest. “A grand landscape. I suppose one should expect nothing less on the walls of Lord Lansdowne’s townhouse. A man of high office and deep pockets would naturally display art that reflects absolute order and authority.”

William turned his gaze slowly from the canvas to her face, studying her beneath the warm glow of the sconces. “Are you keeping something from me, Seraphina?”

Seraphina blinked, taking a half-step back. “What do you mean?”

“Your conversation with your sister,” William said, his tone remarkably gentle. “It was hushed. Urgent. I am not a man given to prying, nor am I curious about ordinary gossip. But if you are facing a problem, if something is weighing upon you, I want you to know that you may bring it to me.”

Seraphina opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, cutting her off before she could formulate a denial.

“I know you share a deep bond with your sisters,” he continued, stepping closer. “I would never ask you to sever that, nor would I stop you from seeking their counsel. But in every legal, practical, and personal sense, I am your husband. If there is a burden to be carried or an issue to be resolved, it is my duty, and my preference, to handle it for you. You only need to ask.”