Page 52 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

Seraphina swallowed. “William... why would you assume something is wrong?”

“Because you look troubled,” he said simply. His brow furrowed slightly as he searched her eyes. “You have seemed flustered and on edge for days. Tell me, is it still the matter of the letters? Is the threat of the blackmailer what is keeping you so restless?”

Before she could answer, his expression hardened. “If that is the cause, you can set your mind at ease. I am making progress. Anthony went back to the country estate near the cottage yesterday morning. The housekeepers, Mr. and Mrs. Higgs, informed me that they recovered a scrap of paper that may bear the name of our suspect.”

“We are closing in,” William continued. “We should have definitive news soon. Furthermore, I have placed men at print shops in town. No one will publish a single word mentioning your name or your family without my knowing it first. I have covered every angle, Seraphina. You can be at ease.”

Seraphina stood utterly frozen, the words dying in her throat.

She felt so safe in his shadow that an absurd, desperate urge seized her, an impulse to step forward, wrap her arms around his waist, and bury her face against his chest. She felt as though she had struck gold in a world of shallow appearances, finding a man who treated her honor as his own.

But she could not move. She could barely breathe. She simply stared at him, her lips parted in wonder.

William reached out then. His fingers brushed against her cheek, feather-light, as he gently took a stray lock of hair that had slipped from her pins and tucked it behind her ear. His palm lingered, cupping the side of her jaw for a fleeting second. His thumb lightly traced the high line of her cheekbone, his thumb warm against her cool skin.

Seraphina held her breath, completely captive to the gentle weight of his hand.

Then, just as suddenly, William withdrew his hand, his eyes shifting toward the far end of the gallery.

“My apologies,” he said smoothly, a polite smile touching his lips. “Lady Greville just turned the corner. A relentless gossip, that one. I thought a small display of affection might give her something romantic to report to the rest of the room.”

The sudden drop in temperature felt like a splash of ice water.

Seraphina’s chest tightened, a pang of disappointment twisting in her gut. She swallowed hard, looking down at the carpet to hide the heat in her eyes. Before she could process the ache in her chest, the opening chords of the waltz swelled from the main hall, floating down the corridor.

William turned back to her, extending his elbow. “Shall we?”

Seraphina swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a small nod. She placed her hand over his sleeve, letting him guide her out of the gallery and back toward the lights of the dance floor.

As they walked, her mind spun in erratic circles, leaving her to wonder whether she was truly terrified of her first public dance, or utterly terrified of dancing it in the arms of the man beside her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“So you three really are not related at all?” William asked, his voice cutting through the swell of the violins as he guided her smoothly into the first turn of the waltz. “Not even distant relatives?”

One, two, three. One, two, three.

Seraphina kept the rhythm marching like soldiers through her mind, her eyes fixed firmly on the pin nestled in his cravat. To her immense surprise, navigating the floor in his arms was vastly simpler than she had anticipated. In fact, once she surrendered to the cadence of the steps, it was remarkably easy.

Easier than the lessons had been.

“No,” Seraphina answered smoothly, executing a seamless pivot as he effortlessly steered her around a lingering couple. “We are not related by blood. But blood is merely a biological marker, William. In every metric that truly matters, Leonora, Euphemia, and I are sisters. The affection between us exceeds that of many biological families.”

“That is remarkable. Your bond is quite something,” he said.

“Well, it is not difficult to forge a bond when you are forged in the exact same furnace of misfortune,” she replied. “You may have heard whispers, but our fathers were business associates. They pooled their entire fortunes into a single, high-risk merchant venture.” She paused as he drew her through a sweeping turn. “The venture collapsed overnight. Total ruin.”

William’s expression softened. “Yes. I heard of it back then. It was all everyone really talked about for a while.”

“One night, they stayed out,” Seraphina murmured, looking past his shoulder into the expanse of the ballroom. “Drinking away the shock, I suppose. It happened to be one of the most brutal blizzards in London’s recorded history. The cold was unforgiving and they spent the night, drunk and out in the street. All three of them perished on the same night, leaving three separate households thrown into utter chaos.”

“Good God,” William muttered softly.

“Lady Byron stepped into the wreckage,” Seraphina continued. “She knew my mother before she passed, and when the creditors seized my father’s estate, I had no close relatives to claim me. I was facing an asylum or a parish workhouse. Lady Byron took me in. She did the same for Euphemia and Leonora through similar connections. We grew up under one roof, bound by shared ruin and salvaged by one woman’s formidable, if eccentric, benevolence.”

William watched her face closely. “It sounds like an extraordinary, taxing way to grow up.”

“I will admit it was unconventional,” Seraphina said, a fond smile warming her expression. “If I were to detail the chaos of our childhood, we would be dancing until dawn. But I am profoundly grateful. Lady Byron gave me unrestricted access to her vast library. I fell in love with reading because she refused to lock her study doors. Most importantly, I gained my sisters. I would do anything to protect them. For years, they were my entire world.”