Page 76 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

He wanted to scream at her that he didn’t want an annulment anymore... not since that kiss they shared that had confirmed to him that he cared deeply for her.

But as he looked at her expectant, fragile face, the words choked him.

How could he say any of it now? She had given her solemn word to Lady Byron, a promise to the woman who had raised her. Seraphina was bound by an unshakable sense of honor. If he forced her to choose between her duty and a husband who had dragged her into a transactional marriage, he would only inflict more pain.

He remembered how arrogant and unyielding he had been when he had confronted her about her attraction to him. He must have made her feel foolish and exposed.

If he spoke now, she would never believe him. She would see it as pity, or convenience, or a bout of madness. He had handled her heart with the hands of a brute, and he had no one to blame for this ruin but himself.

Seraphina watched him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she waited for his response, her eyes searching his face.

William swallowed hard, his fists clenching tightly. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear to see her hope shatter when she realized how completely he had botched everything between them.

“Fine,” William ground out, his voice choked, defeated.

He turned on his heel before he could break entirely, crossing the room. He yanked the bedchamber door open and stepped into the corridor, pulling it shut behind him.

William walked away, his heart still hammering. He figured he had built this cage with his own hands, and now he had no choice but to watch the only light in his world walk away forever.

Seeking any anchor to steady the storm raging in his chest, his footsteps instinctively turned toward the nursery wing. He needed to see Alice. He needed her chatter, her laughter, anything to pull his mind away from the devastating reality of what he was about to lose.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Your Grace, do you realize that King Henry VIII had six wives, and two of them lost their heads entirely?” Alice swung her legs off the edge of her bed, gesturing wildly with her feather quill. “Miss Peyton says it was all rather chaotic, but I think if a man requires six attempts at a marriage, the fault lies entirely with his own disposition. Don’t you think? What do you think? I want to know what you think.”

Seraphina sat on the chair beside the small bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Indeed, sweet girl. A most tumultuous period.”

In truth, Seraphina had barely heard a word Alice said. Her mind was a stormy sea.

‘Why must love be so thoroughly, maddeningly inconvenient?’ she thought, staring blankly at the floral pattern of Alice’s wallpaper.

She recalled a passage from an old French philosopher she had read in Lady Byron’s library... something about love being a gilded madness, a poison that made wise men fools and women reckless. It was absurd. How could a single human being invoke such an overwhelming, bone-deep affection within her, while simultaneously inspiring a burning urge to strangle him with his own cravat?

She had sacrificed everything for his peace of mind. She had accepted his rules, protected his household, kept his secrets, and swallowed her own desires because he insisted upon drawing lines. She had agreed to leave, to go back to the suffocating solitude of the countryside because she thought it was what he truly wanted. Yet, he walked around his own home looking as though he wished to tear down the timber with his bare hands.

Truly, there was no pleasing a man so determined to be miserable.

She needed to write to Euphemia. She needed to write to someone who possessed a semblance of romantic wisdom, if only to ask why love had to feel like navigating a minefield blindfolded.

“—and so I told Miss Peyton that if I were Queen Catherine, I simply would have locked the palace gates,” Alice finished, looking at her expectantly. “What do you think, Your Grace? What would you have done?”

Seraphina blinked, snapping back to the present. She offered the girl an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Alice. My mind wandered for a moment. It is getting quite late, and it is past time for sleep.”

She had originally come into the nursery to begin the task of preparing Alice for her departure, to gently ease the child into the reality that she would not be here forever. But looking at Alice’s face, her courage failed her.

“You are behaving just like His Grace,” Alice noted, pulling her blankets up to her chin with a put-upon sigh.

Seraphina paused. “What do you mean?”

“He came in here this afternoon, and he was just as distracted,” Alice said, plumping her pillow. “He didn’t hear a word about King Henry either.”

“Oh,” Seraphina murmured softly. “Was he... talking to you about history?”

“No,” Alice replied innocently. “He just sat right where you are sitting, and told me that if I could convince you to stay for a very, very long time, he would buy me the pony with the white spot on its nose that we saw at the market when I went with Mary. But I told him you weren’t going anywhere anyway, so it was a very silly bribe.”

Seraphina froze, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp gasp. “He... he said what to you, Alice?”

“He said I should ask you to stay,” Alice repeated, yawning sleepily. “I can sleep alone tonight, Your Grace. I don’t have nightmares anymore.”