Page 62 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

Just do it. Just do it, Seraphina. Just knock.

Seraphina stood in the corridor outside William’s primary study, her knuckles hovering an inch above the wood. Her pulse rattled. For weeks, this wing of Norwyn Manor had been plunged into darkness, as William retreated into whatever impenetrable corners of his mind he inhabited when he decided to.

But tonight, a thin sliver of light bled out from beneath the doorframe.

He was inside.

She swallowed hard, trying to smooth down the front of her purple dressing gown, though her fingers were trembling so violently the fabric rustled. She had spent the last hour beside Alice’s bed, watching the rhythm of the child’s breathing. She had wanted so desperately to share it with him. But now, standing at his threshold, the brave momentum that had carried her down the hall faltered into panic.

Just knock, you absolute fool.

Before her nerve could desert her entirely, she rapped her knuckles against the door. The sound echoed loudly in the hall.

A beat of silence followed, so prolonged that she thought he might ignore her altogether. Then came his voice, deep, raspy, and stripped of all softness.

“Enter.”

Seraphina turned the handle and slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. “Good evening... William.”

He did not look up.

He was seated behind the desk, illuminated only by the glow of a single brass desk lamp and the embers of the hearth. Spread out before him were stacks of ledgers, yellowed correspondence, and documents bearing wax seals. In his right hand, he held a crystal tumbler filled with what looked like scotch.

He did not offer a greeting. He did not ask her why she was out of bed at such an hour. He kept his eyes fixed on the ledger before him, an unforgiving shadow casting over the high planes of his cheekbones.

Seraphina hovered near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The words she had rehearsed on her way down the corridor vanished. She could not simply stride in and begin complaining about his weeks of absence, nor could she burst out with the news of Alice when he looked so entirely consumed by whatever lay before him.

The man sitting at that desk was not the dryly humorous, surprisingly patient man who bantered with her over the littlest things. This was the Duke of Norwyn. Severe. Formidable. Cold. He looked terrifyingly untouchable, surrounded by an aura of authority that made the spacious room feel suddenly very small.

Uncertainty warred with Seraphina’s pride. She needed a bridge, a neutral subject that belonged to their transactional reality, something that would force him to engage without demanding emotional intimacy.

“Is there... has there been any lead with the investigation?” she asked softly, her voice cutting through the silence. “Have you found anything?”

For a moment, he remained motionless. Then, he set the glass down on the desk.

“I was going to inform you tomorrow,” he said. “We have a name. Several names, actually.”

Seraphina took a tentative step forward, resting her hands on the back of one of the armchair choices facing his desk. “Names? What does that mean?”

“The Higgs conducted a more thorough search of the secondary quarters. They discovered a hidden compartment in the secretary desk containing letters and ledgers detailing financial disbursements.”

He turned a page. “Several individuals are now implicated,” he continued. “But the mistress is still the most promising lead regarding the physical possession of the signet. However, the letters left at the cottage suggest a second actor, a former business associate of my father, a distant cousin whose estate was ruined by my father’s legal maneuvers a decade ago. He would have ample motive to attempt extortion, and the handwriting matches the syntax of the blackmail notes.”

“So you have actual suspects,” she breathed, a spark of excitement lighting up her chest. “Real leads... names, at last.”

“Three potential leads,” he corrected. “Yes. Anthony and I depart at first light. We intend to track down each individual, press them systematically, and determine who the blackmailer is.”

The prospect of action made her chest expand with relief. After weeks of waiting, the wheels were finally turning. “Let me go with you,” she said quickly, leaning across the desk. “I can help. I could observe, ask discreet questions —”

“No,” William cut her off.

She blinked, taken aback by the rejection. “William, I am entirely capable of assisting. It is my reputation on the line as much as yours —”

“I will handle it,” he said. “It is my duty to resolve this issue. You will remain here at the manor. When I have a concrete suspect or the blackmailer in custody, I will inform you.”

A prickle of frustration flared in her chest. She stared down at the top of his dark head, watching him reach for his glass once more. He hadn’t looked at her once. Not when she entered, not when he explained the leads, and not when he issued his outright refusal.

“William,” she said seriously. “Would you look at me?”