Page 68 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

“How is the work progressing by the way?” he asked, finally turning to her.

Seraphina blinked, surprised by the shift in topic. She looked up to find him watching her, curiously.

“It... it goes well,” she said tentatively. “The latest edition was published about two weeks ago.”

A ghost of a smile touched the corner of William’s mouth. “I know. I read it.”

Her breath hitched. “You did?”

“I did,” he murmured, shifting slightly in his seat, leaning his elbow against the window frame. “I noticed you included a rather specific proposal regarding the union of lamplighters.”

Seraphina smiled. “Ah. Yes. Well... the technical transition naturally demands a discussion regarding displaced labor. Someone had to suggest something. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“It was my joke,” William said, his smile widening. “I believe I suggested retraining the lot of them to swat moths with their poles, given that turning London into a giant bonfire would attract half the insects in the county.”

“It was not your joke,” Seraphina defended, her competitive spirit flaring up despite her aching heart. “It was a serious economic consideration regarding the absorption of manual workers into post-industrial infrastructure. You merely phrased it with your usual absurd cynicism.”

“I recall distinctly saying that Mayfair would be positively swarming, and that swatting moths was the only logical outcome for men with long poles,” he countered coolly. “Lo and behold, your column includes a brilliant, sharp commentary on reallocating civic workers to manage evening nuisances created by the new light. You stole my humor, Seraphina. Admit it.”

“I adapted it,” she scoffed. “I elevated banter into respectable journalistic commentary. Besides, I hear that the line was quite well received by the readers. They found the satire exceptionally astute.”

“Then I expect a commission,” William said dryly. “Or at the very least, an acknowledgment in your next column. If you ever require additional wit to liven up your treatises, you need only ask. I can be remarkably entertaining when the mood strikes.”

Seraphina let out a short soft laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, that is rich! Remarkable entertainment from the Duke of Norwyn? You are many things, William, but funny is hardly the first adjective that comes to mind.”

“I am hilarious,” he stated. “I am simply selective with my audience.”

“You are sarcastic,” she corrected, leaning back against her seat. “There is a profound difference between wit and sarcasm.”

“You cut me to the quick,” he said, resting a hand over his heart with exaggerated dismay.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the suffocating weight between them vanished. The carriage felt light, warm, and safe, filled with the familiar banter that had once drawn her to him in the first place.

Then William turned his head back to the window, the smile fading from his face as his gaze drifted back to the passing trees, and the silence returned.

Seraphina’s smile slipped away. She turned her face toward her own window, staring out at the gray, bleak horizon, an aching sadness settling back into her bones.

Euphemia’s voice echoed in her mind again. ‘If you spend all your time fighting what you feel right now, you are going to look back when he is gone and deeply regret that you never took the chance to see what this could have been.’

The regret was already here. It was sitting right beside her in the space of the carriage, choking her.

Once they reached the coast, once they confronted this woman and reclaimed the signet, the contract would be fulfilled. The blackmail would end. The path to their annulment would be clear, smooth, and legally sound. He would return her freedom, her independence, exactly as they had agreed. They would part ways cordially, two sensible adults who had conducted a successful transaction.

But she would spend the rest of her life utterly miserable.

She stared at her reflection in the glass. Could she truly live like that? Could she go back to her home, her books, her scientific journals, and pretend that she hadn’t been completely rewired? Could she pretend that her heart hadn’t woken up?

She had spent her entire life priding herself on her honesty, her courage, and her refusal to back down from the truth, no matter how uncomfortable or inconvenient it might be. She was a woman who faced facts. She observed the evidence, reached a conclusion, and stood by it.

Yet here she was, clinging to the cowardice of her pride, hiding behind a lie because admitting the truth meant risking the total destruction of her composure.

She looked across the carriage at William. He looked so severe, so composed. He was a man who lived by unyielding parameters, a man who had already drawn his line.

If she spoke... if she laid her shattered heart entirely bare before him... would he cast it aside? Would he look at her with pity, or worse indifference?

Seraphina squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hand against the cold glass of the window, the silence of the carriage wrapping around her like a shroud. She didn’t know the answer. But for the first time in her life, the fear of remaining silent was far, far greater than the fear of being broken.

Curse that kiss. Curse that stupid kiss.