Page 69 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

“My apologies for keeping you waiting,” William said, adjusting his cloak as he took his seat in the carriage. “I needed to check that the horses were properly shod for the remaining leg of the journey.”

The second day of their journey dawned in a cold mist that hung low over the frost-bitten fields.

Seraphina had been seated in the traveling carriage for nearly ten minutes, her hands tucked neatly inside her fur-lined muff, watching the light slowly turn the horizon to silver.

“It is no matter,” Seraphina replied softly. “I was quite comfortable.”

“I trust you had a restful night?” he asked, his eyes sweeping over her face.

“Yes,” she lied smoothly. “Quite restful.”

The carriage lurched forward, the iron wheels grinding over the cobblestone yard of the inn where they had retired for the night, the day before. It had been too late to continue the journey, so they had taken shelter there.

In truth, Seraphina had not slept a single wink.

She had spent the hours in her small chamber at the inn staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant creak of the floorboards and the whistling of the wind. Her mind, usually so neat and orderly, had thrashed against the walls of her own stubbornness until the early hours of the morning.

In that darkness, she had reached her final, unavoidable conclusion.

She was going to tell him.

She would lay it all bare. It was the only logical... the only honorable way forward. For years, she had wrapped herself in the armor of intellectual superiority. She had been the rigid, uptight, insufferable person who always insisted she was right, who reduced every human warmth down to a chemical reaction or a flaw in logic. She had scoffed at Euphemia’s romantic sensibilities, she had ignored Leonora’s warnings.

She had been wrong. About everything.

Admitting it was terrifying, but it was also the only way she could leave this arrangement with her dignity intact. If their marriage was to end in an annulment, if she was to walk away from Norwyn Manor and return to her solitary life of books and her columns, she refused to do so as a coward. She had grown. Alice had softened the edges of her spirit, William had completely rewritten the geography of her heart. The least she could do was face the truth with the same courage she demanded of the world in her writing.

Seraphina smoothed the wool of her skirt, her fingers trembling slightly within her muff. The nerves in her stomach were a wild, chaotic swarm, but her mind was set.

William sat opposite her, his face turned toward the window as he watched the hedgerows slip by in the light. He looked quiet. Too quiet.

“William,” she began, her voice barely louder than the creak of the carriage springs.

He turned his head, looking at her with an inquiring tilt of his brow. “Yes, Seraphina?”

“Before we arrive at our destination... there is something I must say to you.”

William looked at her for a long moment, then reached into his coat and withdrew his silver pocket watch, clicking it open. “We should be less than an hour away now. The house lies just beyond the next turn of the valley, nestled among the old orchards.” He snapped the watch shut and met her gaze, his expression softening slightly. “If it is about the woman, if you are anxious about what we might find, you need not fear. I will handle it. Already I have contacted the magistrates in the area. A rider had gone ahead of us yesterday to make sure they were alerted to our arrival and prepared to issue a warrant the moment we secure the evidence.”

“It is not about this blackmailer,” she said quietly.

Seraphina drew a deep breath, gathering every ounce of her resolve.

“William... do you know of the heliotrope mechanism in the sunflower?” she asked.

William blinked, a puzzled smile touching his lips. His brows pulled together and he squinted. “The sunflower? I cannot say I have spent my mornings studying botany, Seraphina, but I know it follows the sun.”

“It tracks the sun,” she explained, looking down at her hands. “From dawn until dusk, regardless of the cloud cover or the chill in the air, the young flower steadily pivots its stem to face the light. It does not choose to do so. It is simply its nature. It cannot grow in any other direction.”

“Yes,” William said gently, watching her closely. “Why do you bring it up now?”

Seraphina swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against her throat. She forced herself to look up, meeting his eyes directly.

“I reckon I have become the sunflower, William, and you... you have been the sun.”

William went still. The curiosity on his face vanished. His brows softened and his eyes went wide. The look in his eyes told her instantly that he understood. He knew precisely what she was laying at his feet.

Seraphina’s chest ached, but now that the floodgates were open.