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Part of Trevor wanted to hope that they both spoke the truth, but another part of him knew that it would only be a matter of time before he disgraced himself again.
“You have to know that I’m not magically going to get better at this sort of thing.” He raised his head and turned toward Seraphina, but couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes. “As I said, I’m certain to let you down again.”
She huffed. “You’re supposed to be intelligent. Has no one ever told you not to contradict your future wife?”
At that, a strained laugh tore from him. “I thought we were going to be one of those couples who discuss things. Sometimes academic discussion involves contradiction.”
“In this case, you’re just going to have to believe me when I say that there’s no one I want to marry more than you. You’re genuine and true to yourself. You’re a kind person, and Mr. Emerson manipulated the situation to humiliate you tonight. His actions have nothing to do with you. He’s just trying to get revenge, and that shows how petty and mean-spirited he is.”
He cocked his head, doing his best to make out her features in the dim light. “You should at least sleep on the matter. Then confirm tomorrow whether you want to continue with the betrothal. Don’t decide anything too hastily.”
“For heaven’s sake, stop trying to ruin my best chance at getting grandchildren,” Lady Wembley grumbled.
To his surprise, Seraphina laughed. “I never thought I’d be arguing in favor of marriage, yet here we are. Please, Trevor, don’t let this stop us from being happy together.”
“Ignore that horrid Mr. Emerson,” his mother added. “He’s always been a snake, but few people see it.”
Ignoring his mother, he said, “I have no poise, Seraphina. I’ve always admired the competence with which you conduct yourself, but at events such as this one, it isn’t a quality I possess myself. Are you sure you want to commit yourself to me?”
Seraphina snorted. “Yes, you silly man. You seem to view me as some kind of bastion of perfection, but I’m not. I’m manipulative, competitive, and I can become obsessed with a goal to the detriment of everything else. Perhaps I ought to be asking if you truly want to commit yourself to me.”
His mouth fell open. How on earth could she see herself that way? “In my eyes, you’re a brilliant woman who’s managed to make the most of the system that’s biased against you.”
She blinked at him, apparently speechless. His cheeks warmed, and if he hadn’t already thoroughly embarrassed himself tonight, he might have felt awkward about the passion with which he’d announced that.
After a long moment of silence, Lady Wembley’s booming voice snapped the taut moment. “So, the betrothal is going ahead, yes?”
Seraphina raised her chin, her expression mulish. “As far as I’m concerned, yes.”
“Er…” Trevor said intelligently.
Say yes, you fool.
His fiancée’s face was set in determined lines, and he knew that if the engagement was to be broken tonight, it would have to be by him. The thing was, no matter his fears and insecurities, he had absolutely no desire to do that.
He wanted to marry her.
“Yes,” he finished.
Lady Wembley rubbed her hands together. “Excellent.”
The carriage stopped, and the door opened.
“Good night,” Seraphina said and vanished in a rustle of skirts before he could say anything else. Perhaps that was just as well because his mind was frustratingly empty.
As they continued on to Wembley House, he finally worked up the courage to address his mother. “Is Mr. Emerson really to blame for what happened tonight?”
He knew he could count on her to be honest. She might choose to word things more kindly with him than others, but she never lied—not to him.
She reached over and patted his knee. “Yes. Someone else might have recovered more quickly, but it isn’t in your nature to play a role in front of a crowd, and you oughtn’t hold that against yourself.”
Allowing himself to relax a little, he rocked from side to side with the motion of the carriage, taking comfort from the movement until they reached their home. He escorted his mother inside, but knew his nerves were too raw for him to sleep, so instead of retreating to his bedchamber, he went to the library.
There were no candles lit, but he knew exactly where everything was, even in the dark. He carefully made his way to an armchair and sat, giving himself time and space to absorb the events of the evening.
When his brain tried to replay the moment of burning humiliation he had experienced when he tripped during the quadrille, he pushed the memories away and focused on breathing.
In and out.
