The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(28)

But Sophie was wrong. Sera did have to speak now. If only to say, “I am very happy to be . . .” She trailed off, uncertain of the end of the sentence. It had seemed possible that she might finish with home.

Certainly, a scene such as this, crowded into a carriage with her sisters—who had once known her best in the world—had been home. But things had changed. And then there had been a time—fleeting and disastrous—when home had been wherever Haven was. And then there had been the hope of home again, lost with the child that had been so full of promise. Now, the truth—home was a strange, ephemeral thing. Was it possible that no one ever honestly knew its embrace?

No. Home wasn’t what made her happy in that moment.

She forced a smile. Looked at each of her sisters in turn. “I am very happy to be with you.”

That much was the truth. Even as they trundled toward Highley, where she would match her husband to another. As though it were a perfectly ordinary thing for a wife to find her replacement. As though it did not sting that he had clearly been planning to replace her all along.

Not that it should matter. And it didn’t. Not really. It was just pride.

That was it.

She looked to the window again.

“So . . .” Sesily began, and Sera prepared for the question, knowing that she had no doubt unlocked a deluge of them. And it was only fair, was it not? They were here, piled into a carriage with virtually no information about whys and wherefores, simply because she had asked. Certainly they deserved some answers.

She looked to Sesily who, of course, was the first to leap into the breach. Sesily had never in her life kept quiet when there was something important to be said. “Yes?”

“Is Caleb very handsome?”

There was a beat as the question fell into the carriage, surprising everyone. Seleste grinned. “You’ve finished with the men of England, then? On to America?”

“I’m not unwilling to consider the possibility.”

“Mother will go mad if you marry an American!” Sophie said. “Remember how furious she was when Seline married ‘that horse breeder’?”

“First,” came Seline’s exasperated reply, “Mark is not just any horse breeder. He’s richer than half the aristocracy.”

“Which means virtually nothing,” Sesily interjected. “Everyone knows half the aristocracy are poor as church mice.”

“Second . . .” Seline pressed on, “Mother knows better than to interject herself into another marriage. It hasn’t gone terribly well in the past. We’re headed to the country to secure Sera a divorce, for God’s sake.” It was difficult to argue that. “Which brings me to third, Mother will be thrilled beyond words to see Sesily married to anyone. Even a barkeep. From America.” The last was said the way one might pronounce a dread disease. Plague. Or leprosy.

“Not a barkeep, per se,” Sera said, softly.

They all heard her nonetheless, Sesily’s wide grin, the only indication that they were eager for her input. “Which brings me back to the important question at hand.”

Seline spoke at the same time. “Pub owner, then.”

“We prefer tavern,” Sera said.

Sophie shot forward again. “We.” She looked at the others. “She said we.”

“Bollocks,” Sesily said, reaching for the narrowly cracked window at the side of the coach and pushing it open as far as it would go—unfortunately, not far enough to move the air in the conveyance. “I suppose the more important question is not whether Mr. Calhoun is handsome, but rather if he is claimed.”

Sera shook her head. “He is not.”

“Handsome?” Sesily teased. “Pity.”

“Claimed.” Sera laughed, enjoying the feeling, rare and welcome. “He’s quite handsome, as a matter of fact.”

Sesily’s eyes lit up. “Excellent!”

“You are certain he is not claimed?” Seline asked thoughtfully. “You haven’t—”

Sera shook her head. “I haven’t.”

“At all?” Seline said, full of disbelief.

“At all.”

“You know none of us would judge you if you had,” Seleste leapt to say.

“Of course not. What with how awful Haven must have—” Seleste said, cutting herself off before she could finish the sentence, the result of their sisters’ combined, pointed stares. “Never mind.”

Except he hadn’t been awful.

She didn’t say the words. Hated that she even thought them. But in all the years that she had been away from him, she had not taken a lover. And thinking of him had been why.

“Well,” Sesily said. “Is he big and brutish? Warnick-sized? I should not turn away someone Warnick-sized.”

The outraged gasps and snickers around the carriage pulled Sera from her thoughts. “The Duke of Warnick?” If she recalled correctly, the Scotsman had inherited a dukedom years earlier and never came to London. “Is he in Society now?”

“Rarely. He’s King’s dearest friend,” Sophie said, referring to her husband with a wave of her hand. “And married to one of our dearest friends. You’ll meet Lily soon enough. She promised they’d be back in town in the autumn.”

“Oh,” Sera replied, unable to find other words. Hating that a whole person had entered their lives while she’d been gone. It was a silly thought, of course. No doubt dozens of people had done just that. And besides, she had Caleb, didn’t she?