The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(92)

Sophie seemed to have the memory, too. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?” Sesily interjected, but no one answered her.

I never told Haven I loved him, Sera had said, trying to convince Sophie to do the same. And look at the mess I’ve made.

She looked out the window, into the inky blackness beyond.

Sophie would not allow the silence. “Sera,” she prompted. “Did you tell him?”

I love you.

She nodded, and her youngest sister reached for her, taking her hand tightly, without hesitation. Sera looked to her. “And?”

Sera shook her head. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. It was all still a mess. She removed her hand from Sophie’s. Steeling her emotion. “And love is not enough.”

Silence fell in the wake of the words, until Seleste huffed a little sigh and said, “It may not be enough, but it’s something, indeed, if we all had to scurry home in the dead of night.” She waved a hand in the air. “I spend half my marriage sparring with Clare. It makes things interesting.”

Seline rolled her eyes. “You and Clare are not quite a suitable comparison for others, you know.”

“And you and your horseman are?” Seleste defended her marriage. “No two people in the world should share similar interests the way you two do. It’s dreadfully boring.”

Seline gave a little shrug. “It isn’t boring to us.” She leaned forward to look out the window. “Nearly home.” Sera did not miss the excitement in her sister’s voice. She was happy to be returning to her boring marriage and her too similar husband. “Mark shall be so surprised.”

Seleste sighed happily and leaned her head back against her cheek. “Clare as well,” she said. “He’d better not be at his club. I’ve a use for him tonight.”

The sisters all groaned at the words, Sesily giving a grinning Seleste a quick thwack. “Please. Not while I’m busy attempting to hold in my accounts.”

“What?” Seleste laughed. “Are you surprised by the fact that I’m looking forward to a night with my husband?”

“No,” Sesily pointed out. “But you could be a touch more discreet about it.”

“Pah,” Seleste said. “Women are present during the act, Sesily. It’s only fair we enjoy it.”

“Damn right,” Seline added.

“We all know you enjoy it, Seline. I recall an opera we all had to leave because Mother discovered you and Mark in flagrante behind a curtain.”

Seline grinned smugly. “At least we were behind it. And besides—you’re one to talk—everyone knows what happens inside that bookshop of yours when King arrives and you lock the door for hours and hours of midday luncheon.”

Sophie’s cheeks flamed red, and Sera could not help the little smile that found its way to her lips. This was why she had returned to London. Not for Malcolm, or for the family they’d once been promised, or for the title or the life she’d once led. But for these women, loyal and dear and bold and better than all others. And hers.

And so she would insist upon her divorce. And she would be free of her past and Mal could marry Felicity—who was an excellent choice. She’d be a good companion and make him pretty children.

The whole idea didn’t make her feel ill at all.

The queasiness was from the carriage ride. Sesily’s ailment was obviously catching.

Indeed, that queasiness did not come on a flood of longing for her husband. She didn’t long for him. She had a plan, and she would keep to it. She would have her tavern. She would sing. And it would be enough.

It would have to be.

Something in her life had to be enough.

“It doesn’t seem fair that we were all shipped off the country for a month, and Sera was the only one allowed to have . . . you know,” Seline said.

Four sets of eyes sought Sera in the darkness, and she did her best to keep her attention out the window, suddenly desperately riveted to the passing buildings.

“Well, we don’t know that she did have it,” Seleste pointed out.

“No?” came the reply. “What else might have happened to send her fleeing him in the dead of night?”

“I’ve never wanted to flee it, have you?” Seline asked.

“Well,” Seleste said, smirk in her tone. “Then we return to the original theory on Haven.”

“What’s that?” Sera could not stop the question.

“That he’s terrible at it.”

Everyone laughed. Everyone except Sera, who reached up and drew a slow, purposeful circle on the window. “He’s not terrible at it.”

The carriage went quiet again before Sophie sighed and said, “Sera—why are we here?”

Irritation flared, hot and unreasonable, but Sera did not care. “Because contrary to the rest of your beliefs, the fact that my husband is a superior lover does not make for a perfect marriage.” Four sets of eyebrows shot high into hair, and the response made Sera even angrier. “You needn’t look so shocked. Not one of you has any idea what it is to be in my situation.”

“Would you like to tell us?” Sophie was always so calm. So unflappable.

And she’d never been more enraging than she was then. “What would you like for me to say? There is nothing to say!” she said, her voice elevating to a fever pitch. “Your lives are perfect. Your marriages? Perfect. Your children—” Her voice caught, her heart constricting, and she swallowed, pushing past it. Refusing to allow sadness to come. “They are perfect. And I shall never have any of that.”