The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(93)

“Sera—” It was the gentlest she’d ever heard Seline.

“No.” She spun on her sister, one finger raised. “Don’t you dare feel pity for me. I’ve made my choices. I might have run then, but I returned, stronger than ever. I don’t need your pity.”

“Are you sure?” Sophie snapped, and everyone turned to look at the youngest, quietest Talbot sister—the one everyone called the least interesting. Everyone who didn’t know Sophie, that was.

Sera leaned toward her sister. “What does that mean?”

“Only that you seem to require our support—our protection—when it is convenient. And we have given it. Our undying loyalty. Because the Soiled S’s stick together. But you’ve never once offered us your honesty. So my question is this—” The carriage began to slow, quieting as it arrived at Eversley House, where Sophie would disembark. But not before she drove her point home. “Is it simply that you refuse to be honest with us? Or because you refuse to be honest with yourself?”

There were things that only sisters could say. Ways only sisters could make a woman rage. “I’ve never not been honest with you.”

“What utter swill,” Sophie scoffed. “You left us. Without a word. What was honest in that? You lost yourself, Sera. You were in mourning for the man you loved and the child you lost. And you threw everything away. Including us. And I was inclined to be understanding. But now—it’s time for you to see that you do yourself a disservice. Lord knows I’ve never had much love for Haven, but the man adores you, and he is willing to give you anything you wish. Anything you require. Though right now I cannot imagine why.” Sera sat back on her seat.

“Oof. That was a bit harsh,” Seline said quietly.

“Well, perhaps she needed to hear it,” Sophie snapped.

“I didn’t, as a matter of fact. Because it isn’t true.” Sophie raised a brow as Sera went on. “I asked him for one thing. A divorce. My freedom. His as well, I might add, and he hasn’t given me that.”

“Perhaps he won’t give it to you because you have some kind of bizarre fantasy of what freedom is.”

Sera narrowed her gaze on her sister. “And I suppose you know?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Sophie said as the carriage stopped. She smoothed her skirts and her hair as a liveried footman approached to open the door. She looked to Sera before she took his hand and stepped down from the block.

Turning back, she said, “I love you, you know.” Tears came, instant and unwelcome, and Sera looked away, which was best because they spilled over when Sophie added, softly, “I only wish you could find a way to love yourself in the balance.”

Consumed with anger and sadness and frustration she could not voice, Sera did not look at her sister, until the door to the carriage closed with a soft snick.

With one hand low on her back, Sophie headed slowly for the door to the town house, which stood open, a warm orange glow welcoming her inside. Guilt flared low in Sera’s gut. Her sister was with child, and would have very likely been happier in a bed than crammed into a carriage in the middle of the night.

But Sophie was home now, and her husband was soon silhouetted in the golden doorway, pausing for the barest of moments before he came to fetch his wife, lifting her high in his shirtsleeved arms and kissing her thoroughly. The servants lingering nearby were either impeccably trained, or they were so used to the affection showed between the marquess and his wife that they were immune to the scandal of it. Sera imagined it was the latter.

And then King was carrying Sophie over the threshold and into the house, pausing only to kick the door closed behind them.

The carriage lurched into motion, and Sera put her head to the back of her seat with a frustrated, “Dammit.”

Her sisters did not reply, and she knew why.

They agreed with Sophie.

Sera opened her eyes and looked to them. “I suppose you want apologies as well.” She knew she was being difficult.

“I don’t much care, honestly,” Seline replied. “But if given the choice between you being here and you not being here, I prefer you in London. So, if you are planning to repeat your past actions and my opinion matters, please refrain from doing so.”

“Are you? Planning to leave?” Sesily asked from her place in the far corner of the carriage.

Sera was quiet for a long moment. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was planning for my life. My business.” She looked away and said the next to the window. “That is all I wanted.”

Seleste and Seline did not reply, and Sera took their silence as tacit approval. Perhaps it was merely loyalty, but she would take the silence. It was better than the truth. But once the carriage had deposited them at their respective homes, to their respective husbands, leaving her alone with Sesily once more, Sera grew nervous.

Sesily was the most forthright of all the Talbot sisters and, in light of the events of the carriage ride, that could be a particularly unsettling truth.

“I would prefer you not leave,” Sesily said, as the darkness of the carriage closed around them, the wheels clattering on the cobblestones as the carriage toddled through Mayfair toward Covent Garden.

Sera took a deep breath. “I hadn’t intended to.”

“And then Haven?”

She nodded. “He does not wish a divorce.”