“A bet?” Seraphina blanched. Suddenly it did not matter that people were watching her. All the rest of it seemed to fade away into background noise, just murmurs that could not compete with this sudden onslaught of buzzing in her ears. “No …”
Surely it was false. Tristan would not treat her that way … he was not that sort of person. Their connection was true … the things they had in common … the time he had taken to build her trust within him.
Could it truly have been a lie?
Suddenly, there he was, like the ocean of people had parted to allow her to look at him with red-rimmed and angry, accusatory eyes.
“Seraphina!” he called out, his voice laced with urgency, desperate to reach her before she could be whisked away into the carriage that would take her away from him.
She turned to him, her gaze as cold as winter frost, and he felt the weight of her betrayal in the accusation that lingered unspoken between them. Her voice was laced with bitterness as she questioned him, her words cutting through him like a blade.
“Is this what it was all about, Tristan?” she asked, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “A bet? A game to seduce a maid’s daughter?”
Seraphina wanted him to refute it. She wanted him to say that it was all just a misunderstanding — she wanted it more than anything else because she desperately wanted to believe it. One word from him and she would banish the thought and doubts from her mind instantly. She practically begged him with her eyes — she needed him to refute it … just a nod would do. Instead, he looked moved to near agony.
“Seraphina, I—” he began, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions.
But before he could continue, Philip stepped between them, his expression stern and protective. He gently guided Seraphina towards the waiting carriage, his gaze never leaving Tristan’s.
“Enough, Lord Ashford,” Philip said, his tone firm. “Your presence here has caused enough turmoil for my daughter. We will not entertain this any longer.”
Without another word, Phillip pulled his family into the hall and towards the exit where their carriage awaited them. Seraphina could only pride herself on the fact that she did not look back, no matter how desperately he wanted her to.
The journey home was steeped in a heavy silence that matched the weight in Seraphina’s heart. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the carriage moving through the streets of London as if in a dream. Lillian’s stony silence beside her served as a painful reminder of the harsh words Seraphina had spat earlier. She wished she could take them back, erase the anger and frustration that had driven her to lash out.
She cast a sidelong glance at her mother, taking in the profile that seemed so distant and cold. The woman who had raised her, who had been a constant presence in her life, now felt like a stranger. Seraphina’s own words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the hurtful things she had said in the heat of the moment.
Despite the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed her, Seraphina could not help acknowledging the depth of Lillian’s love for her. From the earliest days of her childhood, Lillian had been there, a motherly figure who had shown her unwavering affection and care. Bloodline or not, Lillian had loved her unconditionally.
Tears welled in Seraphina’s eyes as she realized the pain she had caused, not only to herself but also to the woman who had given her everything. She swallowed back a sob, her throat tight with remorse. The ballroom incident had been a revelation, but it had also been a cruel reminder of the people who truly cared for her.
She wished she could take it all back, the anger, the accusations, the hurtful words. But they hung in the air between them, a barrier that felt insurmountable. She longed to reach out, to apologize, to somehow bridge the growing chasm between them.
As the carriage rolled on, the city passing by in a blur, Seraphina’s gaze remained fixed on her mother. She could feel the weight of Lillian’s disappointment, of her own pain, and it was a heavy burden to bear. The revelation of her true lineage had shattered her world, and the fallout was far-reaching.
She could not stop herself from leaning into her mother’s side, only somewhat surprised when the older woman wrapped her arms around her and allowed Seraphina to bury her head in her mother’s shoulder and weep.
Despite the tumultuous emotions that swirled within her, Seraphina knew one thing for certain. No matter the circumstances or secrets and revelations, the bond between a mother and daughter was unbreakable. And as they continued the journey home, she silently vowed to find a way to mend what had been torn apart.
Chapter 28
The night air was thick with tension as Tristan emerged from the grand estate, his strides purposeful as he headed towards his awaiting carriage. The events of the evening had left a bitter taste in his mouth, a mixture of regret and frustration that coiled within him. He had underestimated the power of rumours, the way they could twist and distort reality until it was unrecognizable.
Just as he was about to reach the carriage, his path was unexpectedly blocked by a figure stumbling out of the shadows. It was none other than Lord Blackwood. His demeanour was a far cry from the man who was drunkenly weeping on himself as Tristan was forced to escort him out of their mutual gentlemen’s club. This man, this broken and pathetic man, was the cause of so much pain, and for what?
What did he stand to gain by any of this? He could not believe that any of this would help his reputation in the slightest. None of this would detract from the fact that he was gambling broke low life. Yet, Lord Blackwood wore his smug expression as if a badge of honour as he swaggered and staggered his way towards Tristan’s carriage — expression marred by the effects of too much drink. Tristan’s irritation flared, his brow furrowing as he assessed the man’s drunken state.
Lord Blackwood let out a loud, mocking laugh; his words slurred as he addressed Tristan. “Well, if it is not our dear Lord Ashford, the conquering hero,” he sneered, his voice dripping with derision. “I must say, I am thoroughly impressed. Who would have thought you could have been the one to finally thaw the Ice Queen?”
Tristan’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He had little patience for Lord Blackwood’s taunts, especially not after the tumultuous events of the evening. Even that precariously thin sliver of self-control he had left over himself was fraying rapidly. “Save your sarcasm, Lord Blackwood; if you have any sense of self-preservation, I urge you to head back inside at once,” he retorted, his tone icy.
Lord Blackwood’s eyes gleamed with malicious amusement as he continued, his words a barbed attack. “It is truly remarkable, Tristan. You managed to seduce the most unattainable woman in London. But of course, we all know the truth, do we not? The Ice Queen is nothing more than a maid’s wanton daughter. All of that effort and for what? Nothing more than a common nobody.”
Tristan’s anger surged, a fire igniting within him at Reginald’s callous words. Without another thought, his fist shot out, connecting with Reginald’s sneering face. The force of the blow sent Reginald sprawling to the ground, a shocked expression replacing his newfound arrogance.
Lord Blackwood clutched his jaw as he tried to push himself up. The alcohol in his system was labouring the effort further than it needed. Spittle clung to his mouth as he attempted to right himself, and fury shone in his eyes. “You will pay for that, Lord Ashford, mark my words,” he spat, his words laced with venom.
Tristan stood over him, his chest heaving with the remnants of his anger. “Enough, Reginald!” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous as he dropped all formality between them. “You have had your fun for the evening.”
