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.”
“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.”