Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(2)

Her sister thrust it out. “I insist.”

“It’s silly.”

“I insist,” Elizabeth said, a firm glint in her eyes as she pressed the book into Hermione’s hands, her cheeks uncharacteristically flushed.

“Mrs. McGrasty said it was a waste of a lady’s time, particularly mine.” Which was what had hurt the most.

Elizabeth snorted. “Don’t you dare allow Mrs. McGrasty to steal your happiness.”

“I don’t even know what to draw.”

“Sketch what makes you happy.”

“You make me happy,” she answered automatically. “And Addie and Hugh, she added with a twinge of guilt at forgetting the twin babies. Her younger brother and sister were just so…so…young.

Her sister gave her a knowing smile. Hermione sighed, but then elder sisters knew everything. Elizabeth tugged the book back and flipped through the pages. “Well, then if we make you happy, consider what makes us happiest and forever capture it upon this page.” She stopped on an empty sheet in the middle of the book.

Hermione hesitated, torn between wanting to sketch those images and Nasty Mrs. McGrasty’s cruel words. “It’s silly,” she mumbled again, making to thrust it back.

“Our whole life, Hermie. We have our whole life to be somber, so let us be happy for now.” Ah-achoo! Elizabeth scrubbed at her nose in a way that would have quite upset Nasty Mrs. McGrasty.

“God bless you.” With a reluctant smile, Hermione took the book.

Elizabeth was right. She was indeed, very happy.





C





hapter 1

Surrey, England





1819


Dukes never wed impoverished young ladies, who were one step away from societal ruin. It was shocking and scandalous and…

And it was another rubbish attempt. With a huff of annoyance, Miss Hermione Rogers wrinkled the sheet and tossed the piece of paper into the rapidly growing pile at the foot of her desk. She tapped the tip of her pen against her lip and then dipped the tip into the crystal inkwell and tried again.

For the seventh time that morning.

Dukes never wed impoverished young ladies, who were one step away from societal ruin. She paused to read over the line once more. Well, that part, though not eloquent, was at the very least true. It is why such tales of stern-faced, brooding dukes invariably made the most wonderful stories. Wicked stories of forbidden love and great sacrifice.

Inspired once more, Hermione dipped her pen into the inkwell (yet again) and blinked down at the collection of words, and came up—empty. Giving up on her writing for the morning, she set her pen aside with a sigh. Filled with a restive energy, she shoved back her chair and rose, hurrying across her chambers, past the opened trunks and valises littering the small space. She stopped beside the window and peeled back the curtain, staring out the crystal windowpane, down into the gardens below.

A warm sun bathed the overgrown greenery and flowers in a shimmering glow, reflecting off the pool upon a watering fountain. She pressed her forehead against the glass, gaze fixed on the water contained within. A breeze stirred ripples atop the surface, transporting her back to different water, a different day. For a moment she pressed her eyes closed to blot out the agonized reminder of the last day of normalcy. When she opened her eyes, the clear windowpane reflected her meager belongings laid out atop her bed. Those piles of books and journals and gowns, returned her to the current moment—the eventual parting.

Because she—just as all the young, unwed heroines in the books she secretly penned, whose family were on the cusp of ruin—had little recourse but to get herself to London for a Season…and make a suitable match.

Her lips twisted in a wry smile. Or in her case, any match.

The door opened with a soft click. She jumped as her eleven-year-old sister, Adeline, closed the door and skipped into the room. “Hullo.” The little girl skidded to a stop beside Hermione.

“What are you—?”

“Hiding from Aunt Agatha,” Addie groused.

“Be nice,” Hermione chided, the response nearly automatic. And then…. “What did she do now?” The ‘she’ in question was none other than their aunt who’d swept into their little corner of Surrey, and declared her intentions to move the entire Rogers family to London, all to give her cherished niece a Season.

“It’s not what she did, it’s what she said.” Her too serious child’s eyes stared down into the gardens at their elder sister. Then she raised her gaze to Hermione’s. “Papa said we’d all be ruined.” She jerked her chin toward Hermione. “But especially you and I.” Well, that much was true. “Aunt Agatha said no one would dare forgive what Elizabeth had done.” She touched Hermione’s arm. “What did Elizabeth do?”

Hermione’s stomach tightened painfully. Fury, regret, and agony all roiled in her belly as a potent brew. “She’s done nothing.” It was what was done to sweet, innocent Elizabeth, more child than woman. Polite Society would never see it that way though.

“That’s not what Aunt Agatha said.”

No, what had happened could never, would never, be forgiven by Polite Society, and it certainly wasn’t fit discussion for a child. So, she settled for a vague truth. “She didn’t do anything that was her fault, Addie,” she said softly. Because it wasn’t. She sighed. It was, however, an act that could never be undone.