Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(25)

Sebastian spread his arms wide. “I appreciate your concern. I do,” he added at the pointed look she gave him. He may be uncomfortable with displays of emotion from her, but the fact that she was as concerned for him now as she’d been when he’d been a boy who’d gotten his nose broken at Eton meant a lot to him. “However…” Regardless, he didn’t intend to remain and discuss matters of the heart with her. “I was planning on riding at Hyde Park.” He always rode at Hyde Park. Usually first thing in the morning before the grounds were crowded with title-grasping ladies attempting to capture his attention.

“Adults don’t tattle. They gossip. Tattling, gossiping…all really the same.”

Emmaline stitched her eyebrows into a single line. “Are you trying to be rid of me?”

“No.” Yes.

“Emmaline!”

Their gazes flew to the door just as the Duchess of Mallen swept through the entrance. He sighed at the too well-timed entrance.

This meeting had gone from bothersome to I-need-a-bottle-of-brandy.

The duchess sailed across the room in a flurry of burgundy satin skirts. She claimed the seat beside Emmaline, a smile in her eyes. “Oh, how wonderful having my two lovely children together.” She looked between them, a wide smile on her unwrinkled cheeks. “Why, whatever has you both so engrossed?” He’d wager his every last estate that she knew exactly what had brought her lovely children together.

Sebastian shoved back his chair and stood. “I was mentioning to Emmaline that I…”

Mother and sister frowned him back into sitting.

“Was trying to leave,” Emmaline interjected. “He was trying to leave.”

He was the only duke in the whole bloody kingdom unable to elicit a cowed, subservient response. Hermione slipped into his mind. Oh, I’m sure you’re an effective duke. He suspected the young lady would be wholly unimpressed if she observed this rather weak showing.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Suspicion laced Emmaline’s words. She turned to Mother. “Why is he smiling like that?”

His grin died at the suspicion lacing his sister’s question. “Like what?”

She leaned across her seat and planted her hands on the edge of his desk. “You’re woolgathering.”

Waxham’s charge from two evenings ago echoed back in his sister’s accusation. He tugged at his suddenly too tight cravat. “Men don’t woolgather. I don’t woolgather.” Dukes certainly did not woolgather. They were contemplative, quite rational gentlemen who didn’t think overly long about unimpressed lithe young ladies with… Oh, for Christ’s sake. “I’ve business to see to,” he lied.

Emmaline jabbed a finger at him. “You’d said you were intending to ride.”

“Ah, yes before you interrupted. I was going to say, I had intended to ride but had matters of business to see to.” The lie slipped easily from his lips. Woolgathering, lying…bloody hell. This was bad. He leapt to his feet, his chair scraped noisily along the mahogany floor.

Both ladies widened their eyes.

“If you will excuse me, I intend to appreciate the fair weather we’re enjoying.” He strode over to the door.

“But Sebastian, it is raining,” his mother protested.

“Not yet.” Rain pinged the windowpane, taunting his futile attempts at flight. It would take a good deal more than a bit of English rain to thwart his much needed escape. He strode to the door.

“I thought you had business to attend,” his sister called after him.

He closed the door in his wake. Freedom.

Some things were worth braving a rainy English day for.



As Hermione trudged through the lush, green—and now very wet—grass of Hyde Park, she appreciated the lengths to which a dedicated writer would go for her craft. Rain spattered her brow. She pulled her bonnet down and stared out into the grey-white horizon, with thick, black thunderclouds riddling the sky and readily acknowledged there were some things worth braving a rainy, English day for.

“What can be so important that we should come out in this horrid weather?” Hugh grumbled from a point beyond her shoulder. Having tired of his question going unanswered, he yelled into the howling wind. “Nothing, I tell you. Nothing is this important.”

Hermione slowed her step, allowing Addie, Hugh, and the poor out-of-breath maid to catch up. In fairness to her brother, he had little idea that her efforts stemmed from her determination to help him and Addie, and being here in London, attempting to make a respectable match, to help Elizabeth.

“Yes there is,” Addie chided. Her sister, as devoted and dedicated to an inspired story and invaluable research glowered at her older brother. “Why, imagine how dreary and drab an always sunny spring story setting would be.”

“All stories are boring,” he mumbled.

“Did you hear that?” Addie slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling her gasp, and looked to Hermione. “Did you hear what he—”?

“I did,” she replied absently and scanned the empty grounds. Of course a duke wouldn’t dare venture out in this godforsaken weather for his daily visit to Hyde Park. Or rather a rumored daily visit, an invaluable piece of information passed on by the Duke of Mallen’s footman to Aunt Agatha’s maid, and then on to Hermione. In the distance, thunder rumbled its agreement. She settled her hands on her hips and peered across the Serpentine. Rain fell upon the river, tiny pinpricks breaking the smooth surface. And this is why one should not rely upon the gossip of maids or anyone else. The information invariably proved a good deal less than reliable. She sighed.