Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(3)

A noisy laugh called her attention to the grounds below to the tall, willowy young woman, with sun-kissed blonde hair ambling through the gardens.

“Was it that Lord Cavendish?” Addie asked, unknowingly twisting the blade of guilt all the deeper. “He seemed very nice and did have splendid blond curls.”

Hermione choked on the vitriolic words that threatened to spill out. Even with all the stories she penned, she’d never have suitable words for the bastard who’d taken advantage of her gentle, wide-eyed older sister. She tapped her sister gently on the tip of her nose. “Let us not speak of Lord Cavendish.” The man who’d coaxed Elizabeth into doing things no young lady should ever do and left her with nothing more than a babe in her belly and a tattered name should anyone uncover the truth, which invariably they would; particularly when the babe was born. “I would much rather hear about what Aunt Agatha had to say to Papa.”

Having tired of staring down into the gardens, Addie sprinted across the room and evaluated Hermione’s belongings scattered about the room. “Papa said you’ll make a match and save us all to which Aunt said ‘mph-mph.’”

Hermione looked at her sister quizzically. “What?” Aunt Agatha, their late mother’s only sibling had upended their lives but a week ago. In that time, the lady had spoken with the clear, clipped tones to rival the best English governess.

A slightly crooked grin split the young girl’s cheeks. “I couldn’t hear what she said because the door was closed.” And because the Countess of Pemberly clearly had greater discretion than her flighty brother-in-law, the impoverished baronet with a scandalous family. “I’m sure it was all splendid things about how lovely you are.”

“You’re just being loyal.”

“Well, a bit.” Hermione’s lips twitched at her girlish honesty. “Aunt Agatha said you must make a match immediately.” Worry gleamed in her eyes. “She said even with Elizabeth being simple she could still have any duke in the realm. But you’re also lovely.” Yes, how very faithful Addie was. Her sister continued. “Papa said lovely enough to at least make a favorable match.” Addie hitched herself onto the edge of the bed. “Though not the best match. To be entirely honest, I’m not altogether certain what would be the best match. I’d personally prefer to have a gentleman with golden curls like Lord Cavendish…”

As her sister prattled on and on, Hermione looked below at Elizabeth once more. Feeling Hermione’s gaze, Elizabeth’s looked up. “Hullo, Hermione!” she shouted, excitement tinging her words.

Hermione mustered a smile and waved in return. “Hullo,” she mouthed.

Elizabeth shook her head, cupping a hand about her ear. “I canna hear you, Hermie,” she shouted, her words no longer the articulate ones of a cultured young lady but rather garbled and rolled together. “Speak louder.” Then, this was her sister and where strangers might struggle to make sense of those inarticulate words, Hermione heard them as though it were a language only they two spoke.

“Are you listening, silly?” Addie called out loudly from her spot upon the bed.

Hermione gave Elizabeth one more wave and then returned her attention to Addie. “Indeed.” She let the curtain fall and returned to her desk. “You were saying?” she asked with a wink.

“Are you excited to finally have a London Season?”

She sighed and slid into her uncomfortable, but familiar writing chair. “Yes.” No. It was a total waste of their already non-existent funds. All in the hope of growing the coffers with a lofty match.

“I do wish I was the one having a London Season.”

Hermione trailed her fingertip over the last words she’d written. “Someday you will.” She’d see to it that her sister did.

The younger girl stretched her legs out in front of her and hooked them at the ankles. “Do you suppose you’ll be forced to wed some odious, horrid, corpulent gentleman with rotted teeth and garlic-scented breath?”

Hermione’s lips twitched with amusement at the colorful image presented by her older than her eleven years, romantic of a sister. “Do you imagine our father would wed me off to some odious, horrid, fat gentleman with rotted teeth?”

They looked at each other and shared a grin. Addie wagged her finger. “Do not forget the garlic-scented breath.”

“Of course.” Hermione laughed. “How could one ever forget the garlic-scented breath?” Her merriment faded on a sigh. The greater likelihood is that he’d wed her to the first gentleman to ask for her hand—if such a gentleman existed. “Perhaps I’ll not have a garlic-scented gentleman or a lofty lord. Perhaps I’ll be content to become an old spinster penning my stories.”

Addie laughed. The lines of her plump cheeks settled into a somber mask. “Hugh said it is not enough. He said you can sell a story every day for the rest of your life, and it still wouldn’t manage to cover…” She tapped her lip. “Whatever it is we require funds for.”

Food. The handful of servants they retained to maintain a respectable household. Elizabeth’s nursemaid—a woman, who’d been with their family since Elizabeth’s birth who still cared for the young lady. That was what they required funds for. She winged one eyebrow upwards. “Never tell me you have so little faith in my abilities to make a match.”