Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(36)

Oh, the dunderhead. “Sebastian.”

With gift in hand, he started for the door, fanning the pages as he walked.

She really wished he’d not do that. Not in front of her. Not until he was well away, alone, where all lovers of Gothic novels could be honest with at least themselves. Then, if he still felt the same way about her work, she’d know it was founded on something more than a preconceived opinion he carried about the books she wrote.

He paused at the doorway, his head still bowed over the opened book.

“‘He took his leave with confidence. Bold steps. And such elegance Lady Arable Aldemoor should have had the sense to know he would return. Noblemen in possession of those bold steps…they always returned…’” Sebastian shot a last, lingering glance over his shoulder and spoke in a silken soft whisper that washed over her. “I shall return, Hermione… with bold steps.” He winked and took his leave.

Hermione sank into the edge of the nearest seat, her heart thumping a funny rhythm.

Addie poked her head in the room. “What did he want?”

She leapt to her feet. “Addie.” Her skirts whooshed noisily with the swiftness of her movement.

Her sister skipped into the room. “Did he steal one of your books?”

Hugh shuffled in behind her. “What fancy gentleman would want one of Hermione’s books?” The two sisters shot matching frowns his way. He sat in the King Louis XIV chair and propped his feet on the table in front of him. “What? I’m sure he doesn’t waste his time with—”

“If you finish that sentence, Hugh Rogers, I swear I will find every last spider in this house and place them in your bed,” Addie muttered.

The boy’s skin turned waxen. He gulped once but otherwise fell silent.

Addie returned her attention to Hermione. “Why did he have a book?”

Hermione bent down and retrieved her copy of The Earl’s Entrapment. “I thought he might benefit from reading a Gothic novel.”

“Marvelous idea,” Addie praised. “That way he’ll fall madly in love with your work and rush to buy every other book you’ve written.”

A person would be better served in reading the classics. She smiled wryly. “I don’t imagine the duke intends to make a habit of reading Gothic novels, mine or those belonging to others.” She highly doubted he’d even read the copy she’d given him.

“He will once he reads your book. I’m certain…” She blinked several times. “A duke? He is a duke,” she blurted. Excitement flared in her eyes and then swiftly died. “He isn’t at all dark and brooding.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “However will he help with…” Her eyes went wide. “He’s the affable one. The charming duke.” Indeed, he was. Except he was also scandalous and wicked and—Addie gave her a smile meant to be encouraging. “I suspect your nefarious…er…affable duke story will be your most wonderful yet.”

Which served as much needed reminder about her responsibilities; to her family, to Mr. Werksman, to her readers.

Nervousness stirred in Hermione’s belly with how much she needed to do in order to have her story off to her publisher, nor was there any certainty Mr. Werksman would agree to the affable duke, not when everyone craved the brooding type. Well, not everyone. She found the affable types perfectly charming, if sometimes infuriating with their high-handedness.

“…Hugh says it will not be enough…”

Her sister’s prattling pulled her back to the moment. “What was that, dear?”

Addie thrust a finger in her brother’s direction. He shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “Well, it won’t.”

“It will,” Addie cried. “Tell him it will. It has to be.” She lounged in her seat and, in a grand flourish slapped the back of her hand across her brow. “All sisters require a break from their brothers and—”

Hermione rested a hand on her sister’s. “Addie, what are you on about?”

“There’s no money,” she blurted.

Oh, dear. Hermione closed her eyes. They knew all that. She suspected they were no longer young enough to fully protect them from the truth of their circumstances.

“And Aunt Agatha said there was certainly not the funds for Hugh to be off to Eton in the Summer Half which means…” She glowered at her brother. “He will be here. All. Spring. And. All. Summer.”

“No.” Hermione scrambled forward in her seat. She shook her head. “You mustn’t listen to Aunt Agatha.” With her penchant for saying more than she should. “You’ll be off to Eton, Hugh,” she assured him.

“No, I won’t.” He snorted. “Papa said as much.”

“He did?” Her heart hammered.

The siblings nodded. “He did,” they spoke in unison.

She leapt to her feet and began to pace. “You’re going to Eton,” she muttered. She would not countenance the idea of Hugh not going off to be educated. It was too important. A given right expected by most noble families, words and learning were so much more to their once proud scholar of a father as well as Hermione. She shook her head again and increased her frantic back and forth movement before the sofa.

“That is why your affable duke story must be a success,” Addie said with such a child’s honesty, Hermione’s heart tugged. Her sister’s faith, though while touching, was misplaced. What could she do? Amass a small fortune in coins as though she were some modern Chaucer? No, the world was not a favorable one to a woman. The truth Addie, still with her child’s innocence, hadn’t realized, was that ladies were forced to bury their intellect behind horrid male names like Mr. Michaelmas and instead wed powerful gentlemen. Sometimes hasty unions, of great necessity. Hermione glanced around the sparse room with its old furniture and frayed fabrics a reminder of their dire finances. There was Elizabeth and their not-all-quite-there father. A familiar panic settled like a stone in her belly.