Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(4)

Addie hopped up. “Don’t be silly.” She skipped over and stopped at Hermione’s elbow. “I know you’re outrageously talented. I always tell Hugh if you’d been born a gentleman then none of us would need to ever w… Is this a new story?” Without seeking permission, she made a greedy grab for one of the wrinkled pages.

“It is.” And coming along rather poorly. When all the other stories had just come… This one did not.

Addie opened the crumpled sheet, smoothing her small palm over the wrinkled mess. She quickly scanned the page. “Humph.” That noncommittal, ambiguous humph no writer ever cared to hear, was far worse than mere silence.

“What is it?” Hopefully, Addie in her infinite wisdom would know just why this story wouldn’t come.

Her shoulders moved up and down in a slight shrug. “It seems…” She set the page down and moved to the next.

“Yes?” Her sister had been her most loyal supporter. Well, between Addie, Hugh, and Papa. The rest of the world would never, could never, know of the work she penned. She picked up the most recently completed page and perused it.

Addie peered over her shoulder and read. “It certainly isn’t your finest work,” she said, her little mouth screwed up in concentration.

Perhaps Hermione preferred the humph and silence after all.

Addie plucked the lone page from her hands. “The duke stood, a nefarious grin upon his lips. He strode toward her. Very, very deliberately….”

Hermione’s lips pulled in a grimace, hating her sister’s unerring accuracy in this. Her stories contained tiny pieces of her soul and this particular one of the dark, brooding duke had proven rather soulless. The blasted story would not come. She wrinkled the page back into a ball and tossed it to the floor.

Yes, by far not her most inspiring work.

Work was not something a young lady did. No, the polite young lady starved with a smile on her lips and a deferential curtsy rather than ever do anything as plebian as to earn wages. Desperately needed wages to provide for her eldest sister. Or more exact, a half crown for every story penned as Mr. Michael Michaelmas.

Horrid name. She really wished she’d have put a bit more thought into the nom de plume.

Her sister glanced up from another wrinkled sheet. “It’s really not your worst book.”

A sharp laugh burst from Hermione’s lips. “Er, well thank you. I think.”

Addie returned her attention to the page. “Perhaps it is…” She shook her head forlornly. “It is so, so…”

“So?” She hated that she wanted to know. But if her greatest supporter became her most difficult critic, then she really needed to know the string of words following that ‘so’.

“Uninspired!” The words exploded from Addie. She picked up another discarded piece in her spare hand and alternated her gaze between the sheets. “From just three pages, I cannot see him. And he is so important. Your duke,” she clarified. “The Nefarious Duke, it is a clever title and yet I don’t see him on any of these pages.” Her little legs began to beat a frantic pace over the floor. Back and forth. Back. Then forth.

As a poor baronet’s daughter tucked away in the countryside, her world was rather small. “I’ve never known a duke.” She knew nothing of dukes and princes. Nor had she journeyed to London since she’d been a girl, younger than Addie herself.

Her sister snorted. “You’ve never known a highwayman either yet you did an admirable job with that telling.”

“Thank you,” she said automatically.

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

Her lips twitched and she stifled the smile lest Addie believe she was making light of her. She wasn’t. Addie had been her staunchest supporter and avid reader. She’d not mocked her for submitting her stories to Mr. Werksman’s company, or dreaming of worlds upon a page. Addie took her role as story adviser seriously. Very seriously.

Hermione looked down at her seventh attempt upon this particular page. As her sister continued her frantic pacing, she stared at the ink-marked sheet. Perhaps all the stories before this were of a young lady in the countryside with a dark, mysterious nobleman who found his way into her corner of the world. This… She scanned the page…This tale was of a world she didn’t know nor understand. A story set in London with the loftiest of all the noble titles.

Addie paused mid-stride. “I have it!” She jabbed a finger at the air.

Hermione really hoped her sister had something because she was remarkably out of ideas. “What is it?”

“You need a duke.”

Hermione blinked several times. “I need a duke?” She cocked her head. She had a greater chance of success sprouting wings and flying across the English Channel than landing a duke.

Her sister laughed. “Not to wed, silly. Dukes don’t wed impoverished young ladies from the country.”

Ah, even innocent young girls knew that much. “Indeed, they don’t,” she said dryly.

“You merely need a duke for your story.”

Hermione considered the discarded pages littering her floor and then looked back to her sister. “I know. Mr. Werksman asked me to deliver a story featuring a duke within the month. I—” Addie slapped the sheet against Hermione’s chest. “Oomph.”