Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(54)

Hermione took her by the shoulders. “Whoa,” she said calmingly. “First, Elizabeth made no mistakes where Lord Cavendish is concerned.” Their eldest sister was a beautiful soul whose innocence that vile cad had taken advantage of. “Second, do not listen to Hugh.” She had quite a few things to say to her growing ever-more-truculent brother when she found him.

“So you won’t go making a cake of yourself as Hugh said you were going to do?” Addie tapped a finger against her lips almost contemplatively. “Because Hugh said you were lovesick for the duke, and you’d likely do something foolish just to be his duchess.”

Hermione’s skin still burned from the scorching press of Sebastian’s lips upon her. Hugh, for his young years, was remarkably close to the mark in all his charges and fears. “I will not do anything foolish.” Though in actuality, she already had—on more scores than she could ever admit to her young sister. “I went out alone because I was in need of inspiration.” And the perfect place to conjure the story of an affable, charming duke was by the edge of the river where he’d towered above her, his expression a blend of annoyance and concern.

Her sister frowned. “Well, I still cannot imagine why you’d not bring me along, even if it is early and I detest morning as you should. I am so very lonely with you gone and hate London and miss the country and…”

As her sister prattled on, Hermione’s mind wandered back to her recent exchange with Sebastian. All her initial plans to meet a duke and conduct very valuable research for her latest novel had proven unnecessary with the powerful nobleman invariably ending up…well, wherever she happened to be. It made one wonder if Aunt Agatha had been correct, and mayhap there was more. There had been a waltz, and now three kisses (three passionate kisses) and—

Addie pulled at her arm. “Hermione, are you listening to me?”

She gave her head a shake. “Er, yes…” she lied.

“He will not provide for Elizabeth?”

She blinked. “Who will not provide for Elizabeth?” she asked slowly.

Her sister threw her arms up and directed her gaze upwards. “You weren’t listening, which really isn’t like you. You’re the sensible sibling and I’m in desperate need of a sensible sibling. But—”

Hermione took her sister gently by the shoulders. “What are you talking about, Addie?” She gave a slight shake.

The dreaded name tumbled from Addie’s lips. “Lord Cavendish.”

Oh, the blackguard. Surely Addie was mistaken.

“Hugh overheard Aunt Agatha and Papa talking about it.”

Hands still on her sister’s slight shoulders, Hermione turned her around and guided her toward the stairs. “How many times must I tell you not to worry about Hugh’s words?” She would worry enough for the both of them. Nay, all of them.

Her sister paused, one foot on the bottom step. “Promise?” She shot a searching glance back at Hermione.

Hermione marked an X upon her heart. “I promise upon all the stars in the sky, and all the fish in the sea, all the sand upon the seashore—”

“And all the frogs in the ponds,” her sister finished the childhood pledge. She smiled. “I knew Hugh was wrong.”

“Here.” Hermione thrust her book into her sister’s small hands, distracting her from more questions that required Hermione to lie any further than she already had. “Run this to my chambers. I have to speak with Papa.”

Her sister sprinted up the stairs. Hermione stared after her until she’d disappeared down the corridor, and then she started for her father’s office. Surely Hugh was wrong. Except, the other alternative was that Papa hadn’t managed to locate and speak to the young nobleman who’d stolen Elizabeth’s virtue.

She paused outside her father’s office. Since Hugh’s outburst several days ago, she’d been dreading this particular meeting with Papa. She shoved Hugh’s shocking outburst to the recesses of her mind and fixed her attention on her affable duke. And Sebastian, if she were being truthful with herself. Since their first meeting, her very real duke had occupied her thoughts and made it nigh impossible to write. The memory of his teasing smile and strong hands upon her person had even managed to drive back the terrifying reality of her family’s circumstances. Now she dreaded this meeting for altogether different reasons.

She drew in a breath and knocked.

“Come in, come in.” Papa’s jovial voice carried through the thin wood panel.

He was the jolly, if absent-minded parent today, then. That was at least preferable and somewhat more promising than speaking to the shell who didn’t truly know, see, or hear any of the pressing concerns threatening to shatter their family.

Hermione pressed the handle and entered the ramshackle quarters. A pipe tucked between his teeth, a thick plume of smoke hung about the baronet’s head, her father scanned the pages in his hands. He rustled through several sheets. “What is it you want, my girl?” he asked, glancing up momentarily.

She cleared her throat. “I’d hoped to speak with you, Papa.”

He dropped the pages and they fluttered to the messy desktop. “Come in, come in then, dear.” He removed the pipe from his mouth and motioned her over.

Hermione closed the door softly behind her and wandered over to his desk.