Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(56)

Her father smiled and the expression of mirth transformed him into a man she didn’t recognize. “Some gentleman is brave enough and honorable enough to overlook such things, Hermie.” He quirked a white, bushy eyebrow. “A duke, perhaps?”

Heat scorched her cheeks. Her father had been so removed from everything these past years that she’d not imagined he’d have bothered with details about say…a certain duke who’d come to call. Still, the hopeless romantic, she sought to move him back to more pressing matters. “Have you managed to locate Lord Cavendish?”

Her father’s smile dipped. A chill stole through her. She closed her eyes a moment, knowing with the same intuition she’d had the day she’d marched up the cobbled steps outside their Surrey cottage that Mama had died of her wasting illness. “A bounder, a cad. I did manage to find him at last,” he mumbled to himself. Which in itself was shocking, as Papa hadn’t done a worthwhile thing for his family in so very long. “He’s cucumberish. In dun territory.”

She cocked her head.

Father sighed. “He has no money.”

“And?” The explosion burst from her lips.

He swiped a hand over his face. “And he’ll not give a shilling to help her or the babe,” he said his words heavy with regret. And with the devastating news he’d become the same wary stranger she’d come to reside with these past years.

“What do you mean he won’t help?” She jumped to her feet. “His reputation will be destroyed if anyone should find out the truth.”

Papa lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I believe he considers himself ruined if his connection to our family is discovered.” He waved a hand. “I daresay he’s correctly surmised I’ll not bring further shame to Elizabeth by demanding justice for his vile actions.”

Hermione grasped the arms of her seat. They were all ruined. In every way possible.

The leather of Papa’s chair shifted under his weight as he leaned forward. “Your sister will be fine.”

She looked blankly at him. That was what he would say.

“Partridge will continue to care for Elizabeth and the babe, and this will have no bearing on the future you carve out for yourself, Hermie.”

A strangled laugh gurgled up her throat and spilled past her lips. Since Mama’s passing, not once had she placed herself first. She’d made every sacrifice gladly and without regret. “Do you think I’m concerned solely about my own future?” What of Addie? Or Hugh? Or Elizabeth and the babe, a child her eldest sister would never be able to care for? She imagined a future for them in which every respectable door was someday closed to her sister, and a brother who’d not have the benefit of an education and would stand to inherit an empty baronetcy that he’d be ill-prepared for.

“I’m merely saying a powerful man would be willing to forgive your family’s circumstances,” he said.

She gritted her teeth at his placating tone, even as her stomach flipped unto itself at her father’s once again illusion of Sebastian.

“Nothing to say?” he repeated. “Your aunt is quite confident a certain duke may be that gentleman.” He propped his elbows on his desk, hopelessly wrinkling several pages of the opened ledger. “A gentleman who’ll see nothing more than your beauty and courage and—”

She made a sound of protest. “You’re a proud father, is all.” She’d never before felt beautiful. However, since Sebastian, since his kiss and his waltz and heated looks, for the first time, she’d come to feel not the too-tall, gangly suitor-less young lady, but a woman who possessed the beauty her father now spoke of.

“Bah, how can my daughter not realize the extent of her beauty?” Pride gleamed in his eyes.

Panic stirred in her breast. This was Papa and Aunt Agatha’s plans to salvage their family? Some misbegotten hope a gentleman in possession of one of the oldest titles in the realm would fall hopelessly in love with her? Now, that was a story she could commit to page. Which was actually quite a good idea, because with as awful as this day had gone fast down a steep incline since she’d taken her leave of the duke, something good should come from it. She stood and ruffled through the scattered pages upon her father’s desk.

“Here.” He thrust out a pencil.

Hermione took it and grabbed a balled-up page. She unwrinkled the sheet and dashed down a few lines. She promptly folded it and reclaimed her seat.

Papa looked at her with a sad smile. “My dear, you may issue protestations, but a young woman so inspired must surely be a bit in love.”

Another healthy wave of heat climbed up her neck and burned a trail across her face. “Papa, I hardly know the duke. We’ve met a handful of times. Why—”

He held up another finger and shook it back and forth. “Ah, but I didn’t mention anything about the duke.”

She clamped her lips tight. Well, what was there to say now? “It was just one visit,” she murmured, the words more of a reminder to herself.

And a kiss.

And a waltz.

And a kiss.

And earlier that morning… a third kiss.

A knock sounded at the door saving her from her father’s response. They looked as one. Owen opened the door and ducked his head into the room. “His Grace, The Duke of Mallen to see Miss Rogers.”