Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(61)

Perhaps it would not be very many years after all. Mayhap Hermione had the right of it. He imagined a life with her in it. A union between them would not be the staid, dull match that unified two powerful families. Hermione’s inability to purchase that single leather book for her sister spoke volumes to her family’s financial circumstances, yet, he cared not at all for the wealth she would, or in this case would not, bring to a marriage between them.

He passed his gaze over his own extravagant office with immaculate mahogany Chippendale furniture, the rose-inlaid tables and crisp leather. This was the life she deserved. Walls adorned with every last book by Mr. Michael Michaelmas if she so desired.

A knock sounded at the door and he spun. His mother stood, framed in the entrance. “Sebastian,” she greeted.

“Mother,” he turned back to the hearth and consulted the time once more.

“I gather you remember you’d accepted the invitation to Lady Brookfield’s?”

“Indeed,” he muttered.

The flutter of her satin skirts echoed through the space, indicating she’d advanced deeper into the room. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with a certain young lady?” Wry amusement laced her words.

Sebastian faced her. He winged an eyebrow upwards.

“The wool-gathering,” she clarified.

First, Waxham, then Em, Hermione, now his mother. Sebastian tugged at his lapels. “I don’t—”

“Wool-gather,” she supplied, her tone dry. “Yes, I know. Neither did your father.” It was no secret to polite Society that though theirs had been an arranged match, the Duchess of Mallen and the late duke had found love which likely accounted for his father’s insistence on one of those nobly arranged unions. “Neither did your brother-in-law, the marquess,” she continued. “Or—”

“You’ve quite made your point, Mother,” he said tersely.

“Have I?” she asked, arching a blonde eyebrow.

Actually, she hadn’t, and if he were truthful, which he did not intend to be—not with his mother, anyway—he really wished she’d explain the whole blasted thing to him. “Yes,” he lied.

“Well, I’ll say it regardless.” Which was good, as it would not require him to ask. “I’ve never been, nor will I ever be, one of those mamas making demands on you to wed. My happiness in life has never been dependent upon my children marrying but rather on whom my children marry.” In that, she was far different than Father. She paused and passed a meaningful gaze over his face. “He was a good father, but he was a duke first, wasn’t he?” she asked quietly. To agree would be to disparage the man’s memory, so Sebastian said nothing. “I’ll not have you marry when your heart is not engaged, Sebastian.” She held her gloved palms up. “But if your heart is engaged and you do not act on that, well, then that is something that would greatly disappoint.”

He tightened his hands at his side. He’d already decided he would offer for Hermione, but was his heart engaged? He enjoyed being with her, she made him smile, bothered, and engaged all as one. He froze, unblinking.

I love her. I love her smile and her spirit. I love the mischievous twinkle in her eyes and the challenge on her lips. Sebastian waited for panic.

That didn’t come.

His mother glanced at the clock, unaware of the turbulent thoughts roiling through him. “If it is the same to you, Sebastian, I’d leave for Lady Brookfield’s ball.” She started for the door and took her leave.

He stared, his gaze fixed on the copy of The Bitterest Baron’s Bittersweet Love and suddenly wished he’d left more than an hour ago. He spun on his heel and marched from the room then down the foyer. He needed to see Hermione and tell her she was correct. It wasn’t years. In his case, he’d found love in just days.



Hermione did not care that the rumors had proven incorrect about the Duke of Mallen attending Lady Brookfield’s ball. Just as she did not care that she’d sat in the same spot at the back wall for the better part of two hours. Just as she also did not care that… She shifted in her seat. Well, she did care about the same-spot-business because her back ached quite dreadfully for being in nearly the same position for those nearly two hours.

She craned her neck and strained to the edge of the seat in a move that had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with searching for a certain duke. The set of whirling dancers came between her and the front of the room and she sank back in her chair with a sigh. Perhaps, her efforts did have to do with a certain duke. With the precariousness of her family’s situation, her preoccupation with the affable, ever-charming Sebastian was the height of folly; her feelings for him were nothing but a distraction from any real kind of solution to the troubles plaguing her small, scandalized family.

“Hermione Rogers, given the state of your family’s circumstances you would be better served dancing than sitting as you are.”

She blinked. She’d not thought she’d spoken aloud.

“Hermione!”

She hopped to her feet and finally focused upon the stern matron. “Aunt Agatha,” she said quickly.

“Did you hear me, Hermione?” Her aunt glowered. “You should be dancing.”

“Do you suggest I ask a gentleman to partner me?” The impudent question tumbled from her lips before she could recall it.