Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(74)

A dull flush heated his neck and he gritted his teeth. He’d not be made to feel culpable. Except, blast and hell, his bloody mother was right and he detested that she, regardless of how many years he’d attained, invariably always proved correct.

His misery was a product of his own carelessness. He’d followed Hermione. He’d observed her sad little smile, her subtle gaze, and he’d set after her, all the while knowing they were one reckless exchange away from ruin. Responsibility for his circumstances lay firmly with his own actions. If he’d not trotted after her like a lovesick swain then perhaps even now he’d be paying a visit to the lady’s father, requesting her hand, and working out the details of the betrothal contract, as opposed to the perfunctory, curt exchange he’d had with the gaunt man two days ago.

“Oh, Sebastian,” she said softly. He jumped as his mother touched his shoulder, not having noted her return. “All I’ve ever wanted was for my children to be happy.” Her lips twisted wryly. “Even though Society seems to find such sentiments a secondary concern to marital connections and amassed fortunes.” She squeezed his arm. “For everything that transpired at Lady Brookfield’s ball, you must try and remember what came before it with your Miss Rogers. You must search for what drove you to risk scandal to follow after her.” She gave him a sad smile. “Unless you move past your resentment and anger toward Hermione, you’ll never be happy.”

Would his mother truly defend the schemer who’d trapped him? “Do you imagine I can ever be happy with a woman who saw in me nothing more than a title?” Living with Hermione, he’d merely be reminded daily of his own poor judgment.

“I don’t know the answer to that.” Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I only know marriage is until death, and that is quite a long time to live with this fury.” She hesitated a moment. “Your sister mentioned you seemed quite taken with the lady.”

He gave his head a derisive shake. What a fool Hermione had made of him. In front of his family, his friends, the whole of Society. “The lady is a fortune-hunter,” he said tiredly. “You’d defend her?” Was he the only logical one to see Hermione as the viper she was?

“Perhaps there is more to your Hermione’s actions that night.”

I’m so sorry.

For a moment he grasped with hope to his mother’s supposition. And he shoved aside such wistful yearnings. He scoffed. “Do not try and pardon her actions, Mother.” He remembered the stricken expression on her face. The apology in her eyes. Even with her betrayal, he’d ached to take her in his arms and drive back the pain he’d seen there. Fool. A bloody fool. He’d become worse than the sonnet-sprouting types.

“I intend to leave after the wedding,” his mother said quietly, unexpectedly.

“You do not have to do that,” he answered automatically. His marriage to Hermione would be one of obligation. There was no warmth or regard. Anything he’d felt or imagined he’d felt for the bold miss had died with the apology on her lips in Lord Brookfield’s office.

“Of course, I do.” His mother snorted. “You and Hermione will not need me underfoot. I intend to join Emmaline and her family in the country, following your wedding ceremony.” She hesitated. Something in her tone gave him pause. “Your sister is expecting,” she said cautiously as though he could be anything but happy for Emmaline and her husband. “She intends to retire to the country for her confinement.”

“That is wonderful.” He managed to squeeze the required words out past a tight throat. With their loving marriage, Emmaline and Drake, now expecting a second child would forever possess something denied him by Hermione’s greed. In the end, Sebastian would have a perfunctory partnership, devoid of any of the quiet, congenial companionship he’d at least hoped.

His mother took his hands in hers. “I trust you can find happiness with your Hermione.”

“She is not my Hermione,” he said, exhaustion in his tone. She had never been his. Everything she’d said, every meeting had been a lie.

Do you imagine there is something wrong in reading about love and passion, Your Grace…? The memory as she’d been that day passionately defending her Gothic novel slipped into his mind, refusing to stay buried. The muscles of his stomach tensed. Had anything about the lady been real?

His mother’s lips tugged slightly at the corners. “Alas, Sebastian, she is your Hermione.” With that, she gave his hands a final squeeze and then slipped out of the room.

He stared after her. Yes, it would seem Hermione would forever belong to him.

Whether he wished it or not.



“I don’t know why I can’t attend the ceremony.”

As Hermione stared at her wan reflection in the chipped bevel mirror, she realized the great irony in her sister’s pleading. Addie wanted to attend the wedding between the Duke of Mallen and her older sister, more than anything.

And more than anything, Hermione wished she herself could be anywhere but where she would be in…She looked to the small table clock at her bedside. One hour. In a mere sixty minutes. Thirty-six hundred seconds. Her stomach churned and she fisted the annoyingly bright, canary yellow skirts her aunt had insisted upon for Hermione’s wardrobe. No one should wear this obscene color. No one. Particularly not on this miserable, shameful day. Her wedding day. She pressed her eyes closed.