Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(76)

Her sister may as well have twisted that vicious dagger into Hermione’s heart. The idea Addie should so hate that character dug at Hermione’s insides. At some point, she’d forgotten they spoke of the fictional Lady Louisa who’d sacrificed all to trap an earl. “You did not like Lady Louisa,” she whispered. For to save her family, Hermione had become that woman. A ragged sigh escaped her. In shattering Sebastian’s trust, she’d forsaken any right to happiness, and likely Addie would never know the sacrifice…

“No, I don’t like her,” Addie said simply. “I despise her.”

The muscles of her stomach tightened. God help me, so do I.

Addie furrowed her brow again. “What does this have to do with the duke?”

Everything. She gave another weak smile. “Nothing at all, poppet. Nothing at all.” She cleared her throat. “Run along, sweet. I have some things to see to before…” My wedding. She couldn’t bring herself to form those words.

Her sister let out another disappointed sigh. “Very well, then.” Addie stomped over to the door. She spun back around and jabbed her finger toward Hermione. “But I shan’t allow you to attend my wedding, either.” With that angry outburst, she yanked open the door. The wood panel shook on its frames as she slammed it in her wake.

It would seem in trapping Sebastian, Hermione had become no more than one of those odious characters who could never be redeemed, a figure so detestable one’s sister could not even like them. Her heart clenched as she recalled the animosity in Sebastian’s once teasing eyes.

And what was worse, she’d now wed a gentleman who could not even bear the sight of her. Hermione buried her face into her palms and wept until she thought she might break.





C





hapter 21

Hermione’s neck fairly burned with the probing stares directed at her. She shifted on her feet and silently pleaded with Sebastian’s butler to open the blasted door to spare her from further scrutiny.

Her father rapped again.

Perhaps the duke had changed his mind. A panicky little laugh worked its way up her throat. Perhaps he intended to renege on his word just as Lord Cavendish had and then they’d all be well and truly ruined.

The door opened suddenly, quashing all her fears. The butler, an older, expressionless man passed a gaze from her to her father, and then back to Hermione. Wordlessly, he motioned them inside.

She stole a longing glance at her father’s old, black carriage. I cannot do this. Not even to save my sisters and brother. I cannot wed Sebastian knowing he’ll forever resent me—

Father touched her hand and she jumped. “Come along, dear,” he murmured.

Hermione forced her feet to move forward and walked with wooden steps to the threshold. She paused. Her gaze fixed on the gold knocker etched with two lions. The fierce creatures were frozen in a gold roar. It would appear even the duke’s inanimate objects hated her. She curled her toes as she imagined meeting his very proper, ducal family and just what they would think of a too-tall, plain miss with a hideous yellow dress who’d trapped the duke.

Their footsteps echoed noisily from the white Italian marble foyer, the sound reverberated off the sweeping ceilings. She looked up, up, ever upward to the stunning pastel scene of cherubs atop their fluffy white clouds. Hermione gulped. She could fit her entire cottage into this massive space. Not, truly. But very nearly close to—

“You must be Hermione.”

She jumped and slapped a hand to her racing heart as she turned to greet the woman who swept down the winding staircase. Regal, elegant and in possession of flawless skin and blonde hair, the older woman could be none other than the duchess. “Your Grace,” Hermione dropped a curtsy. Weren’t all duchesses oft frowning, staid figures? All the fictional ones she’d crafted had been.

The woman came to a stop before her. Her kind stare lingered upon Hermione’s swollen eyes. She smiled gently. “I am Sebastian’s mother, the Duchess of Mallen.” She held out her arm. “The parlor is more comfortable for a meeting than a cold, empty foyer.”

How could the lady be so…nice to the woman who’d stolen her son’s chance for happiness? Hermione sank into a deep curtsy; the familiar sting of shame scorched her entire being. “It is an honor,” she murmured and then hesitantly looped her arm through the duchess’. The older woman steered her forward. They walked in silence through the house. She took in the crimson carpet lining the halls, the satin wallpapered walls. The duchess led them to an expansive parlor. She motioned for Hermione to enter. Hermione stepped inside and paused. She flicked her gaze over the lavish fixtures, the tall long-case clock and the crimson sofas with more angry lions upon the arms of the seating.

Her Grace motioned Hermione forward. “Won’t you sit?”

“Thank you.” A ball of emotion lodged in her throat and she swallowed it. Why was this woman smiling and kind? She must surely detest her as much as Hermione detested herself. She slid onto the edge of the nearest chair.

The duchess turned to Papa and they exchanged greetings. “Your Grace, a pleasure, indeed a pleasure,” Papa said as he claimed a seat alongside the duchess. “Isn’t it, Hermione? It is not every day that one meets a duchess.”

Hermione cringed. Be silent, Papa. Be silent.

Alas, her father had failed to truly see his children since the death of his wife so he’d not see something as desperate as pleading eyes now. He continued to prattle on. “Then, my Hermione will be a duchess.” He tugged his lapels, proudly. “Not that I’m surprised, of course. She’s quite a special girl.”