Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(81)

Emmaline inclined her head. “That is quite a wonderful read,” she concurred. “Though I personally enjoy The Entrapped Earl.”

Hermione snapped erect. The marchioness had read her work. Read it…and enjoyed it. Since the fateful moment Hermione’s world had shattered into a thousand million shards, the other woman’s words brought the faint stirring of happiness. The old familiar rush for a pencil and journal filled her. She’d been so beset by grief she’d denied herself the one comfort she’d found in life. Words.

Emmaline continued. “The earl who falls so desperately in love with—”

“Lady Louisa,” she supplied automatically.

Emmaline gave an eager nod. “Yes, that is right. Lady Louisa who weds the earl only of extreme necessity, but her need to wed him did not mean she did not desperately love him—”

“That is enough,” Sebastian spoke through gritted teeth.

Silence met his furious command.

Alas, Emmaline appeared far braver and bolder than Hermione, for she grinned at her brother and carried on. “The clever Mr. Michaelmas realizes that not everyone or everything is always as they seem.” She swung her gaze back to Hermione. “Wouldn’t you agree, Hermione?”

A swell of emotion climbed her throat and she managed a nod, feeling like the greatest deceiver. Everything about her was a lie. Then Lord Drake whispered something into his wife’s ear, calling her attention back to her devoted husband. In that moment, it had seemed as though Emmaline knew what had driven Hermione. Which was quite impossible. No one knew the extent of her family’s circumstances. The other lady’s words had felt like a pardon, only…Hermione stole a sideways peek at her husband. She craved absolution from just one person, and by the hard set to his mouth and icy glint in his green eyes, it was an absolution that would not be granted. She shoved her fork around her plate.

Her father called out from across the table, stilling her movements. “Tell me, Your Grace, did my Hermie,” her ears burned with the horrid endearment, “ever tell you about the time she rescued her youngest sister, Adeline, from several wild boar?”

She cringed with embarrassment at her father’s tendency to romanticize everything and he chose that perfectly awful moment to attend to the wedding breakfast. Was it any wonder she’d developed a penchant for writing Gothic novels?

Sebastian’s shoulders went taut. “Did she?”

She hardly knew what to make of that belated, noncommittal ‘did she?’ “It was not a wild boar, Papa,” she murmured. “Just a pig.” Several of them. Addie, excited for the droving and determined to see the three or four hundred livestock making the trek to London, stumbled into the path and been unceremoniously trampled by the massive creatures.

Her father tore into his buttered bread. He spoke around the mouthful he’d bitten off. “Merely being modest, my girl is.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied instantaneously. She looked to her husband. “It was not a wild boar.”

Her father waved his remaining piece of uneaten bread about. “Bah, a pig, a boar, all really the same.”

No, no they really weren’t.

“Addie injured her leg quite badly. Hermione carried her back home.” His chest swelled with pride. “The entire way.”

Well, that much was true.

“My, how very heroic,” the dowager duchess said on a rush, as it became apparent the bridegroom had no opinions to share on Papa’s story.

The marchioness’ eyebrows shot up. “You have a sister, then?”

“I have two. Elizabeth is the eldest and my closest friend,” she said quietly. “And I’ve a brother.”

Then, fortunately, Sebastian’s mother said something at the opposite end of the table, which called everyone’s attention away from Hermione, and more away from mention of her siblings. Not that she was ashamed of Elizabeth. She wasn’t. Elizabeth, in her innocence and sweetness was more good and kind than nearly everyone else she knew, but the ton would see nothing more than a young woman who should be locked away from her family and love.

“I was unaware you had another sister.”

Her fork clattered to the plate. Hermione glanced at her husband. “I do,” she said curtly. She reached for her glass and took a long sip of warmed chocolate while praying his outrage over her actions killed any interest in her past.

“Is your sister wed?” The duke was nothing if not persistent.

Hermione tightened her hold upon her porcelain cup. “She is not.”

“And—”

She directed her attention to the partially drunk contents of her glass. “I also have a younger sister, Addie,” she said quickly, interrupting his question. “But then you know that.” She hoped her sardonic words would elicit perhaps some trace of amusement in her harshly beautiful husband’s face.

He may as well have been carved from stone.

“And Hugh…”

“Ah, yes, Hugh, your younger brother.”

She nodded once.

“You did not feel inclined to have your family join the celebratory occasion?”

She winced at the mocking edge in his words. “I think all things considered, Sebastian, there was no longer a need to pretend.”

He snapped his mouth shut, as she at last managed to effectively silence him.