How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers

Chapter Twenty

It had been two days since Antony had promised to marry Hermione, and he was spending every waking hour of the days away from the house, all in the effort of avoiding her. The first day, he had spent solely at work, going around the tenants’ cottages and the nearby farms to check that all was in order. Even his steward had raised his eyebrows in surprise at the due care and number of hours Antony spent at work.

The second day, Antony was running out of things to do. He soon found himself at one of his old favorite haunts, a place he hadn’t been since Hermione had come into his life. He stood in the doorway of the gentleman’s club, even though it was the middle of the day, and looked around at the place.

Between the tables of cards being played and smoke that hovered in the air, ladies wandered to and fro, tilting their hips from side to side as they walked, clearly trying to catch different gentlemen’s attention.

“Your Grace, how good to see you again,” the proprietor said, coming forward to greet him.

“Thank you,” Antony said as he was shown to a table. He was placed at a table all by himself, and the proprietor brought him a glass of brandy. Antony sipped it slowly, finding himself gazing much more at the bottom of the glass rather than any of the ladies around him.

He had come in the hope that one such lady would be able to distract him from thoughts of Hermione. Every night since the ball, he had stayed awake at night, thinking of what they had shared on the rug in the library. He longed to have that moment back again, to go further than before, but that avenue was off limits now. He could never be with her or make love to her once she was his wife. He would be risking his heart too much.

“You look as though you need some cheering up, Your Grace,” a familiar voice said. Antony looked up from the glass to see the same young lady he had visited the last time he came to the club on the night that Hermione had arrived; the same one that had poured the drink in his lap.

The lady smiled, lighting up her exotic features and dark eyes as she slid his hand back across the table, giving her room to sit in his lap. As she sat down, she slid a palm up the center of his chest, across his waistcoat. His mind went back to when Hermione had pulled at his waistcoat. He should be attracted to those dark features, they were beautiful after all, yet he found himself longing to wind his fingers into blonde hair instead, and gaze at green eyes.

“Care to let me cheer you up?” the courtesan asked in a sultry voice. “I rather think I made you smile last time. I certainly think I could do so again.” He said nothing in reply, though he let her lean toward his ear and whisper in there. She began to whisper of all the things she could do with him to bring such a smile to his face.

Yet, every image she painted for him, he imagined himself with Hermione instead. He could picture Hermione completely bare in his bed, astride him and moving back and forth, her blonde hair wild as she brought them both pleasure. Then the image changed, and she was on her back on the bed with her head flung over the side. He was kissing her neck as he moved above her, in and out of her. As he kissed her neck, he was whispering words to her, their usual teasing comments, coupled with words of adoration.

Adoration? The thought struck him so sharply that he sat up and duly pushed the courtesan off his lap.

“Oh! Is something wrong, Your Grace?” she asked, so startled that she nearly fell over.

“Very wrong,” he said as he stood to his feet and pushed her, heading straight for the door. She pursued him all the way, calling for him to come back to her, but he couldn’t. For some reason, it felt like a betrayal to have come to the club at all.

“Your Grace, please do come back. I promise I can make all your concerns vanish. If you’d give me just a few minutes of your time,” she said with seduction, reaching out for his arm. He snapped his arm out of her reach, feeling as if he was tainted by her touch.

“Your Grace? What has happened?” the proprietor asked, meeting him at the door and trying to persuade him to stay. “Would you prefer for me to find another companion for you?”

“No!” Antony said hurriedly, shaking his head as he noticed the proprietor gesturing at the other ladies in the room. Antony’s gaze lingered on two of the fair-haired courtesans for a moment, but neither of them were Hermione. “No, I should not have come. If you would excuse me, I must go.” He heard them both still pleading with him as he left.

Outside the club, his carriage awaited him with his footman, but he walked past that too, all the way down to the beach at Lyme Regis. He strode far along it, until he found the greyish beach where people went fossil hunting. It was not as quiet as it had been when he and Hermione had gone there hunting, but it would do.

He hurried across the beach, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and moving so quickly that he nearly fell over the rocks in his haste. Once he found the large rock where he had sat before with Hermione at his side, he took his seat and began to smash rocks leisurely nearby, hunting out fossils. He could all too easily imagine Hermione was with him, doing the same thing, probably teasing him that he wouldn’t find anything as good as what she had found the last time they were there.

As he broke rocks apart, something caught his eye nearby, something glinting between the stones in the sunlight. He stood to his feet and moved toward it, bending down to find something familiar nestled between the rocks. It was the locket that Hermione had bid him to throw into the ocean the last time they were there. High tide must have washed it up onto the shore.

Plagued with curiosity, he opened up the locket, desperate to see what was inside. Yet the sea water had spoiled it. What could have been a miniature portrait before was now just murky colors sloshed together. Still, seeing it made Antony ache.

Did a suitor give this once to her? Then he cursed himself, angered that the thought bothered him so much.

* * *

“How is it?” Hermione asked, feeling how morose her tone was as she stepped out from behind the curtain in the modiste. Phoebe smiled happily and clapped her hands together. Meanwhile, Cordelia teared up, clearly delighted with it.

“Oh, I do not think I have ever been so happy as I am now,” Cordelia said with glee as she came toward Hermione and straightened out the skirt.

“Truly?” Hermione asked in shock. She had always thought that Cordelia was going along with her father’s plans in order to keep the family at peace and solvent, yet her aunt did truly look over the moon at the turn of events.

“Of course,” Cordelia said, her smile so great that her cheeks were dimpled. “What you are doing will bring such peace to your father. Does that not bring you joy?”

Not in the slightest. Hermione bit her lip in order to keep the thought to herself. Instead, she rubbed the bruise on her wrist that was healing, with just a greyish patch left behind.

“Once you and the Duke are married, your father will be able to ask for a loan to cover his debts,” Cordelia said excitedly, circling Hermione as she fussed a little more with the gown. “All of our family’s problems will be over, and we can start again.”

“Start again?” Hermione asked, confused by the words. “No, we cannot,” she said hurriedly. At the far side of the shop, there was a sound. She looked toward it, seeing the modiste busy with another customer. Hermione lowered her voice so that no one would hear her. “How long do you reckon it will be until what happened in London reaches Lyme Regis? What will the Duke say then?”

“By that time, you two will be married. He can hardly undo that, can he? Besides, your father will have his loan by then,” Cordelia said with confidence.

“Men sometimes file for separation from their wives,” Hermione said, wringing her hands together.

“It is rare.”

“But not unheard of!” Hermione said, whipping her head round to follow Cordelia as she circled her. “Does that not matter to you?”

“As I said, by that point, your father will have his loan.”

“Is that the only thing in this situation that matters to you?” Hermione asked coldly, watching her aunt’s face for a reaction. There was an impassivity there at first, though it was quickly replaced by a rather doting smile.

“Of course not,” she said hurriedly, lifting a hand to Hermione’s face and patting her cheek. It was a gesture Hermione’s mother used to do and it made her ache inside. She longed to be looking at the fair features of her mother and the blue eyes that used to look back at her with love. Instead, she was looking at the similar features of her aunt. Cordelia’s aging beauty was still just about visible, even though it was a little strained now. “What matters to me most in this world is yours and Phoebe’s happiness.”

“It is?” Hermione asked. “Then why would it not matter to you if the Duke forces a separation?”

“I am sure it will not come to that,” Cordelia said with feeling. “We must simply ensure that Phoebe marries quickly, just in case. The finances will be safe then too.” As Cordelia walked toward Phoebe and sat beside her on an ottoman at the side of the shop, Hermione’s gaze followed her with her jaw dropped so far that she feared she might have to pick it up off the floor.

“You think only of the money, aunt,” Hermione pointed out, watching as Cordelia looked back to her from where she sat beside Phoebe. “Do you not think of our happiness?”

“Hermione, you are twisting my words,” Cordelia said. “When I had to say goodbye to your mother…” she broke off, her breath hitching as though warding off tears. Phoebe reached for her hand and clung to it tightly, offering silent comfort. “I vowed to do what I could to protect you both. The best way I can protect you both is to ensure you have financial protection. It may sound odd to your ears, Hermione, but believe me, getting you married to a rich husband is for your own safety, happiness, and wellbeing. Marriage is the safest state.”

Hermione couldn’t even nod at Cordelia’s words. She turned away from her aunt and stared into the mirror provided instead, trying to gaze upon the gown. Her aunt’s words were lingering with her. As far as Hermione was concerned, money did not equate to happiness.

She fiddled with the gown as the modiste returned ready to pin it. Antony had laid aside money at the modiste for the fitting, though Hermione was being careful with the expenses. She didn’t want Rufus and Cordelia to think they could push the Duchess on expenses and money, not if she was going to stop them from ever getting that loan they wanted.

“How is that, My Lady?” the modiste asked, standing back from the fitting.

Hermione stared into the mirror, looking at the gown. It was cream with a little lace around the bodice and the hem, short sleeves, and a train that went back behind her, trailing far past her ankles. An elegant and refined gown, it was just the kind of thing she had always hoped for. Yet it now felt tainted, for she would wear it and vow to marry a man who would barely look at her in it.

“Is there something wrong with it, My Lady?” the modiste asked, panicking as she moved to her side.

“No, nothing at all. It’s quite perfect,” Hermione said, though she still couldn’t smile. Her sister appeared beside her in the reflection. Phoebe’s sensitivity must have alerted her quickly to the pain Hermione was in for she took her hand and entwined their fingers together. “I should be happy, shouldn’t I?” Hermione whispered as the modiste walked away to give them some privacy. “Yet, I am not.”

“Maybe happiness will come in time?” Phoebe asked with evident hope. Hermione closed her eyes, unable to stare at her sister’s happy face. Antony had clearly meant that promise of a marriage of convenience, that he could never love her and would never even allow himself to have an affection for her. Since promising to marry her, their ‘flirtation’ as he had once labelled it had vanished too. She had only seen him once at dinner time since then, and he hadn’t spoken to her at all.

“Hermione, do not cry,” Cordelia said, coming to stand beside her. Hermione blinked her eyes, unable to stop the first tear that slid down her cheek.

“Why ever not?” Hermione asked.

“For you and the Duke are not married yet. You must still charm him and be happy around him, keep him interested and engaged in you. That is the only way this will work,” Cordelia said with a smile before turning round. “Now, let us look at the headpieces.” As Cordelia walked off, Hermione’s lips parted in amazement as she stared at Phoebe in the reflection.

“He is marrying me out of necessity only, Phoebe. He feels compelled to because he has honor in him. He believes he would ruin my reputation not to marry me. What does she think? That he will leave me at the altar?” Hermione asked.

“It happened before,” Phoebe pointed out. Hearing the words made Hermione snap her hand out of her sister’s. “Hermione, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Hermione said tartly, turning away from her sister. She hurried behind the curtain, removing the dress so fast that she feared she would destroy all of the modiste’s pins although she didn’t care very much.

All she could think of now was the last wedding, the last promises that had been made, and the ceremony that hadn’t taken place. What if it were to happen all over again? What if she made it to the ceremony and Antony didn’t turn up?