How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers
Chapter Twenty-One
Hermione was standing outside of the chapel holding onto a bouquet of roses with shaking hands. She felt she were reliving a day from her past, with Phoebe at one side and her father on the other, though Rufus would not stand still, he was pacing up and down.
The sky overhead was not sunny for their day. It was grey, and the sky bore the same tears that Hermione had shed to cry herself to sleep the night before. They had dried up that morning when Hermione had vowed to herself not to cry anymore about a man she was to marry. She had given both men enough of her tears for one lifetime. From now on, she would pretend not to be hurt by them; she would show resistance and strength.
She and Phoebe cowered away from the rain under the eaves of the chapel on the house estate as they waited for the church organ music to begin. The droplets of rain came down hard, lashing against the cobbles nearby and splattering the hems of their dresses. Rufus walked toward the doors and peered through the smallest of gaps at the congregation.
“Is he there?” Hermione asked, her voice breaking in the middle.
“He’s there,” Rufus said with a smile. Hermione felt the relief course through her though she could not smile. “Thank God!” Rufus said, throwing his hands up to the sky in true gratitude. Hermione squeezed Phoebe’s palm at her side with her free hand, needing her support.
He came. At least there is that. Antony came.
When the organ music began, Rufus beckoned her away from the wall. At first, Hermione didn’t move.
“Do you need me to drag you in there, child?” Rufus asked, the venom and anger clear in his voice. Remembering the bruise that he had left upon her wrist before, Hermione went forward to him. Last night, she had argued with him again, pleading with him not to request money from the Duke. All that had gotten her was a fresh bruise on her wrist. Today of all days, she did not want to suffer such a thing again.
She gingerly looped her arm through his as Phoebe took up a position behind the two of them, and the doors opened. When they walked in, Hermione could feel her arm trembling against her father’s.
Gazing around the room, she observed how stripped back the affair was, with a few friends and family members but none from London, just in case the tale of Hermione’s disgrace caught up with them. At the front of the church, Cordelia sat alone, so excited that she could not sit still in the pew. On the opposite side, the Dowager Duchess looked equally happy.
Hermione lifted her gaze to the front of the church to see Officer Stenham had turned to see her approach, yet Antony had not. He stayed facing forward, looking at the vicar. Unable to see anything but his back, Hermione almost stopped walking down the aisle, yet her father tugged her forward.
When they reached the end, Antony turned to her at last and took her hand proffered to him by her father, though he didn’t lift his gaze to hers. As Phoebe and Rufus took their places in the pew, Antony turned her forward to face the vicar.
For a minute, the organ music continued, giving Hermione a brief minute to speak to Antony without fear of being overheard. “Can you not look at me?” she asked in a whisper. He lifted his eyes to her then.
“You look beautiful,” he said, though the words were not coupled with a smile. There was something bittersweet in the compliment that made Hermione ache all the more.
“You have been avoiding me,” she whispered as the organ music began to reach its closing stretch of the song.
“This is convenience only, remember?” he asked, urging her to take another step forward, so that they were before the altar. His coldness made her lift her chin a little higher, determined not to show weakness to him.
“How could I forget?” she answered him, before turning back to the vicar, just as the music ended.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar said, holding up the prayer book with both hands as his voice rang around the chapel, “we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
As the vicar went on, Hermione’s gaze kept slipping toward Antony, but he didn’t look back to her. He kept holding onto her hand though, the whole way through the opening prayer.
“Lady Hermione Rogers, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?” the vicar addressed Hermione solely. “Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”
She hesitated. For one thing, she did not wish to promise to ‘obey’ anyone, least of all a man who had decided never to love her, but there was something else in the words that she found overwhelming. As she looked at Antony, he lifted his eyes to her at last, frowning a little at the pause she was making.
She realized she could protect him from her forever by denying marrying him now, but Phoebe would be ruined for it. There was something else too. She wanted to commit herself to this man, to the Antony she had met her first night in Lyme Regis and had been falling for ever since.
“I will,” she said with confidence, committing herself to him for good.
“Now, Antony Stenham, Duke of Benson,” the vicar turned to him. “Wilt thou have this woman to be they wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
To her surprise, Antony held her gaze throughout the vow being said, never looking away, never flinching, never even blinking. Those blue eyes just stared back at her. He paused too, making her breath hitch. Antony had turned up, unlike her last betrothed, but he could go one step further. He could refuse to marry her in front of the whole congregation.
She bit her lip, waiting for his answer.
“I will,” he said eventually. She let out a shuddery sigh, feeling her hand tremble within his grasp. She should feel comforted by him saying it, she knew she should, but he had already told her he wouldn’t love her, and she knew even the vow he now made before God to love and comfort her couldn’t negate that.
As she turned back to the vicar, giving him her full focus, she rather felt like they were the two figures she had seen that morning being made out of icing by the cook on the wedding cake. They were both there in appearance, molded to look the part, even if his heart wasn’t in it.
* * *
Antony had stood from the table as soon as the wedding breakfast was finished and was slowly doing the rounds with his guests, thanking them all for coming. His gaze kept slipping back to Hermione where she sat at the table, rather meekly poking at a slice of the wedding cake with a fork, though he hadn’t seen her take a single bite. Actually, he hadn’t seen her eat much of the breakfast either, and the thought that she could be harming herself by not eating properly worried him intensely.
After thanking some friends for coming, Antony decided it was time to talk to Hermione. He had just made a vow to protect her, in sickness and in health. Even if he didn’t intend to keep all the vows, he was certainly going to keep that one. I can never let any harm come to her.
He rounded the table, walking toward her, intent on asking her why she was not eating when he saw her fiddling with something on her wrist. There was a bracelet there he had not remembered paying attention to before that morning. It was in the same place as where her bruise had been before. She adjusted the bracelet now, fussing with it a little, as though trying to cover something up.
He realized with horror that there could well be a fresh bruise there. He was about to walk to her and pull back the bracelet when someone stepped between them.
“You Grace,” the Earl of Branigan said, outstretching his hand. “I wish to offer my congratulations.”
“Of course,” Antony fixed a smile in place that he did not feel. He didn’t doubt that the Earl was overwhelmingly pleased by the marriage. Many such gentlemen had wished to trick him into marrying their daughters, and even if Hermione wasn’t one of them, the Earl was clearly thrilled.
“What a morning it has been,” Lord Branigan said with delight as he gestured to the wedding breakfast around them.
Antony followed the gesture, looking between the happy faces that were at the tables. Many were indeed joyous, including Mrs. Atkins and Rose who were sat together talking and laughing. On the other side of the room, standing between the displays of flowers that had been put up for the occasion, Fergus and Lady Phoebe were talking together. To Antony’s mind, the two were standing closer together than usual, and Fergus’ hand looked inches from taking Lady Phoebe’s. The latter had such a blush on her cheeks that she was turning bright red.
The thought made Antony flick his gaze back to Hermione, remembering the blush he had caused so many times in her cheeks when he had been flirting with her. That blush was nowhere to be seen at this moment. She was rather pale as she prodded at the wedding cake.
“If you would excuse me, Lord Branigan,” Antony said with ease. “I’m going to return to my new bride.”
“Before you do, Your Grace, I was wondering if I could ask a little favor,” Lord Branigan said, stepping easily into the way and blocking Antony’s path.
“What is that?” he asked, barely paying attention. He was far too busy staring over Lord Branigan’s shoulder at Hermione. She was sitting tall in her seat, rather like an ornament, fine and beautiful, untouchable by hurt. He knew her better than that though. The Hermione he knew had more emotion to her than that, more passion. She was hurting and hiding it.
“I wondered if you’d be able to see your way to a small loan,” Lord Branigan said, lifting his hand and making a small sign in the air with his fingers. “Just a little one, you understand, but something to help us out. Now we are family, after all, and family takes care of family.”
I suppose so. Antony thought with grumbling reluctance. Lord Branigan’s words reminded him why so many men pushed their daughters under his nose. He would have half accused Lord Branigan of orchestrating the marriage for this point entirely, just to get a loan, had it not been for all that had passed between Antony and Hermione. No other woman had argued with him so; there was no charm or trap there. She had been honest with him.
“All loans to friends go through my mother,” Antony said easily, looking up from Lord Branigan and back to Hermione. “After the breakfast, you must speak to her about it. She oversees the accounts after the steward and myself. If there is anything spare, she will be in a position to tell you of it.”
“I see,” Lord Branigan seemed more than a little disappointed by the idea, looking across the room toward where Rose sat with Mrs. Atkins.
“If you would excuse me,” Antony said with ease and walked around Lord Branigan, eager not to be stopped again. When he finally reached Hermione’s side, he pulled out his chair and sat close to her, pointing down at the plate as he earned her gaze. “Care to tell me why you are not eating?” he asked.
“I am just not in the mood for cake,” she said simply. “It feels like something to eat when you are celebrating.” She pushed the plate away. Antony stopped the plate from going far and pushed it back to her.
“You need to eat, Hermione,” he said softly. He had no intention of using any formal address for her now. She was Hermione to him, and she would always be.
“I will eat more on one condition,” she said, turning in her chair to face him.
“What is that?”
“Come to me tonight,” she asked. The request startled him so much that he sat straight in his chair, even leaning back a little to get further away from her.
“Hermione,” he said, looking around to ensure their guests were far enough away not to hear them. Most now stood from their seats and were gathering in groups to chat, giving Antony and Hermione the privacy that they needed. “That is not a good idea.”
“Why not? Is it not expected of newly married couples?” she asked, shrugging. She picked up her wine glass and focused on the liquid for a minute. “Before a week ago, I would have thought me making such a request would have made you quite happy indeed.”
“That was before we were wed. It can’t happen again now,” he said sternly, forcing her to look at him once more.
“Then come to my room for a different reason,” she asked, placing down the wine glass and reaching out to take his hand. With her touch on him, he could feel his resistance slipping away.
He gazed at her, lost in her beauty. The gown she had worn truly was spectacular, accenting her slim curves and complimenting the green of her eyes wonderfully. Her hand in his was warm too, making him long to lift that hand to his face and kiss the back.
“Why?” he asked.
“I wish to speak to you,” she said softly. “Away from anyone that may overhear us.” She cast a quick gaze around them at their guests.
“No one can hear us now.”
“I mean I have things to tell you that I wish to tell you when we are alone,” she said with feeling. “Please, Your Grace, please come to see me tonight.”
“You called me Your Grace again,” he said, preparing to disentangle his fingers from hers.
“Then Antony…” her use of his name and her pause made him hesitate, holding onto her hand for a little longer. “Please, I am begging you.” Her words made him look at her, seeing the green eyes staring back up at him, pleading with him. “Please come to see me tonight?”
