How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers
Chapter Twenty-Three
“He didn’t come,” Hermione said to Phoebe as they sat on the top terrace in the garden. Phoebe looked so shocked that she choked on her tea. Hermione helpfully patted her sister’s back until the tea was cleared, and she settled down again.
“You mean… never visited you?” she asked, her eyes darting back and forth.
“No, he did not,” Hermione said miserably, trying to hold her chin high and not show her true emotions.
“But what does that mean?” Phoebe asked, nearly jumping out of her chair as she leaned toward Hermione’s arm. “Does that mean you are still married or not?”
“Yes, of course we are married, for now at least,” Hermione added, thinking on what Cordelia had said about annulment the night before.
“Oh dear…” Phoebe looked up. Hermione thought at first the words had been in response to her statement, then she grew aware that Phoebe wasn’t staring at her at all but was looking past her toward someone else. Hermione turned to find Rufus and Cordelia standing in the doorway to the house.
She stiffened in her chair, awaiting their anger as they had clearly overheard her conversation. Rufus’ anger exploded first. “Tell me this not true!?” he demanded in fury, crossing the terrace towards her.
“Shh! We must be quiet,” Cordelia pleaded, hurrying after him.
“How can I be quiet now?” Rufus raged as he reached for Hermione. She had suffered his anger enough recently and snatched her arm away from him, determined not to let him take hold of her wrist. When he realized she had escaped him, he made another reach for her. This time, she leapt out of the chair entirely and ran round the table, standing behind Phoebe as though she were a shield.
“Stop this; please, stop this,” Phoebe pleaded, looking between the two of them with her head darting back and forth from where she sat at the table.
“Toughen up Phoebe,” Rufus roared, making Phoebe recoil back in her chair.
“Do not talk to her like that,” Hermione ordered, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Phoebe took that hand, clinging to it.
“I will talk to her anyway I like, just as I will talk to you anyway that I like.” Rufus rounded the table. Hermione released Phoebe and walked the other way, avoiding him. “You are still my daughter, Hermione. You will obey me.”
“Funny, I seem to think that in the eyes of God and the law, I made a promise yesterday to obey another man entirely,” she said tartly. “Not that I have any intention of obeying his orders, but what makes you think that I will obey you now? You may not like it, but being a married woman gives me a little freedom from you. Even if it is very little freedom.”
She could see she had pushed the boundaries too far. Cordelia took a step away and covered her face with a hand. Phoebe placed her hands on the chair arms, apparently ready to jump to her feet and run. Rufus slammed his hands down on the table, making the three of them jump as his nostrils flared, and the teacups danced across the table.
“How dare you talk to me like that? I will not have such insolence from you,” he said, his warning tone so loud that she didn’t doubt some people could hear it indoors.
“Shh,” Cordelia pleaded again.
“No, please, be louder for all I care,” Hermione said, waving at him. “Perhaps it will do this family some good to see what you are really like.” She smiled at him, feeling triumphant, hopeful that if Antony saw who her father really was, he would send Rufus away.
“Insolent girl,” Rufus snapped and rounded the table. Hermione went the other way just as Phoebe jumped to her feet and retreated. When Rufus went for Hermione’s hand, this time, it was not to be. He tripped on one of the chairs instead and fell flat on his face.
“My Lord, please,” Cordelia placed a hand on Rufus’ arm, helping him up. Hermione was backing away from the table with Phoebe. “No good can come from being like this.”
“A little late for that.” At Hermione’s sharp words, Rufus jumped to his feet. She pulled back her sleeve and brandished the bruise he had caused her last time he’d grabbed her wrist. Once again, he looked at Hermione as though she were foreign to him. He stumbled back, staring at his hand as if it were not part of his body, then he strode indoors, straight past Phoebe who cowered out of his way.
Hermione cradled the bruised wrist as Cordelia gently took her arm. “Hermione, we must talk,” she said, trying to steer her away from the terrace.
“I am done talking,” Hermione said, trying to step out of her grasp.
“I am afraid it is not an option. Come with me,” Cordelia pulled Hermione’s arm, jerking her away from the table where they had been having tea. Hermione looked back long enough to see Phoebe looking after her with some concern.
Cordelia dragged Hermione through part of the garden, all the way to the rose borders where the flower heads drooped a little after the heavy rainfall and wind of the day before. Only once they were surrounded by this walled garden, completely alone with no one nearby, did Cordelia release Hermione.
“We must speak about this,” Cordelia said slowly to Hermione, holding her hands out as though Hermione were a wild horse.
“Speak about it?” Hermione asked. “Does this look like speaking?” she asked, waving her wrist in front of her aunt’s face. “My father is getting worse with this. What do you expect me to do? Abide by my father’s every wish out of fear that he will hurt me again.”
“No, of course not, but this is important,” Cordelia pleaded, reaching out toward her. “Listen to me, Hermione.”
“No, I am done.”
“I said, listen!” The sheer heightened sound that erupted from her aunt was so unlike anything that Hermione had heard before, and she whipped her head around, nearly falling into the rose bushes in surprise.
* * *
Antony heard the shout and came to a stop. It sounded like Mrs. Atkins though he had never thought that woman capable of such volume.
He had been walking through the garden all the morning, partly to walk off the headache he’d earned form his heavy night drinking with Fergus and partly to think on what his brother had said. He hadn’t come to any kind of conclusion when he heard the shout, yet he found his feet wandering toward the noise. He crept across some of the lawn, nearing the walled rose garden from which the cry had come. He peered through the gate, able to see that beyond some rose bushes Hermione and Mrs. Atkins were facing one another.
“I have never heard you shout so before.” Hermione was speaking practically in disbelief. Unable to tear himself away, but determined to know the truth about the shout, Antony didn’t declare his presence; he decided to stay hidden instead.
“Then consider it true testament to my fear for this family,” Mrs. Atkins said, stepping toward Hermione and taking her shoulders. “Need I remind you why you are doing this again? To protect Phoebe from the same fate your reputation suffered?”
Antony flinched at the words. Yes, he had risked Hermione’s reputation, but they all believed the secret had managed to stay with them. Surely there was no reason for anyone else at the ball to have known about their transgression or for any stain on Hermione’s character to be spread.
“You ask too much, Aunt. You and my father both do,” Hermione said with feeling. She went to turn around, perhaps intending to walk away, but Mrs. Atkins held her back.
Antony’s eyes rested on the side of Hermione’s face that he could see from his position pressed against the wall and peering through the iron gate. He had never seen her in this state before. There was anger, that couldn’t be denied, but perhaps there was fear too.
“It is really very simple,” Mrs. Atkins said, releasing Hermione and holding up her hands as though they were talking about arranging flowers or something equally menial.
“Simple? You really think that?” Hermione asked, scoffing.
“I am asking you to consummate your marriage; is that really so difficult to ask?” Mrs. Atkins said, folding her arms. The words stunned Antony so much that he leaned fully against the wall, needing it there for support. He strained more and more to listen to their words.
“For my father’s own end,” Hermione said sharply. “I cannot–”
“I am not having this discussion with you again,” Mrs. Atkins said sharply. What discussion?
“You have no choice in the matter,” Mrs. Atkins went on. “If you wish to protect your father from bankruptcy and ruination, you must make the marriage valid. Consummate your marriage, Hermione, as soon as you can.”
Hermione said nothing in reply. Antony was so shocked he walked away, not caring to hang around and hear any more of Mrs. Atkins’ orders. He stumbled across the pebbled pathway, slowly making his way around to the top terrace as his thoughts raced.
I was wrong about her. The realization was sudden and strong. He had believed that the bond he and Hermione had shared was a natural one, but he could not have been more wrong. She had been sent there to flirt with him, and charm him, just the same as any other lady he had ever met. It was all part of a trap to ensnare him into marriage, so that he would be compelled to fix her father’s financial problems.
“She is no better than the courtesans from the club,” he hissed the words under his breath, not wanting to believe them, yet finding it impossible to deny.
When he found the top terrace, it was not empty. Lady Phoebe and Fergus were sat there, hand in hand, with a maid watching nearby. When Antony approached, they dropped hands as though wary of being caught. Lady Phoebe looked rather upset to his mind, perhaps with Fergus comforting her, but they seemed to be trying to hide the matter.
“Antony, is something wrong?” Fergus asked as he went to walk past him.
“Very wrong, but I do not wish to talk about it,” Antony said, waving a hand in his brother’s direction.
“Very well,” Fergus accepted although he still stood to his feet and followed Antony with his gaze. “You might want to avoid the upstairs floor by the way; they’re still moving things.”
“What?” Antony asked, turning back so quickly in the doorway that he nearly hit his nose against the frame.
“Your Duchess’ things,” Fergus said, clearly reminding Antony of something he should have already been aware of. “This was the morning they were being taken into one of the family’s rooms, not the guests’ rooms, remember?”
The words made Antony reel. He stumbled back, hurrying through the doorway as quickly as he could. He ran through the corridor and up the stairs, taking them two at a time in his urgency to be on the top landing.
When he found the servants moving Hermione’s portmanteau, and the maids moving her clothes, Antony was tempted to order them all to stop. He hovered nearby, running his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands, fearing he’d pull them out in his anger.
She tricked me. She conned me. She never cared for me, and everything we ever shared was fake.
He knew he could order her things to be kept in the guest room. He could even apply to a solicitor by the end of the week to have an annulment put in place and have the marriage declared invalid, but there were problems to it. He and Hermione had been caught in a compromising situation, come what may, and neither of their reputations would recover if he made the marriage invalid.
He could also not cause such an evil to befall his family. Annulments and divorces may occasionally have happened, but those involved were often censured, and he could not bring that censure upon his own family. It could mean risking not only Fergus’ chance of a good marriage, but his status in the navy too. Then there was his mother, who could be ostracized by other ladies at events. I cannot do it. I am even more trapped than I realized!
He was stuck married to a woman who did not love him, and who had manipulated him into believing there could be something really special between them. She was even worse than Dianne.
“Where shall we put these?” one of the maid’s asked another maid as she held up papers.
“There is a writing desk in the Duchess’ new room; best put them there under a paperweight for now.” As the second maid answered, the two hurried off down the corridor toward the main chamber. When the first maid turned, one of the scraps of parchment fell out of her grasp and down to the floor.
The housekeeper overseeing the move bent down to pick up the parchment, but Antony was quicker. He picked it up first and was about to pass it to the housekeeper when his eyes caught the top of the parchment and he hesitated.
‘Guidelines for seducing a gentleman into marriage.’
Any doubts he had on Hermione trying to seduce him into marriage quickly faded away as he read all the guidelines, with his gaze resting on the final point with horror.
‘Number Six. Catch a man in a compromising position in public, and you will force his hand. He will have to marry you then.’
