How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hermione reached out and clung onto her father’s arm, needing to hear his next words.

“Father, tell me what you are thinking; I beg of you?” Despite her plea, he didn’t answer. He cast a gaze back toward the Duchess’ door then wrenched his arm out of Hermione’s grasp and walked away.

Hermione followed. His words had put fear into her heart, and she couldn’t let it go. As he hurried up the staircase through the middle of the house, she followed, trailing behind him.

“Father? Father!” she called frantically to him, needing to keep him back to talk to her. He still refused to listen. She had to follow him all the way up the stairs and through the corridors, until he reached Cordelia’s room where he knocked heartily. It was opened within seconds.

“Oh, what are you two doing here? How did it go with the Duchess– oh!” Cordelia gasped in surprise as Rufus pushed his way through her door and into her chamber. Hermione hurried in after him, being careful to close the door behind them so no one could hear them. “From your countenance, My Lord, I fear I know what the Duchess’ answer was.”

“She refused. Outright!” Rufus said loudly as he gestured with his arms. “She barely gave an explanation for it.”

“That is not quite true,” Hermione said, turning her eyes to Cordelia who looked back to her. “The Duchess said that all investments were gambles, and she couldn’t allow a loan to go to a gamble. She might never get her money back.”

“An investment?” Cordelia asked as though surprised by the words. As Hermione frowned at the reaction, Cordelia’s expression changed. “Oh yes, of course, the investment.” She turned her body toward Rufus. “Well, perhaps there is another way we can get the money.”

“I will have to work quickly,” Rufus said, striding up and down the chamber. “If the Duchess cannot be persuaded to give us the money, then she must be forced to.”

“Forced?” Cordelia repeated in horror.

“Father, please,” Hermione crossed the room toward him, blocking him off in the middle of the space. “If there is any of the father I used to know still inside of you, then let me talk to him now.”

He appeared so startled by her words that he stood straight, and his eyes widened.

“The man I knew when I was young would never utter such words. What has happened to you? You used to be kind, reasonable at the very least. What has changed to urge you to make such threats against another woman?” Hermione asked, reaching out for him. She took his hand and entwined their fingers together. With the way he was looking at her, for one brief minute, she thought that he was truly listening to her.

“Money, Hermione,” her father said, his voice so quiet it was barely above a whisper. “Living without it takes its toll on the best of us.”

“Then forget about money,” she pleaded with him. “Is it not possible to be happy without it?”

“It is not possible,” he said, his voice so stern that she released his hand and stepped back away from him. “I know what we can do…” He looked alight with an idea, abruptly animated. Hermione backed off, knowing that her pleads were futile now. The brief glimmer she’d had of the old father she used to know was gone. “You can appeal to the Duke for us.”

“What?” Hermione stiffened.

“We can go around the Dowager Duchess. We can go straight to the Duke and ask him for the money,” Rufus spoke as though it were a simple idea.

“But the Duke said that he defers to his mother’s opinion when it comes to such things,” Cordelia said with patience from nearby. “I fear it would not get you very far, My Lord.”

“It wouldn’t,” Hermione said, placing her hands on her hips as she cast her eyes down to the floor between them. “The Duke would not do me a favor now.”

“Why not?” Rufus asked.

“He…” Hermione flicked her eyes up to Cordelia, seeing the worry in her aunt’s features. It pained her to see it. “He overheard Aunt Cordelia and I talking in the garden. He knows the reason we came here. He believes that the money is the only reason I married him.”

“He will hardly be the first man in history to wake up to that realization,” Rufus scoffed. Hearing the words made Hermione’s heart harden a little more as she lifted her gaze to her father.

“You know so little of me, father, if you think that I married the Duke because of your say-so.”

I love Antony, the words tore through her thoughts. Even if he can now never love me.

“Damn!” her father’s word echoed back at the three of them off the chamber walls. “Then we must think of another way to get the money out of the Duchess. Something a little more… persuasive.”

“Father, whatever it is you are thinking, I implore you not to do anymore,” Hermione said, stepping toward him. The moment she moved, she regretted it, for her father turned back to her, his face red and his eyes narrowed on her.

“I have had about enough of your interfering, Hermione,” he said sharply. Hermione began to back away from him, hurrying toward the door.

“My Lord, please leave her alone.” Cordelia’s words were begging but appeared to be unheard as Rufus pursued her across the room. Hermione reached for the door, scrambling for it in her desperation to be free.

She could remember all too well the pressure of his hand on her wrist when he had caused that bruise, and she didn’t wish to suffer anything like it again. While she struggled for the door handle, he reached for her. He got ahold of the back of her dress and dragged her away from the door.

“No, let go of me!” she shouted the words.

“Shh! Do you want the whole house to hear you?” Rufus cried, spinning her around. He lifted his hand as though ready to strike her. Hermione wasn’t going to give him the chance.

She lifted her foot high in the air and stamped down hard with her heel on his toe. He cried out in pain, and the shock of her attack forced him to release her.

“Father, that is enough!” She found a new voice inside of her, one she had not heard come from herself before. Her father stumbled back a little, shocked with eyes wide. “I am the Duchess now.” The words sounded odd, even to her own tongue. “I am not just your daughter anymore; you cannot just manhandle me and expect to be able to get your way.”

“You are still my daughter–”

“My position is greater than yours now, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, alighting on an idea. It was a way to protect herself, to stop her father from coming after her again. Rufus didn’t answer, but he cowed his head a little more, looking a bit like an admonished child. “Do not dare to lay a hand on me again, and don’t you dare to tell me what to do anymore. Is that understood?” At her question, her father said nothing, but he nodded his head a little.

With the acceptance, she flashed one look at Cordelia, seeing a look of worry residing there, before she turned and hurried out of the chamber. Part of her thought of going to Antony, begging him to listen this time to her explanation and warn him of her father’s promise to persuade his mother over the money, but she had no idea where he was.

Where is he?

* * *

Antony walked into the club, feeling particularly cold despite the warmth of the day. So far, he had avoided going back to the house ever since he had walked out on Hermione that morning. Yet, he couldn’t stay working forever.

When he had passed Fergus escorting Lady Phoebe on the busy road of the town center, Fergus had whispered to him a suggestion to go to the club to distract himself from life’s woes. Now Antony walked through the door, and he remembered that the last time he had been there, it had felt like a betrayal to Hermione to be there at all.

This time, he tried not to think too much about it. He passed his jacket to the footman on the door, strode into the room, and took up a space at a card table where he quickly absorbed himself in the game.

With three other gentlemen at the table, the game was flowing well, and he managed to distract himself from thinking of Hermione’s deceit for a little while as he watched his money pile go up. It seemed luck was with him today when it came to gambling at least.

“Can we not persuade you to part from the card table this evening, Your Grace?” a woman’s voice asked. He turned his head to see one of the courtesans approaching him.

She was different to the other courtesans who had come before. She had blonde hair, a little like Hermione’s, though it was much shorter, and it did not curl in the same way. She was pretty. Had he seen the courtesan here before he had met Hermione, he might well have been persuaded to spend an evening with her.

“I am here for cards only this evening,” Antony said, turning his attention back to the cards as the gentleman to his right dealt out the hands.

He snapped his own hand off the table, feeling jittery when he grew aware of the courtesan stepping closer toward him. She put upon a pretense of being interested in his cards although she was merely using it as an excuse to be closer to him. She laid a hand across his shoulder and bent down so that her face was level with his shoulder, her lips practically brushing his neck in a tempting way.

Yet… I am not tempted.

“You will not make a customer out of me tonight,” Antony said as he began to add his betting chips to the center of the table, along with the other gentlemen.

“I cannot persuade you?” she said, her voice quiet and whispering.

“No. There is another that occupies my mind more.”

“Another courtesan?”

“No. Another I can never have. Not now.” He was surprised by the honesty in his words. Fortunately, the other gentlemen seemed far too interested in the game to listen to him, but the courtesan was clearly hanging on his words.

“Would it be your new wife? I see there is a ring on your finger, Your Grace. Rumors travel fast round here, and we have heard of the wedding.” She moved even nearer to him, so those lips were practically on his neck. He veered to the side, moving away from her.

“It does not matter who it is,” he said, feeling his hatred for being in the club rising by the moment. He wanted Hermione, God he did, but he wanted the Hermione he had thought she was, not the woman she had turned out to be.

“If you are here, Your Grace, away from your pretty wife so soon, I’d say it does not bode well.” The courtesan moved toward him again. “I heard a story the other day that pertained your young wife, passed round between gentlemen here.”

“Oh?” He tried not to sound interested, although the words piqued his ears.

“They said she was to be married in London. That she was left at the altar, and her husband to be never turned up. What a lady,” the courtesan practically laughed. “If the tale is true, then the ruined woman must have hot-footed it to your house rather fast after the event.”

The words hung in the air for a minute. Antony’s grasp on his cards weakened, not wanting to hear another word of it. Could it be true? Was Hermione set to marry another man? If it were true, then it would make sense as to why she had to marry another man so fast.

“Are you sure I cannot persuade you to distract yourself from the strife your new wife has brought you?”

Antony threw the cards down on the table. He’d had enough. He stood to his feet and turned, facing the courtesan. She clearly thought she had made a customer of him for she was smiling widely. For a brief moment, Antony imagined what it could have been like to see Hermione in her place, with those green eyes staring up at him longingly. He could picture exactly what he would do with her, take her to the nearest bedroom and make love to her at last, hearing her moan his name with her legs wrapped around his hips and her hands clawing at his back in pleasure.

“I am leaving,” he said, turning and walking away from the courtesan. She was so stunned that she didn’t follow after him. Antony grabbed his jacket on the way out and hurried out of town, aware that darkness was falling now. “Why did I even go there?”

It seemed he was destined to a life of misery now, married to a woman he could never bed, and yet he couldn’t be unfaithful to her either, knowing he would never forgive himself for it.

* * *

As dinner was finished, Hermione was aware of people returning to the drawing room to better see the stars on the clear night. There were rumors that shooting stars had been seen the night before, making the gentlemen reluctant to stay behind in the dining room for their coffee, and instead they hurried to the drawing room with the others. Well, all except Hermione. She stayed in the dining room, staring at the empty place where Antony should have been sitting.

“He will not appear, you know.” The Dowager Duchess’ voice made Hermione spin round, surprised to see the Duchess walking toward her from the doorway.

“I am sorry, Your Grace?”

“Call me Rose; we are family now, dear,” Rose said, taking her hand. Hermione took it, surprised by how badly she clung to it.

“Rose, thank you,” Hermione said with a small smile. “What was it you were saying?”

“You are staring at my son’s chair so intently; it is as though you expect him to appear out of thin air!” Rose said with a laugh, gesturing toward it.

“Maybe I do,” Hermione said with sadness, looking to the chair. “I guess I fear if he is not here, where is he?” She hadn’t voiced her concerns yet, not to anyone, but he had been gone for so long that she was beginning to suspect that he had to be at another’s house.

Maybe he has a mistress?

“You remind me of someone,” Rose said softly, earning Hermione’s gaze another time.

“Who?” Hermione asked, aware Rose was using the connection of their hands to draw her toward the window that overlooked the estate.

“Me,” Rose said smiling. “When I first married Antony’s father, I stared at empty spaces with the same longing.” The mere words pained Hermione. “Here, sit down, dear; there is something I wish to tell you.” Hermione abided by the Duchess’ wish and sat in the window seat with Rose sitting beside her.

“When I married, things were not easy at first. After a lifetime of being married, I have earned a little wisdom from it.”

“I would be grateful for any advice,” Hermione said, lifting her eyes to meet the Duchess’. She smiled kindly back at her.

“No marriage is easy throughout its course. There are ups and downs, trials as well as the happy moments. What matters is how you handle the downs,” Rose said with gravity.

“I fear this is a trial to our marriage that Antony will not forgive me for,” Hermione said quietly. She could tell Antony had not informed his mother about what he had discovered, otherwise the Duchess would probably have spurned Hermione by now.

“Forgiveness is easier than we think it is,” Rose said, turning her body a little so she could look outside to the stars, straining to see those that might fly by. “When I married, I had to persuade my husband that I loved him, not his money.”

“That sounds familiar,” Hermione confessed with a sigh, turning so that she too could look out the window at the stars. The night sky was dappled with white flecks, but she couldn’t see a single shooting star.

“Antony has more reason than most to fear it,” Rose’s words made Hermione snap her gaze back toward her.

“What do you mean?”

“I fear Antony will never tell you himself, but I think it important that you know something of it,” Rose said, breathing deeply. “I hope he will forgive me for breaking his confidence, yet it is the best route to his happiness. I am sure of it. Antony was betrothed once before; you may have heard of that part. What few people know is how the betrothal came to an end.”

“How?” Hermione asked, prompting Rose on.

“His betrothed, it seemed, was persuaded into the match by her father who wanted a connection for their family. Whilst Antony was falling for her, she felt nothing for him. On Antony’s birthday, shortly before the wedding was due to take place, the young lady ran away. Well, she eloped with the groom from our stable. Last we heard, the two were married in Gretna Green.”

Hermione couldn’t find words. “Your hand has gone very stiff in mine, dear,” Rose said worriedly.

“I… I am just shocked,” Hermione said, stammering. “Antony never said anything.”

“Would you find it an easy thing to talk of?” Rose asked with a soft tone.

“No,” Hermione sighed, looking back out to the night sky. She had never even told Antony about being left at the altar; how could she have expected him to tell her about his own sour betrothal? “He does not trust easily then.”

“Not in the slightest,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I think Antony truly needs to hear that someone is here for him at the end of the day. They’re not here for his title or for the money; they are only here for him.”

“I love him, Your Grace,” Hermione confessed the words aloud. They were the first time she had said them.

“I can tell,” Rose said softly. “Might I advise that you tell him this? Before he spends another long day away from this house.”

“I think persuading him to listen to me will be the difficult part,” Hermione said, feeling the fear spike within her chest.

“Try,” Rose said with a kind smile. “You’ll always regret it if you do not.”

Hermione knew she was right. Together, the two of them sat in the window seat for some time, looking out to the night sky. A few minutes later, they saw one shooting star. It was brief and could be missed with the blink of an eye. Hermione supposed that was all she needed, the brief moment, the one chance, to tell Antony that she loved him.

Will he believe me?