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Antony flicked his eyes to Lady Hermione, seeing that she didn’t partake in the conversation, only to find that her countenance had altered entirely. She was paler than before with her lips pursed together and her head turned firmly away from her father.
There is something else afoot with her. I am sure of it.
“Hermione, may I speak with you for a minute?” the Earl asked, leaning toward his daughter.
“Of course,” she said, turning and offering a tight smile. Antony watched as the Earl offered his hand to his daughter to help her up from her seat, but she ignored it, staying away from his touch, and walked out of the room without his insistence.
Once the door had closed, Antony kept his gaze on the door for a time, trying to understand what he had just seen. Maybe he was right in his suspicions… maybe the Earl was the cause of that bruise.
* * *
“This is our opportunity,” Rufus said as he and Hermione walked down the corridor.
“Shh,” Hermione pleaded with him, waiting until they were far enough away from the drawing room to ensure no one could hear them before speaking again. “Father, what do you mean?” she asked as she steered them out of the back door and onto the top terrace of the garden, moving away from the house.
“I mean the ball,” Rufus spoke as if his answer was obvious. “It is the perfect opportunity.”
“Opportunity for what? You’re making no sense,” she shook her head, growing more and more nervous about what her father was going to say next.
“Have you not been studying your aunt’s guidelines, Hermione? Do you not remember what was last on the list?” he asked. Hermione went silent and suddenly felt hot indeed with her long-sleeved dress and the heat of the hot day shining down.
She could remember that list all too well, and the last guideline was imprinted on her mind:‘Number Six. Catch a man in a compromising position in public, and you will force his hand. He will have to marry you then.’
“No, father,” she said meekly, not wanting to do it.
“Listen carefully. At the ball, you will have a chance to charm the Duke. Take him away from the party and… well, I do not particularly want to discuss the details of what should happen next–”
“Oh, good Lord!” She spun away from him, throwing her hands to cover her face as she felt herself growing beetroot red at the shock of her father’s words.
“Then I shall come to find you with the Dowager Duchess and some of the other guests. Once you two are caught, the Duke will have no choice but to marry you. He is an honorable man; he would not stain a lady’s reputation so.” Rufus looked delighted with his plan, now circling Hermione until he caught her gaze once more.
“I… I cannot do it,” she said, thinking of the Duke. Her mind was too consumed with all the kindnesses he had showed her, all the spark there was between them. Somewhere in that time, she realized, she had somehow become devoted to the Duke. She couldn’t hurt him. Never.
“Do you not remember, you don’t have a choice?” Rufus asked, stepping toward her and forcing her to drop her hands. “Aren’t you going to do this for Phoebe?”
She said nothing; she just let the horror of the moment wash over her as she clenched her fists at the side of her body.
“Good,” Rufus nodded, clearly reading her answer. “Make your plan carefully, Hermione. This could be our one shot at seeing your reputation saved.”
