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Chapter Sixteen
Hermione wasn’t ready to attend the ball. She was hiding in the drawing room instead, looking out the glass windows and watching as the Duke greeted his guests on the doorstep beside his mother.
He had dressed well for the evening. His suit was deep black with his waistcoat a midnight blue inlaid with silver stars and crescent moons. It flattered him completely, the blue complimenting the color of his eyes and the breadth of his shoulders visible, despite the darkness that lingered from the night sky.
Hermione hovered by the window with a hand upon the glass, watching him. As he laughed with his guests, she looked at his smile, realizing how much she longed to be with him and joining in his laughter.
What she felt for him had far surpassed the flirtation or attraction it had begun as. She was devoted to him, completely. She had a feeling if he asked anything of her, she would give it, for how could she refuse him anything?
Is this… love?She told herself it couldn’t be. For how could she be plotting to entrap a man in marriage and damage his life if she loved him? The two things didn’t add up.
“Why are you hiding in here?” Phoebe’s voice disturbed her, urging her to whip her head round.
“I… erm…” Hermione struggled for words as she sat down on the window frame.
“Oh, Hermione, you look beautiful!” Phoebe gushed, rushing toward her from the doorway.
“Thank you, Phoebe,” Hermione revealed a small smile as she looked down at her dress. It was the gown that the Duke had purchased for her, the Pomona green one with the high waistline, embroidered with exquisite detailing. It was already her favorite gown, and she had been saving it for this occasion.
“There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Phoebe asked, taking Hermione’s hand. Hermione clung to her sister’s grasp, surprised how much she needed the support as she looked behind them out to where the Duke stood.
“Very wrong,” Hermione sighed. “Father wishes me to ruin his life, Phoebe,” she whispered miserably. “If I do this… someday soon he will find out of my damaged reputation, of what happened in London, then he’ll know why we were here. How will he ever forgive me for that? How could I face him after that?”
She could see Phoebe frown slightly at her. “You are worried for him,” Phoebe observed.
“I am,” Hermione admitted, not removing her gaze from the Duke.
“You care for him?” Phoebe’s voice was high-pitched in surprise.
“I do,” Hermione kept her other hand on the glass and moved her fingers against it as though she could reach out and touch the Duke through the windowpane. “More so than I can describe.”
Silence descended between them as Hermione watched the Duke, and Phoebe watched her. It was only broken once the Duke returned into the house apparently having greeted all of his guests.
“We should go, Hermione,” Phoebe whispered to her. “If father does not see us in the ball soon, he will be incensed.”
“Yes, you are right.” Hermione stood to her feet, breathing deeply with a hand on her chest as though her touch could calm her erratic heartbeat that was thumping hard beneath. Phoebe led her into the entrance hall where they came face to face with not just one Stenham brother but two.
Officer Stenham and the Duke were in conversation at the bottom of the stairs before the Officer turned his head toward them.
“There you are,” Officer Stenham smiled and walked away from his brother. “Lady Phoebe,” he said, offering his arm to her. “Allow me to escort you into the ball?”
“I’d be delighted.” Phoebe eagerly dropped Hermione’s arm to take up Officer Stenham’s. As the two walked away, Hermione stayed fixed to the spot with her hands fidgeting as she watched the Duke approach her. He was even more handsome before her now than he had appeared through the glass and darkness of the night.
“I am glad to see it suits you,” he said, pointing at the dress.
“It was a very kind gift, Your Grace,” Hermione said, looking down at the gown and flattening the skirt out. “I realize I have not said it yet but happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” he looked almost uncomfortable as he accepted her well wishes.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, stepping toward him with worry.
“There was,” he said softly, “but not anymore.” He silently offered his arm to her; when she hesitated from taking it his eyebrows rose. “I am offering to escort you to the ball, Lady Hermione. Would you turn me down?”
“How could I refuse a man on his birthday?” she said with a small smile, taking his arm and watching as his face spread into an even wider smile.
He turned and walked the two of them into the ballroom. Not far in, they had to come to a stop because of how busy it was with the people pressed together like glasses on a drinks table. Each guest was dressed even more ornately, with fine gowns, ridiculous cravats, and some feathers on the ladies’ heads.
“You and my mother did a wonderful job, I will say that,” the Duke commented, looking around the room. Hermione smiled, warmed by his praise. As he turned his gaze to her, she almost felt like the room wasn’t around them; that it was just the two of them in that space. Before anything could be said between them, though, another voice disturbed them, bringing her back to reality.
