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“Antony?” Fergus prompted. “What will you do?”
“I need to speak to her.” Antony moved to his feet and walked toward the door.
“I suppose there is little point in telling you to take a chaperone with you now,” Fergus said with a smirk that earned a dark glare from Antony.
“No point at all,” he said sharply as he walked out of the room.
As he crossed the corridor, he could still hear the Earl of Branigan and Mrs. Atkins talking in the library, her with soothing tones and him with angry tones. When Antony moved toward the stairs that were lit just be two candles, he found his mother sitting in the middle.
“Well, I can’t remember ever finding you here before,” Antony said as he began to climb the steps. Rose looked up from her lap, revealing there were tears in her eyes. She looked more like a little girl that had run away to hide on the stairs than a Dowager Duchess. “Mother, you’re crying.” He hurried to sit beside her and take her hand. She squeezed his hand, her grasp surprisingly strongly.
“Are you really going to hurt Lady Hermione in this way, Antony?” Rose asked as the tears fell down her cheeks. Antony fished in a pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, passing it over to his mother. She hiccoughed in her tears as she began to dry them.
“Mother, it is not an easy decision to make. There is more to this than just Lady Hermione,” Antony said with feeling, thinking of the last time he’d asked a woman to marry him.
“I do not care about any of the other things,” Rose said, waving the handkerchief in the air for emphasis. “Tell me you are not going to harm Lady Hermione in this way? Tell me that, Antony, I beg of you.”
