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Chapter Twenty-Two
Hermione was staring at the door, but it remained firmly closed. She stood from the chair where she had been waiting and moved to the nearest mirror. She had pulled the curtains across to cover the windows and lit the room with three candles that were dotted about on different surfaces, casting her chamber into an apricot-tinged light. In the middle, she stood, wearing only her night-rail.
Short sleeved and reaching down to the tops of her calves, the white cotton material did nothing to hide her figure at all, cinching in below her bosom and around her waist. Her blonde hair she had left down around her shoulders, and she now fiddled with it, trying to make sure it fell flat.
There was a sound in the corridor, urging her to look to the door with excitement. She had pleaded with Antony to come to her that night, and yet he had been unable to answer her, using an excuse to part from her instead. He hadn’t said he would come, but neither did he say he would not, giving her hope.
She had already planned what to do. Despite Antony’s promise not to ever love her, she knew she could make no such promise, for she was already lost. She was already devoted to him. That day as she vowed to love him forever, it had hit her.I love him, even if he can never love me.
She intended to tell him that when he came to her. She would also explain everything about her past, about what happened in London, the truth of why they were there, and how she fell in love with him anyway. She needed him to know the truth if she was ever going to stand a chance of earning his affection. There was a knock on the door.
“Yes?” she said, rushing toward it with hope. She turned the door handle and pulled it back, shocked to find that Antony was not on the other side, but Cordelia was. “Aunt, why are you here?” Hermione asked, wrapping her arms around her body to hide her state of undress.
“To talk to you,” Cordelia said, waving her arms at Hermione to bid her to be let in. Reluctantly, Hermione gave in, stepping back and letting Cordelia hurry in, wearing her night-rail and a dressing gown over the top. Once the door was closed, Cordelia turned to Hermione with her hands laced together. “I take it your new husband has not come to see you yet?”
“Aunt, do you not think this conversation is a little too private for us to be having?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the door for Cordelia to leave again. “This is hardly the way I imagined spending my wedding night.”
“It is an important step; I just wish to make sure all is in order.”
“What does that mean?” Hermione asked, startled by the words. Cordelia practically rolled her eyes before stepping toward Hermione and lowering her voice.
“I am meaning,consummation.”
“Aunt! I do not need you to say the word,” Hermione turned away, feeling embarrassed as she walked across the room. “Please, leave me be.”
“I must speak with you first. You must consummate this marriage, Hermione.”
“For goodness’ sake, I am not having this conversation,” Hermione insisted, turning back to face Cordelia who was now shifting between her feet.
“I was thinking of what you said as to whether the Duke would file for separation from you when he discovers what happened in London,” Cordelia spoke in a hurry. Hermione winced and looked down at the floor, tired of fearing the same thing. “If the marriage is not consummated, then he could file for annulment instead.”
“Annulment?” Hermione repeated as she lifted her head back up. “You mean… he could have the courts declare the marriage is invalid?”
“Exactly,” Cordelia said pointedly, crossing the room toward Hermione again. “Then there would be no access to money. Any loan the Duke makes your father would be called back, and he would be in debt just as greatly as before, if not more so!”
“I cannot believe we are talking about money now,” Hermione recoiled away from her aunt and moved back toward the chamber door, determined to make Cordelia leave at once.
“It must be spoken of,” Cordelia followed her, taking hold of Hermione’s arm by the door. When the grasp moved to Hermione’s injured wrist, she snapped it out of Cordelia’s hand, wincing at the pain. “We cannot allow all our hard work up until this point to be for nothing.”
“Hard work?” Hermione scoffed at her aunt, wondering what Cordelia or Rufus had put into this plan other than their anger and orders. “Please, leave me now.” She gestured to the door.
“You must do this, Hermione, for your father,” Cordelia begged again as Hermione took her aunt’s shoulder and flung the door open, pushing her out. “Hermione! You are not listening to me–”
Hermione shut the door on her aunt before any more could be said. She heard Cordelia make a few more complaints, muffled by the sound of the closed door, before she hurried off down the corridor. Once her aunt was gone, Hermione rested her forehead against the closed door, thinking on what Cordelia had said.
Her aunt and her father had no idea how much she truly cared for Antony, and that she longed to share a proper a night with him. As far as they were concerned, they were treating her like a courtesan at a club, harloting her out to Antony in order to secure themselves more money.
She would not let it work. Come what may, she had to stop them from ever getting their claws on his money. All she had to do was wait for Antony to come to her that night, and she would tell him everything. Once he knew, he would be certain to ensure no money ever graced their palms.
* * *
“This is not quite how I thought you would be spending your wedding night,” Fergus’ voice greeted Antony across the room.
He still sat in the great hall of their house where they had held the wedding breakfast. The tables and chairs were empty, with all the food cleaned up and all remnants of the celebrations tidied away and only Antony’s presence as a reminder of what had taken place. He was sitting in the very center, with one candle beside him for company as Fergus hovered in the doorway.
“I could say I thought the same,” Antony acknowledged, feeling a little tipsy in his chair from the amount of brandy he had consumed, “but I am not sure that is the truth.”
“Want some company?” Fergus asked, holding up a second carafe of brandy that was still full, unlike the empty one at Antony’s side.
