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Before Rufus could come any nearer toward her, there was a sound in the corridor behind them. They both froze as Hermione saw out of the corner of her eye the butler walking across the space, heading to another room. His appearance had cut off their conversation for good. Hermione couldn’t plead with her father anymore now.
Rufus knew it for he offered one devilish smile before turning to the drawing room door and heading inside. As the door closed, Hermione pretended interest in a nearby vase of flowers, offering a distracted smile to the butler as though the flowers were the reason she was hovering there. Once the butler walked off into another room, she retreated to the drawing room door and pressed her ear against it, listening in.
“Oh, you are too kind, My Lord,” the Dowager Duchess giggled. Rufus was clearly opening his bid for money with some flattering niceties. “Now, please, sit down, and tell me all about this business that concerns you.”
“I am afraid I have a confession, Your Grace,” he said, affecting a pained voice. “I know I can trust you, though. You are a fine woman, and your opinion on this matter I would greatly appreciate.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at the sheer extent her father was going to in his flattery. He never paid her or Phoebe such compliments. She had to strain her memory to think of whether he ever paid their mother such compliments either, yet the father he had been back then was a different man. Since their mother’s death, he was altered, as though a new man walked in his shoes and wore his face.
“Do go ahead with your confession,” the Duchess said kindly from the other side of the door.
“I have made an investment that went foul,” Rufus said, putting upon a voice that was strained as though the confession were difficult to make. Hermione found herself clutching at the handle of the door, tempted to go in and break up the meeting before any more could be said. Yet what would that achieve? Probably more bruises to her wrist.
“What kind of investment?”
Gambling,Hermione thought.
“Business in the trades in London. It is my understanding that the naval exploits from this town are successful though. Your younger son in particular talks of them with great pride.”
“Indeed, they are hugely successful,” the Duchess said with joy. “If you chose to invest in their ventures, I do not doubt you would see a return from your decision.”
“I am glad you think so,” Rufus said, sounding more animated. “I was wondering, considering our family connection, whether you and your son could see to loaning me the money for the investment. Once the return comes in, I would of course pay you back.”
Silence followed these words. Hermione tensed on the other side of the door, pressing her face so flat to the door to listen that her ear hurt from the strain against the wood. “Your Grace?” Rufus prompted after a moment. “What are your thoughts?”
“Well, My Lord,” the Duchess’ voice had taken on a new tone, one that Hermione hadn’t heard her use before. It was much sterner than she usually adopted. “If you are looking for a sum of money from me and my son, then I am afraid you are yapping up the wrong tree.”
“Barking up the wrong tree,” Rufus corrected, making Hermione tense even more.
“Your comment is immaterial,” the Duchess said sharply. “I am deeply sorry to hear of your financial troubles, but I cannot countenance a loan that would be an investment. All investments are gambles, My Lord. What if something went wrong? What if one of the naval ventures’ ships sank? The stakes are too high. I sympathize with your situation, but to assist in this matter would be impossible.”
“Your Grace, I beg you to reconsider.” Even from the other side of the door, Hermione could hear the desperation in her father’s voice. There were footsteps too in the room, suggesting he was following the Duchess around the space. “I must be able to provide for my family.”
“Hermione is my daughter-in-law now; she is safe and perfectly provided for.” The Duchess’ words brought a small smile to Hermione’s lips, touched by the inference of protection there. “As for Lady Phoebe, if my younger son keeps escorting her to town every day as he does, it may not be long before she is provided for as well.”
“But…” Rufus trailed off, clearly struggling to come up with another argument.
“Our conversation is at an end, My Lord. Please, depart.” The words were sharp.
With footsteps approaching the door, Hermione scrambled back. As the door opened, she hid in the shadow behind it, so that the Duchess wouldn’t see her through the open doorway. Once the door was closed, and she was revealed to her father, Rufus jumped back, evidently startled to find her there.
“You heard?” he asked in a whisper.
“I did,” Hermione said with a small smile that she couldn’t resist. “It seems Her Grace is a more careful woman than you gave her credit for.”
“This is not good, not good, Hermione,” Rufus said, stepping away from the door.
“From where I am standing, this is excellent news,” Hermione said with triumph. “Your plan has failed, father, and I could dance of joy because of it!” Her words made him snap his head back around. The sheer anger in his eyes made any temptation to dance vanish.
“This isn’t over yet.”
“What does that mean?” Hermione asked tightly.
“I spoke to the Duke before about borrowing money, and he made it abundantly clear that he defers to his mother in such matters because she is so careful about such things. It means that if the Duchess is so intent on keeping such a tight hold on the purse strings, I must find another way to get the money.”
“Whatway?”
