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“Try living without it, and you’ll find out,” Rufus said harshly. The words were spoken so sharply that Phoebe shifted in her seat beside Hermione.
“The Duke’s mother is the Dowager Duchess, Rose Stenham,” Cordelia explained. “She is a good friend of mine, and we have known each other for many years. She explained to me recently in a letter her wish to see her eldest son married. It is the perfect opportunity.”
“And the Dowager Duchess does not care about my tarnished reputation?” Hermione asked, frowning.
“Well, I did not mention that in my letters,” Cordelia said pointedly. “Did you think I would? It’s shameful!”
At her words, Hermione turned to look out of the window another time. She still knew she had done nothing wrong, but it seemed she was condemned forever more now. She lifted a hand to the locket at her neck, holding onto it once more as an image flashed in her mind.
She was standing at the doorway of the church with the bouquet of flowers in her hand, then the bouquet fell onto the stone floor, scattering petals and leaves.
“I also did not mention a suggested betrothal between you,” Cordelia was speaking again. “I simply said that it would be lovely to see my friend again after all this time, and she fortunately invited the whole family to stay for a month.”
“A month?” Phoebe repeated as Hermione turned back to face her family. “You expect Hermione to make the Duke of Benson fall in love with her in amonth?”
“Who mentioned love?” Rufus said snidely. “We said marriage. There are many ways to make a man marry a woman. You have a month to ensure the Duke of Benson proposes. By that time, the gossip will have spread from London. You have to do this, Hermione.”
“What if I was to refuse?” Hermione said, lifting her chin higher.
“Then I will take you and Phoebe back to our country home in Norfolk, and you will both live out your days as spinsters. Alone.” His harsh words made Hermione and Phoebe snap their gazes toward each other.
Hermione reeled with this news. Her ability to make a marriage was not just about her own happiness anymore; it was about protecting Phoebe from a lifetime of loneliness.
“So, Hermione?” Rufus said, smirking wickedly as he evidently knew he had her backed into a corner. “Will you do this for your sister? Or will you condemn her to be alone for the rest of her life as well?”
Silence descended in the carriage. For a minute, Hermione couldn’t find words. She just let the coach jostle her from side to side as she concentrated on the feeling of Phoebe’s palm within her own. Beyond the carriage windows, the sun was setting firmer, no longer visible above the trees at all. What she could see of the sky was streaked in red and orange hues.
“I have no choice,” Hermione said, turning back to her father. “I’ll do it.”
* * *
As the carriage slowed, Hermione leaned out of the window to see just where they had arrived. In the grey dusk that had fallen across the hills, she could just about see the ocean in the distance, lapping wildly with white foam. Much closer to her and across the grass lawn was a manor house overlooking Lyme Regis Bay. The house itself was tall, grey and imposing, something rather out of one of Hermione’s gothic novels, with tall windows like the slits in cat’s eyes staring across the scenery.
“It’s rather spooky looking, isn’t it?” Phoebe asked, still holding tightly onto Hermione’s hand.
“I rather like it,” Hermione admitted as a smile crept into her cheeks. The place had drama about it. As the carriage veered toward the house, more of the trees slipped away, revealing how the cliffs dropped down to the ocean far below with waves crashing against the rocks.
“It’s a good job you like it,” Rufus said, his tone urging Hermione to look back at him. “It could be your new home soon.”
Hermione swallowed as she sat back against the coach seat. She didn’t want to do this. She had never met the Duke of Benson before. The mere idea of not only marrying a man she didn’t know, but deceiving him and tricking him into marrying her when her reputation was tarnished, was awful to her. It felt against her nature.
One should only marry for love.
As the thought struck her, she released the hold on the locket she was wearing around her neck, barely having realized she had taken hold of it again.
The carriage turned toward the house along a curve in the driveway before slowing completely and coming to a soft halt by the front of the door. As Rufus descended out of the carriage, he offered a hand to help Cordelia down first, then Hermione and Phoebe followed.
The two sisters stood close together with Hermione making a point of pulling the pelisse Phoebe was wearing tight around her shoulders, trying to keep her sister warm just as the wind rushed up from the ocean buffeting their hair.
“I still think it’s creepy,” Phoebe whispered to her.
“I am sure, it will look much finer when it is light again,” Hermione said, trying to summon a smile. She fussed with her sister’s pelisse a little more until she was certain Phoebe was warm, then the front door of the manor house opened, earning her attention.
As double oak doors parted, a grand woman stepped through, wearing an empire-length gown in a bold midnight blue color, draped in refined pearls that hung down past her chest toward her stomach. The regal countenance of the woman told Hermione exactly who the lady was, even without an introduction.
“Mrs. Atkins, there you are!” The Duchess ran forward, scurrying in such a way to show that her dress was restricting her movement. “I have been looking out of the window every five minutes since lunch.” In her effort to reach her friend, she nearly tripped, saved only by Hermione reaching out to grab her arm. “Oh, thank you dear. That was sweet of you.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Hermione said, retracting her hand when she realized that she had grabbed hold of a Lady of such standing.
