Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 6) by Christi Caldwell

wholly un impressed if she observed this rather weak showing.
    “Why are you smiling like that?” Suspicion laced Emmaline’s words. She turned to Mother. “Why is he smiling like that?”
    His grin died at the suspicion lacing his sister’s question. “Like what?”
    She leaned across her seat and planted her hands on the edge of his desk. “You’re woolgathering.”
    Waxham’s charge from two evenings ago echoed back in his sister’s accusation. He tugged at his suddenly too tight cravat. “Men don’t woolgather. I don’t woolgather.” Dukes certainly did not woolgather. They were contemplative, quite rational gentlemen who didn’t think overly long about unimpressed lithe young ladies with… Oh, for Christ’s sake. “I’ve business to see to,” he lied.
    Emmaline jabbed a finger at him. “You’d said you were intending to ride.”
    “Ah, yes before you interrupted. I was going to say, I had intended to ride but had matters of business to see to.” The lie slipped easily from his lips. Woolgathering, lying…bloody hell. This was bad. He leapt to his feet, his chair scraped noisily along the mahogany floor.
    Both ladies widened their eyes.
    “If you will excuse me, I intend to appreciate the fair weather we’re enjoying.” He strode over to the door.
    “But Sebastian, it is raining,” his mother protested.
    “Not yet.” Rain pinged the windowpane, taunting his futile attempts at flight. It would take a good deal more than a bit of English rain to thwart his much needed escape. He strode to the door.
    “I thought you had business to attend,” his sister called after him.
    He closed the door in his wake. Freedom.
    Some things were worth braving a rainy English day for.

    As Hermione trudged through the lush, green—and now very wet—grass of Hyde Park, she appreciated the lengths to which a dedicated writer would go for her craft. Rain spattered her brow. She pulled her bonnet down and stared out into the grey-white horizon, with thick, black thunderclouds riddling the sky and readily acknowledged there were some things worth braving a rainy, English day for.
    “What can be so important that we should come out in this horrid weather?” Hugh grumbled from a point beyond her shoulder. Having tired of his question going unanswered, he yelled into the howling wind. “Nothing, I tell you. Nothing is this important.”
    Hermione slowed her step, allowing Addie, Hugh, and the poor out-of-breath maid to catch up. In fairness to her brother, he had little idea that her efforts stemmed from her determination to help him and Addie, and being here in London, attempting to make a respectable match, to help Elizabeth.
    “Yes there is,” Addie chided. Her sister, as devoted and dedicated to an inspired story and invaluable research glowered at her older brother. “Why, imagine how dreary and drab an always sunny spring story setting would be.”
    “All stories are boring,” he mumbled.
    “Did you hear that?” Addie slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling her gasp, and looked to Hermione. “Did you hear what he—”?
    “I did,” she replied absently and scanned the empty grounds. Of course a duke wouldn’t dare venture out in this godforsaken weather for his daily visit to Hyde Park. Or rather a rumored daily visit, an invaluable piece of information passed on by the Duke of Mallen’s footman to Aunt Agatha’s maid, and then on to Hermione. In the distance, thunder rumbled its agreement. She settled her hands on her hips and peered across the Serpentine. Rain fell upon the river, tiny pinpricks breaking the smooth surface. And this is why one should not rely upon the gossip of maids or anyone else. The information invariably proved a good deal less than reliable. She sighed.
    “I’m cold.”
    The unrelenting wind whipped at Hermione’s skirts; the rain battered her face. She stole a sideways glance at Hugh.
    He scowled and tugged the brim of his black cap over his eyes.
    Guilt tugged at