Page 30 of When Hearts Are Wylde
Hartley looked up slowly, savoring the moment before he answered. “I am quite well, Randford. Thank you for asking. How are you?”
“As if you worry about keeping to societal conventions such as small talk,” the viscount scoffed. “I know that both of the women in question were here for your previous party and that the same male guests were invited this week.”
Hartley allowed himself a thin smile. “Are you spying on me?”
Randford only shrugged. “We are not friends, Hartley. We have a common goal at present, but it doesn’t mean that I trust you.”
That stung—because it was true. “Fair enough. And well deserved, given everything that has transpired.” He leaned back in his chair, letting his voice take on a casual air, though inside he was all razor edge. “As to our common goal, I set two rumors. With Venus, I informed her that Mr. Cavendish was to ask for Hermione’s hand because he needed her fortune. To Aphrodite, the same tale was related, only Hermione’s fortune was not in play so much as her reputation. I indicated that she was with child and Farnesdale was to ask for her hand in payment of a debt to you. And last night, Farnesdale confided in me that he’s received a letter of blackmail for something that has no basis in fact. The blackmailer’s only demand was that he refuse to wed Hermione and leave her to ruin or they would make it known to one and all that his heir was not of his flesh.”
Randford frowned. “Aphrodite. Why? She’s had some of the wealthiest protectors a woman in her station could ever have. What need would she have to blackmail anyone?”
“More to the point,” Hartley replied, “her demands of Farnesdale were not about money at all. She was asking him to leave Hermione to ruin. So, whatever this is, it isn’t greed. It’s personal. She hates you or Hermione, possibly both. Every person who has been blackmailed in that manner—demands that were not at all monetary—are connected to the two of you.”
Randford’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never had any dealings with Aphrodite. Hermione certainly has not. I can’t imagine what could have prompted that sort of pettiness.”
Hartley arched a brow. “Can’t you? You’ve a very unique eye color, Randford. That icy blue is so unusual that the ladies quite swoon while they wax poetic about it. Rather frequently, I might add. Oddly enough, when I thought about it, I realized that Aphrodite also has eyes that are remarkably similar to yours… and to your late father’s.”
It pleased him to watch comprehension dawn, slow and reluctant. He’d thought of it the moment Belle had remarked on Aphrodite’s likeness to the viscount. The rest had simply been deduction, and Hartley prided himself on being very good at that.
Randford admitted, “You think she means to ruin Hermione out of some sort of revenge scheme because my father was a philandering bastard? But that makes no sense… Hermione was not his child.”
“No, she was not. But she is the same degree of relation to you that I believe Aphrodite is,” Hartley said. “Envy is one of the seven deadly sins for a reason, Randford. It is rarely rational and often drives people to do wicked and terrible things. She’s determined to destroy Hermione because she is jealous of her… and because destroying Hermione would hurt you. To that end, you should also be cautious about your lovely new bride. I daresay the fonder you are of her—and by all accounts,that fondness is growing by the day—the more likely it is that Aphrodite will make a target of her.”
The viscount stiffened at that, and Hartley almost pitied him. Almost.
Randford’s eyes narrowed. “Are you spying on me, Hartley? Or is my sister keeping you apprised of the goings-on in my house?”
“I will not dignify that with an answer. I have not seen Hermione since… Well, suffice to say, I have not seen her. Nor will I. We both know it would be a terrible mistake to do so. She is not for the likes of me and I would not stir hope in her where none should exist.”
It was the truth… or close enough to it. The rest of the truth—that he meant to have her anyway—was his alone. He wouldn’t share that with Randford lest the man intervene with his plotted elopement.
“Keep it that way,” Randford warned. “Whatever passed between you, that was her choice. I know that she pursued you relentlessly. I will not fault you for it. But if you break her heart, that I will not tolerate.”
“Understood,” Hartley said curtly. For now.
When Randford left, Hartley leaned back in his chair. Aphrodite’s web was tightening—on her, not on Hermione. And Hermione?
Hermione would be his before the month was out.
Chapter Seventeen
Felicity had chosen a dark blue silk for her gown. It would be embroidered with silver, much like her wedding dress had been. Hermione had guided her toward that choice with gentle persuasion, recalling how radiant her friend had been on her wedding day. There was a certain symmetry to it, a subtle reminder of joy at a time when they all needed brightness. With everyone’s gown selection completed, they all left the modiste’s together, spirits buoyed by the little indulgences. Next on their list was the glove maker and a shoemaker for new dancing slippers for the lot of them.
“Please tell the viscount that his generosity has been much appreciated,” Benny offered with a cheeky grin. “And much abused.”
Hermione laughed, the sound slipping easily from her. “He’s well used to it. I’ve been abusing it for years.”
Their laughter lingered as they stepped back out onto the pavement. Yet the mirth was short-lived. The rain that had plagued them earlier had turned to icy pellets, striking the cobblestones and the shivering horses tethered nearby. The streets had thinned; most shoppers had already taken shelter.Hermione hugged her cloak more tightly about her, wishing suddenly that they had thought better of braving the weather.
“My goodness! This is unexpected. Should we save the rest of our shopping for a later date and go home early?” Felicity asked.
“Perhaps,” Cordelia agreed.
“Nonsense!” Charity insisted. “We are all of us made of heartier stuff than that! We can see the haberdasher from here. It’s not even ten meters.”
It was true enough, and Felicity nodded. “Very well, but we cannot linger.”
Hermione started forward with them, the cold ground crunching under her half boots. The door of a black carriage swung open near them, not a thing to pay mind to on a busy thoroughfare such as Bond Street. But something prompted her to look closer. Recognition was instant and a chill that could not be attributed to the weather swept through her.
