Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all those who left a review, followed, favorited, or just simply read my story.
Daswhoiam- I am so terribly sorry for what happened. I really am. Just ignore that person, that's what I am doing anyway.
A bunch load of beta love to Ray Alexander (she was ill but still she edited, I am so very thankful dear).
And lastly don't forget to leave a review, they push me to write faster. Love.
"Martha! What in the Lord's name are you doing? You scared the life out of me," Hermione half yelled and half huffed, as she stumbled into her kitchen. The sudden warmth felt like phantom pins and needles driving into her skin over and over again. The slight pain was welcome, it felt like life rushing back into her frozen limbs.
The woman who had so gracelessly pulled her inside, scrutinised her, her face pinched as if Hermione smelt like something offensive. Hermione was left empty handed as the women took the packages from her hand before she pushed her gently onto a chair in front of the stove where something mouth-watering was bubbling. Her stomach grumbled and she realized that the last meal she had eaten was lunch before she took off to take care of her errands. But despite this, her stomach was creating an acrobatic show inside of her, and the thought of swallowing anything, made her feel slightly sick.
"Lord have mercy! Look at you, you look like something that beast of yours had dragged in! Come, sit near the fire before you freeze to death and your teeth fall off from all that chattering. No man wants to wed a woman who has no teeth!
You foolish girl, did you walk all the way from the Wiltshire or what? Did you talk with the Duke? No, don't tell me yet, let me first make you a cup of hot tea. And did you bring the eggs? I swear it's your Crookskanks who keeps scaring the hens off. They haven't laid a single egg in the past week. That ugly brute! If you didn't love him so much I would have chased him out with one of my pans."
Hermione smiled and drowned the incessant chatter of her housekeeper into the background like one does to the familiar hum of their favorite lullaby. Soothing. Comfortable. Martha had always been like that, flitting from one topic to another like a butterfly springing from one flower to another in the spring. She and her husband, John have been taking care of the household for so long that Hermione had lost count of the years. They were always there for her and more so after she had lost her parents.
With Father gone, the money became tight, whatever little help she got from her cousin was insubstantial and she had to let go of all the help around the house. It had been a gradual affair, but still, one that continuously plagued her thoughts. Then the day arrived when she didn't even have enough money to pay their salaries. So with a heavy heart, she had decided to let Martha and John go. And when she said so, Martha had just smiled, cupping her cheek affectionately she had whispered that they had stayed because of her, not for the money. And John being John had just looked incredulously at her and said to cease all these daft thoughts. Martha had been her mother's lady's maid so she and John, both had arrived with Mother, after her marriage. With no child of their own, they had loved her like she was theirs. They had said her mother would have expected this from them.
That was two years back and from since then they had done fine. At times it was difficult but they at least had each other.
Hermione watched as Martha fiddled and potter around the kitchen looking for a pan probably to boil water for the tea. Her favorite pan was sitting in the middle of the kitchen catching drops of rainwater leaking from the roof. Martha frowned at the roof before replacing it with a pot of mint plants from the windowsill.
Hermione clasped her already half-chewed lip between her teeth as she realized that a new leak in the roof had sprung. Well, she will just have to add it to the mile long list of other maintenance work she has to do. In between fixing a new leak and buying coal for the winters, the leaking roof will always lose.
The little trust fund from her mother's side she had acquired when she had turned twenty-one was also on its last legs and a whole lot of other things and their helpless desperation had pushed her to seek out the Duke. Her now twenty-four-year-old bones ached and creaked like they were nearing ninety.
Hermione had been ecstatic when she had made her come out on her father's arm at the age of ten and eight. Oh, it was nothing special like being presented to the queen, as they were no aristocrats, but her Mother had thrown the biggest ball their little town had ever seen. She had been so happy that day, strutting like a queen as if she was walking on clouds. Her mother had made a beautiful gown of soft shimmery material in the colour of white for her. If she closed her eyes and thought really hard she could still feel the feathery touch of the fabric on her body, the silent swish around her ankles, and the sweet smell of delicate perfume. She had danced and laughed and danced till her feet hurt. And then she had danced some more.
Months from that beautiful night her entire world had broken apart.
She woke one sunny morning happy and looking forward to her daily horse ride and just like that her mother had gone. The beautiful, sparkling and vivacious woman was now nothing but just a patch of land in the cemetery. They said that a vein had burst in her head. They said that she had died in her sleep. They said that she probably won't even had felt it.
Wrong. They were so wrong.
She was healthy and young and … and … now she was dead.
And not just her mother, it felt like she had buried a part of her father that day too. Her father became this empty shell of a person. He didn't laugh anymore, he didn't smile anymore, and he didn't live anymore. Her grief had made her blind and by the time she saw the downward spiral that her father had taken, it had been too late. Much too late.
It depended on the day which extreme he took. There were days where he would go into fits of rage, blaspheming god and everyone around him. Cursing the world … cursing her. Then there were others where he would cry till his eyes turned bloodshot and gritty. And some days he would just sit still like a statue unaware of the world around him, completely encased in a world of his, a world perhaps where he found Mother. Hermione recalled those days the most. They were the days she would wake up, and instantly want to crawl back into her bed. He had left her to deal with everything, and she couldn't even yell at him for that. What's the point of yelling if he couldn't even hear her?
In a moment of weakness, she had thought she could turn to her father to lessen the grief, which had begun to eat at her, from the inside out like some flesh-eating monster. After all, they both had lost the one person they had dearly loved. But it never happened. Her father had pushed himself deeper and deeper in this prison that he, himself, had created. He started coming home late and drunk, smelling of cheap whisky and loneliness. And then when one day the sadness had just burst inside her, she had confronted her father. She had shouted and screamed and cried, but he didn't so much as look at her. It was like it was some form of torture when he broke out of his prison. When his eyes slowly slid up to meet her face, they darted back down again instantaneously, as if it pained him to look at her … look at her daughter.
And he had fallen down on his knees like he was confessing some sin in front of the Lord. "You just remind me of her so much. So, so much. I can't do this. I can't do this! I can't look at you… it hurts…"
That was the day Hermione had seen a person die. Even if his heart was beating and pumping blood, his soul had died with his wife. And then a week later he had returned drunk as usual and Hermione had hidden behind a banister as usual. She had started this sleuthing activity to keep a watch on him. She had lost her mother and damn it to god if she lost her father too. She had hoped that he would at least remember that it was her birthday the next day.
Hermione had stared at the dazed look on her father's face as he had locked himself in the library and then … and then…
On her twentieth birthday, the world had given her a gift. The gift of being an orphan, a heavy debt and a bone-numbing panic of libraries.
"Martha, are you haranguing the little girl? Again."
A deep sombre voice pulled Hermione from the depressing vortex of memories. She shook her head as if it would banish the gloomy thoughts and scooped up Crookskanks who was winding around her legs in a lazy figure of eight. She ran her face against his thick fur stealing some of his warmth, he didn't mind, before she turned to look at the direction from where the sound was coming. She frowned when she saw John limping a bit more that he usually did. The cold weather must have aggravated his arthritis, this was the reason why she had gone alone today. Both of them already did a lot more than that was called, she didn't want to worry them more. She reminded herself to put out the salve and the hot water bag for his knees before she turned in for the night.
"John, are your joints bothering you? Is your salve finished? Because I can still make a run to Uncle Severus' house, I am sure he must be still fiddling in that lab of his," she asked with concern.
He smiled at her with such a big smile that it eclipsed his entire face. "Stop uttering nuisance, child. The cold's just acting up my aches a bit. Don't worry yourself, Hermione. These sturdy bones have still a lot of strength left in them."
"Well, if you are sure," she said a bit uncertainly.
"I am. And before it escapes my geriatric mind, this arrived for you." He picked a letter from the table nearby and before he could give her, Martha snapped it off.
"John, at least let the girl have some tea before you talk shop," Martha huffed before placing a hot cup in her hand.
Hermione sniffed the cup before taking a hearty sip. It scalded her tongue but it was so worth it. The tea travelled through her mouth to her stomach warming the way in between. She took another fortifying sip and realized that the tea was too strong. "Martha, did you use the new tea bags? You shou-"
"Oh hush, dear. You looked like you needed it. Now tell me what happened today."
Martha pulled in a chair beside her and though John rolled his eyes he too joined in.
"I will. But first, let me read the letter. It might be something important."
Hermione put Crookskanks on the ground who went and stealthily, or as stealthily as a cat of his girth could and draped himself around Martha's feet. His loud purrs filled the silence that had fallen as she had started reading the letter.
Panic raced through her heart as each word, each sentence of that letter lodged in her mind. No, no, no this can't happen. Not now. Her hands were shaking so hard that she didn't even feel the hot tea spilling over and burning her skin. She didn't feel when Martha took the cup away. She didn't hear the worried voice of John. Her mind had just turned numb.
One soft though calloused hand cupped her cheek and she broke out of her reverie to look into the frightened eyes of Martha.
"Sweetheart, what is it? Tell me, please, you are scaring me," Martha crooned.
"It's from my cousin. He- he says that he can't send anymore more money from now on. The factories are not doing so good now and its upkeep is draining him so much now that he can't part with the extra expenses now," she whispered.
"Nuisance and lies. Complete lies. What is this about extra expenses, this is your right. And I myself had asked around the town and one of the workers had let it slip that the factories are raking in riches now. He's just a stupid tosser who doesn't want to give you your due," John nearly yelled.
"Can't we do anything? Anything? Maybe we should consult the legal counsellor again," Martha said.
Hermione had loved her father with all her heart but the situation he had left her in his grief didn't justify it. Time and time again, however, she tried not to, still, some slivers of bitterness would creep inside.
Years back with the help of her mother's dowry her father had started a factory. By the end of that year, it had been such a huge success that her father had called her mother his lucky charm. As his profit gained momentum and the number of factories increased they became richer and richer. And on Hermione's fifth birthday her father had gifted her mother the beautiful Rose Villa. And her Mother had fallen in love with their home in the first sight itself.
But after their death in the absence of a male heir the factories and accounts were reverted back to the nearest male member, her blasted cousin. Only just a stroke of luck had prevented her home and the surrounding land that came with it from getting snatched from her hands because when the house was bought, in a moment of pure chance her mother had thought it would be nice to start a new tradition. The tradition to pass on the house to her daughter and then to her daughter and so on.
So when everything was done and divided Hermione's cousin had agreed to pay her some upkeep money every month as if he was doing them a great service. And when she had asked for her dowry that her father must have set aside, he said there was none. The legal counsellor had verified it too. Her cousin had patted her shoulder and said her father had gambled away all their savings along with her dowry. And she hadn't questioned further what with her parents being gone and with everything falling around her like ruins, getting married was the last thing in her mind.
Later Hermione had known about the impending debt when the Duke's men had come to collect the monthly instalment. In a fit of alarm, she had run to her cousin for help. But he had sent her back, saying he was already struggling with the factories as it is and he had no more to give. Anyway, it was her father's mess and that too taken against a home that was hers, not his.
The months rolled into years and the money her cousin sent had become so paltry and on top that the monthly dues she made against the debt, Hermione had to take up a dozen other works just to keep them fed, clothed and warm. Until… until now. By next month even the time for paying back the debt would be up and she would lose the one thing she had left of her mother, their house.
"Don't you think I haven't tried? Because I did, Martha, I did. I had knocked the door of every counsellor that I could find but they all said the same thing that my being a female doesn't entitle me anything unless father had mentioned so. If-if father had just changed the will and clearly mentioned my part in it then we wouldn't have had to see this day if he hadn't just gambled away all our savings," Hermione ground out.
Martha straightened her spine and seethed. "Well, then we will just have to work hard. I could take up some more sewing and John could look for some more work. We will be fine, Hermione. We will be. We have made it so far and we can make it further."
Even Hermione could feel the bleakness in Martha's voice despite her futile attempt to mask it. John's face looked it was carved from stone. And Hermione knew how pointless their attempts were going to be. She was a woman and no one would give her a well-paying respectable job. Martha couldn't do any more sewing, already her eyesight was getting worse. Many times she had caught Martha squinting while stitching a hem. And John, he could barely go through the day.
They were getting old.
"Even if we work till our hands bled it wouldn't be enough to keep us afloat and by next month the stipulated time to pay father's debt ends. Our home would be gone too. Unless-"
And then she thought of the Duke's proposal, or rather the proposition. Something just broke inside her in that moment. Shattered. Crushed. Tired. Her limbs felt like lead and she couldn't just take it anymore. She felt like she was drowning with her legs shackled in iron that dragged her deep and no way to break free to the surface.
"He asked to marry me," she said softly.
"Who? Your cousin?" John asked with surprise.
"What? No. No, the Duke asked me to marry him."
Everyone turned silent even Crookskanks stopped his heavy purring.
"The Duke of Wiltshire?" Martha asked.
"Yes."
"OH! Why didn't you say so? Oh, my! But this is marvellous. A duke! A duke! Your mother would have been so proud. She always wanted great things for you? What happened? How did he propose? Well, why wouldn't he? You, my girl, are so, so beautiful. I have heard he is quite a handsome man. Is he going to court you?" Martha babbled in happiness.
"Martha. Stop talking!" John admonished Martha who was glowing like she had seen Jesus. "It's not that is it, Hermione? These aristocrats, they aren't made to fall in love. Every relation, every commitment they make they think of the profit they could gain from it? So what does he want?" John asked Hermione.
And Hermione spilled everything. About how the late duke had put a condition that if the now duke didn't marry within the next thirty days then he would lose his inheritance. About the deal that if she married him within the next thirty days then he would forgive father's debt. About how she could save her home.
"So you see, if the marriage happens then it will just be a marriage of convenience," Hermione said.
"But-but you always wanted a marriage filled with love and respect just like your parents had," Martha whispered.
"And look what it got them! They loved each so much that the other died while another did. They didn't even think what it would…. No, no this is better. At least I know what I will be getting into," Hermione said aggressively.
"I do not like the stubborn glint in your eyes, Hermione," John said.
"But this is the only way. This way we will have our home back and The Duke has said something about generous pin-money. That way you both won't have to work anymore, with the extra money we can acquire new help and you both rest and can oversee the repair of the villa."
"You don't have to think about us, child. We will be fine. But will you?" Martha said.
"Of course, I will be. I will be living in a manor, as a Duchess being waited on hands and foot. I will get to wear beautiful gowns again and attend balls. And I will have my home back. What more can I need? No, don't argue both of you, I think I have made up my mind." Hermione said decisively.
"Do you have to give the Duke an immediate answer?" John questioned.
Hermione shook her head. "No. No, he had given me three days to think about it."
"Then I suggest you do that. And for once don't take into account about us or the house. Just- just think with your heart, little girl. Okay?" John said with worry lining his eyes.
Hermione agreed but just to ease their minds. Because deep in her heart she knew that she had already decided.
Three more days.
.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'
On the third day, Hermione woke up slowly. The sky beyond her window was still dark but streaked with splashes of oranges and reds. The dawn wasn't far. It took her a minute to wipe the sleep from her eyes and to remember the implication of the day. It was the day, the Duke was supposed to arrive to know about her decision.
For the last two days, the whole Granger household had looked like a chicken coop, everyone was running everywhere. Hermione and Martha had cleaned or tried to clean as much as they could. For once the living room gleamed. The cushions were dusted, the cobwebs cleaned off, fresh flowers started appearing on table tops, and the curtains were replaced with cleaner ones.
John had oiled the hinges of the front door so it didn't make a sound while opening. Though it had cost an arm but they had bought earl grey tea bags. The front gate didn't screech anymore and the gardens didn't look half bad.
Molly had cleaned and pressed her good dress that she wore on Christmas while John had walked around a bit straighter and with a little less limp, just like a butler should.
And Hermione, she did everything she could so that her mind didn't wander away to that forbidden place. A place where she was in constant torment, if she was doing the right thing.
With a burst of energy, Martha entered the chamber.
"Oh, good! You are up. Freshen up, dear girl. We never know when the duke might arrive. Oh, a Duke!" Martha cooed.
And before she could say anything Martha dragged her for a bath. An hour later with her hair piled up in an artful manner, a couple of pinches to bring colour to her cheeks, and her body dressed in a relatively good gown that Martha had scrounged from somewhere in the attic she waited for the duke.
She waited while she absent-mindedly stirred her porridge till it resembled a congealed mass of inedibility.
She waited while she took an aimless stroll in the garden to calm her restless self.
She waited while barely eating her lunch which by the way tasted like sawdust.
She waited while Martha looked everywhere but at her with saddened eyes.
She waited while John passed in front of the front door for what seemed like the hundredth time.
She waited while she took her tea as the sun bid goodbye from the horizon.
She waited while she informed Martha to forgo dinner as she wasn't hungry anymore.
By the time midnight rolled in and the grandfather clock in the foyer of her main hall struck twelve times, her tears had stopped soaking the pillow.
Hermione wasn't waiting anymore.
