Page 12 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)
Chapter Six
F our days passed, and Hermia still had not spoken to her mother or father, unable to endure their false niceties now that they knew she was marrying a duke.
As if one marriage proposal had restored their faith in her. As if the Duke’s proposal meant that she couldn’t have been as ruined as they thought she was. As if it meant they could see her as a person again.
It sickened her.
She bit her tongue whenever she was around them, counting the days before the Duke of Branmere would whisk her away from them, yet would let her keep her sisters.
Hermia felt as though she had blinked and she was standing outside the church, peering inside, where she had already spotted the small congregation.
It wasn’t anything like she had ever envisioned for her wedding day, but that was a dream she had given up on a long time ago.
Still, the very friends who had taken her to that fateful party that night sat in the drawing room along with her parents, her sisters, as well as a man with short blonde hair that she vaguely recognized from her debut.
Scattered among them were some servants, whose sole purpose was to populate the ceremony.
Her father stood by the door to the drawing room, ready for her. His smile irked her to no end.
“I always knew my eldest daughter would make me proud in the end,” he declared brightly, as if he had not spat utter venom at her for days.
As if he had not threatened and planned to banish her from their lives in the cruelest way.
“Of course, Father,” Hermia said tightly. “I told you how everything was a misunderstanding.”
“Indeed!” he answered, all cheer, which made her resentment burn hotter. “Now, shall we get you married?”
And despite everything, Hermia heard, “Now, shall we wash our hands of you for good?”
The ceremony passed in a blur of voices, with both Hermia and the Duke swearing themselves to one another. Yet there was no love, no glances between them that hinted at the night they’d given themselves to one another.
They simply went through the motions.
Hermia gave a hesitant smile to Josephine and William. She had barely gotten to tell them the full scope of what had happened between her and the Duke, but she would. She would make the time to do so.
Once she turned to the small congregation as the Duchess of Branmere—a title she didn’t feel deserving of—the ceremony came to a close.
“Let us go to my carriage,” the Duke told her. “I don’t have the patience for these gatherings.”
Hermia nodded, not truly wanting to endure more of her parents’ faux well-wishes, but she did want to linger a little longer with her sisters.
Once outside, she faced the only people she wished to bid goodbye to.
Josephine and William stepped forward first, Josephine’s eyes narrowed in caution as she embraced her.
“I feel as though I have missed you for an eternity,” she sighed. “And now you are going farther away.”
“Branmere Hall is not so far,” Hermia assured her.
But they had already suffered enough distance between them.
Even with Josephine being married and spending a lot of time in Redham Hall, her countryside residence, they had barely found time to visit one another.
“Regardless of the distance, I cannot congratulate you enough. William and I both.”
William stepped up to his wife’s side. “Congratulations, Hermia. You will make a fine duchess.”
“I could not agree more.” Josephine turned her attention to the Duke. “However, should His Grace ever harm my friend, then I do believe he will find himself in trouble with the Earl and Countess of Redham.”
Hermia blushed when she noticed her husband narrowing his eyes.
Heavens, that was a strange thought to have as she looked at the stranger, her Ares, the man who had shown her utter bliss for one glorious night.
“I can assure you that no harm will come to Her Grace,” the Duke promised, all business-like, formal. He caught her eyes for a brief moment before returning to William, nodding once. “All will remain well between our lands, I assume?”
“Of course,” William promised. “Do not take heed of my wife’s words. You will never come under threat with us.”
“I know,” the Duke said simply.
He gave a nod to Josephine, a second silent reassurance. Then, he turned to Hermia and offered his hand. It wasn’t in any way a romantic gesture, but more of an impatient one to corral her to the carriage.
Suddenly, a voice spoke up, shattering the moment.
“Excuse me. I hope you were not leaving without setting up an official introduction to your wife, Charles.”
Both Hermia and the Duke whirled around, but it was Hermia who first spotted the blonde man from the ceremony earlier. He pushed his way through her sisters, who patiently waited their turn.
She was already trying to avoid looking at her parents, but this man’s arrival certainly helped.
“Duchess,” the Duke said, “this is Levi, the Marquess of Trewford.”
“And…?” Lord Trewford prompted.
“And that is all.”
Lord Trewford sighed. “And I am the Duke’s closest friend. He always fails to mention such a thing, but here we are. Regardless, Your Grace, you are most beautiful. In fact, you are more beautiful in real life than… Well. ”
He grinned, all roguish charm, and Hermia’s face heated.
“ Levi ,” the Duke snapped.
Lord Trewford laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “My apologies, Your Grace. I forgot it was forbidden to speak of such things.”
“It is not,” Hermia assured him quickly.
“But thank you. It is quite all right. I am flattered, in fact.” Her attention strayed to the glare the Duke was giving him, his lips pressed together into a thin line.
“You must come and join us for dinner sometime at Branmere Hall. I would like to get better acquainted with everybody.”
It has been a lonely year, and I miss my life. I miss socializing.
“I would be delighted.” Lord Trewford nodded solemnly before taking her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
Hermia smiled before he stepped aside, joining Josephine and William.
Finally, her sisters stepped forward.
Her throat closed up at the thought of leaving them. It was no exile to France, but the fact remained that she would still not be able to cross the hallway and find out if Alicia was writing yet another essay on Mary Astell, or if Sibyl was fantasizing about her debut.
She would not knock on Isabella’s door to know if her sister was twirling around in her next ball gown, already writing a list of the traits she wanted her future husband to have.
And Heavens, it all broke her heart such that she almost let her bravado. The deep crack in her heart grew and grew, until she had to stop herself from tearing up as Sibyl threw her arms around her.
Hermia looked skyward.
Dear God, how could she leave them? She had practically raised them, focused on their upbringing as opposed to her own. She had put them first, had doted on them, and now she was leaving them behind.
“Sister,” Sibyl whispered, “you will take care of yourself, won’t you? You have waited for this day for a long time.”
“Do not be silly,” Hermia said, forcing strength into her voice. “This day is just like any other.”
“Oh, but Hermia, we both know it is not. You had put aside your dream for years, and now it’s here before you. You deserve it.”
“Do not make her cry in front of her husband,” Alicia interjected. “Heavens forbid he will think he has to save a weeping maiden.”
Her youngest, pragmatic sister stepped forward as Sibyl released her.
Alicia tried to laugh off her comment, but Hermia saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.
“Heavens forbid, indeed.” She laughed.
But Alicia rushed into her arms, hugging her tightly.
Once again, that crack deepened in her heart.
What will I do without any of them ?
“Be safe,” Alicia told her firmly, pulling back. “I will not receive any reports of my eldest sister being in trouble or being harmed by her husband?—”
“Alicia,” Hermia cut in, worried that the Duke would hear. “I will be perfectly cared for.”
“Do not give up your independence, Hermia,” Alicia whispered fiercely, gripping her hands tightly.
Hermia nodded.
Her sister finally stepped away, leaving her to face Isabella, who nodded at her.
“Good luck, Hermia,” Isabella said. “I wish you all the best.”
“Thank you, Isabella,” Hermia answered, all polite. But then she rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, do come here.”
Isabella did not even hesitate to fall into her arms.
“You are beautiful,” Hermia told her quietly. “Do not let any man make you feel inferior, do you hear me? They will all be lucky to take you as their wife, but save your heart. Save it for a man who will truly see it. Every inch of it.”
Isabella squeezed her tightly, as much acknowledgment as she would give for Hermia acknowledging her insecurities.
Once she moved back, Hermia gave them one last, long look, still fighting back tears.
Finally, her parents approached, and she knew she could not avoid them any longer. She met their gazes.
All cheer had faded from her father’s face; he only watched her carefully.
She was no longer their problem. That was painfully evident.
“Do take care of my sisters,” she said. “I would love it if they could write to me. Please see that it happens. By the order of the Duke of Branmere.”
“Oh, Hermia.” Her father laughed, the sound hard and sharp. “We do not need you to request such a thing. Have a good life.”
He sketched a bow that said nothing of how close they had been when she was younger.
He treated her as a stranger now, and she had to accept such heartache.
Her mother gave her a hug that was too loose and reluctant, a mere guise for her to whisper, “Be a good wife, Hermia. Do not embarrass us again. Ensure that His Grace will never want for anything. Take care of him.”
Hermia stiffened, only to feel a brush on her elbow. The touch wasn’t familiar, not yet, but it eased the tension in her nonetheless.
“It is time to go, Duchess.” The Duke’s voice and touch on her elbow freed her from her parents, finally.
Hermia waited for the grief to well up inside her, but she found there was nothing left for them. She had long resigned herself to not expecting too much from them.
“You are right,” she agreed, fixing them with a hard look as she moved away from them and took her spot at her husband’s side.
The Duke bowed to her parents. “Farewell, Lord and Lady Wickleby. I am certain you know where to call on your daughter, should you need her for anything.”
The implication was clear—they would not call on her, but the Duke would not be blamed for the absence and distance that would no doubt grow.
With one last mournful look at her sisters, Hermia climbed into the carriage and waved at her friends one last time.