Page 15 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Chapter Nine

H ermia took her seat at the dining table that night. She had arrived last in the hope of finding the Duke there. And indeed, he was there, right at the head of the table.

His eyes caught hers as she sat down. She suppressed a smile when she saw Phoebe sitting to his right. His fist was resting on the table on the opposite side, as if he were holding all the tension there, as if he did not know what to do.

Hermia guessed that the dining hall had been rather silent before her arrival.

Her husband assessed the table, nodding at the dishes that had already been laid out.

“This is an admirable spread,” he remarked, not quite looking at her. “Very well put-together, Duchess. Lady Phoebe, you should thank your m—you should thank the Duchess for organizing this.”

Hermia bit her lip at the slip-up but did not comment on it.

“Thank you, Hermia!” Phoebe said happily, grinning at her.

But her face quickly fell when she caught the Duke frowning, likely because she had dropped the honorifics.

I wonder if he is jealous that we have already crossed that boundary, whereas he and I have not. Aside from the aliases that night a year ago.

“Papa, what do you want to eat first? I think you should follow my lead! I am going to start with the slices of meat!”

“Venison?” the Duke asked Hermia quietly, and she nodded. “Excellent choice.”

“It is your favorite, I do believe,” she said, and was rewarded with a curt nod. “And the wine is a fine, rich red. I requested one of your favorites, but not your utmost finest. I hope that is all right. I assumed you would leave that sort of wine for a bigger celebration.”

His eyes cut to hers again. “Indeed. Although… this would have been quite apt, I suppose.”

Hermia didn’t know, or care, if it was a slight. She simply smiled to herself, happy with her decision. If anything, she was more buoyed by the sight of Phoebe digging into her food, happily devouring her favorite meals.

“How are you… settling in?” the Duke asked as he loaded up his plate, his eyes on her.

Hermia swallowed back a smile, realizing he had listened to her in the end. He may have rejected and put her in her place, but he had listened.

“Very well, I believe,” she replied. “I was telling Phoebe’s governess about how I embroidered a map of Wickleby Hall when Alicia—that is my youngest sister—grew aware of her surroundings. She used to get terribly confused, so I did that for her.”

“I did not know you embroidered,” he said.

She laughed. “Most ladies do. In fact, I do not know a lady who does not.”

“I do not!” Phoebe interjected. “Will you teach me, Hermia?”

“Of course.” Hermia smiled. “Anything you wish to learn, I will teach you.”

“I want to be a proper lady, like you.”

Hermia was reminded of how bitterly Isabella had called her ‘the proper daughter’ and shivered.

“I shall teach you all the ways to be so. In fact, I will make you into the most proper lady there is, such that you will steal the hearts of all your suitors, and you will be spoiled for choice.”

“Not for many years,” the Duke muttered.

Hermia hid a snigger behind her hand.

“Although, do not tell your papa I said that,” she whispered loudly to the little girl. “We do not want him to be inundated with suitors. Heavens, when will such a busy man find time to assess all the young lords who shall one day want to claim your heart?”

She stole a glance at her husband, only to find him smirking. It was small, but it was visible, and it reminded her of that night at Anton Bentley’s party, when he had not been cold.

If anything, he had been warm—too warm, in fact—and had melted her right into his palm, bending her to his whim.

“You still did not tell me how you met my papa! I really, really want to know. And Papa, what did your painting look like? How did it look like Hermia if you did not know her?”

“Phoebe,” the Duke warned, his smirk dropping instantly. “That is enough questioning.”

“No,” Hermia interjected. “She is fine. I understand her curiosity.”

She slowly cut through her meat and took a bite to buy herself some time. She seemed to do a fair amount of that here.

“I do want to know about the painting,” Phoebe sighed. “I am ever so curious, and Papa, I have seen some of your other paintings! Why not this one?”

The Duke tensed at the comment.

Hermia’s curiosity was piqued.

What other paintings ?

She had assumed he painted her for pleasure, but this sounded more established. As if making paintings was a common occurrence. But his eyes remained fixed on the table, even though he had not lifted his knife and fork for some moments.

Hermia’s gaze swept along his black tailcoat and equally black shirt and waistcoat. His cravat was stone gray, a dark shade.

He looked macabre. Handsome. A god of shadows, perhaps, come to wrap her up in his mysterious darkness as he had that night?—

Oh, do not be so foolish, Hermia.

His eyes flicked to hers as if he sensed her thoughts. She averted her gaze for a minute to steady her breath.

Those eyes of his…

It was as though they held entire constellations, ever so bright, even in anger. His stoic expressions were sometimes betrayed by those beautiful eyes.

She recalled how they looked, softened in pleasure yet intense.

“Do not look away,” he had told her that night, tilting her chin up. “Keep your eyes on mine.”

And Heavens, she had, even as her lashes fluttered, desperate to close in the throes of pleasure.

Heat crept up her neck, and she chased it down with wine. “I, too, would like to see the painting, actually. I have not seen it, but it appears everybody else in the ton has.”

“Except for me,” Phoebe butted in.

“Neither of you will see it,” the Duke snapped, before softening his voice. “Especially not you, Phoebe. It is not for your eyes at all.”

At that, his daughter looked most upset but said nothing.

“It should be for my eyes,” Hermia insisted. “If I am the subject, then I have a right to see it.”

“You were the subject for a mere, fleeting moment, Duchess,” the Duke replied, his voice clipped. “After that, I simply took inspiration from wherever it struck.”

“Oh, forgive me,” she said coolly. “I hadn’t realized I was so easily replaced by a passing whim.”

He exhaled harshly through his nose. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Am I?” Her eyes flashed. “You paint a scandal, hang it up for the world to gawk at, and somehow I’m not entitled to the smallest sliver of honesty?”

“It was never meant for public display,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And yet it is! Proudly displayed, in fact, making everyone whisper about your mysterious muse. A mystery I’m not even allowed to solve.”

“You are blowing this out of proportion.”

“No,” Hermia bit out, rising from her seat, her voice low and shaking with fury. “What you did was out of proportion. And you can spare me the courtesy of protecting my eyes, Your Grace . You already exposed everything else.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Her gown swept after her like a second insult as she strode out of the room.

Her shoes clicked loudly on the floor as she stalked out, uncaring about the food or the dinner plans she had ruined despite her wanting to bring her new family together.

Barely past the door, she heard footsteps following behind her. Then, a hand wrapped around her elbow, spinning her around.

The Duke stepped closer to her, his eyes flashing with ire. “What do you think you are doing, leaving the dinner table in such a way? Do you not see the example that will be set for Phoebe? You planned this. I was very content to eat while I worked, but you?—”

“You may have been, but your daughter was not!” Hermia shouted, before lowering her voice, almost hissing. “What sort of example are you setting for her? That it is all right to get used to lonely dinners where she doubts you even know her favorite fruit?”

“Of course I know it,” he answered. “It is…”

She saw how he caught himself, how he racked his brain for some old memories, and how he came up blank.

“That does not matter now.”

“Except it does,” she insisted. “Because for Phoebe—for anyone—to be known is to be loved. To have her father recall her favorite things is to know she is noticed. Right now, she does not even think you know enough about her to see her into her debut. Your daughter believes you do not care to get to know her, beyond giving orders.”

“That is utter nonsense, and I am certain Phoebe knows that,” he shot back. “I told you, I do not need to be lectured about my own child.”

“Except maybe you do,” Hermia countered, taking a step forward.

She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye, so tall was he. Her breath caught at how intimidating he was, yet she was not afraid.

Instead, a part of her thought she liked it.

“Maybe you do, because that child has been yearning for her father, and it has taken me entering your lives for you to see it.”

When he only stared down at her, speechless, she said, “I want to see the painting.”

“I already said no.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Hermia prodded.

“You will keep your daughter at arms’ length, you will not speak with me beyond necessity, and you hide the painting from its very subject despite it already being seen by those who have likely forgotten it.

Do you know how that feels? To not even know what they have, or have not, seen of me? ”

“Do you know how it feels,” the Duke drawled, “to want privacy, yet have such a personal thing displayed in front of the ton? Do you not think that my denying you is me holding onto that last shred of privacy? I do not do it to be petty, Duchess. I do it because if I can stop at least one person from having the right to view my work, then I will.”

“So you are punishing your daughter for her prank by ignoring her?”

“I am not ignoring her.”

“You are,” she scoffed. “As you have mostly ignored me since my arrival, unless I have approached you or forced you into conversation.”

The Duke’s jaw tightened as he closed the gap between them. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she was reminded of that sultry look he had given her that night.

What did you see in the candlelight that made you want to paint me? What did you see, and why does it differ from now?

It was a foolish thought, especially when she realized how he was looking at her mouth now.

His hand rose to her face, fingers already curled as if wanting to cup it, when footsteps hurried into the hallway.

Phoebe emerged from the dining hall, her face red and tight.

“Are you arguing because of me?” she demanded. “Because I do not want that! I want Hermia to be happy, Papa. Please don’t argue because of me.”

Hermia gazed at the girl’s stubborn fierceness, her lips parted in surprise, but the Duke only made a quiet, irritated noise in the back of his throat and stepped back. He gave Phoebe a quick glance and a nod, as if to acknowledge her words, before storming off.

“He is always like that,” Phoebe sighed.

Hermia’s heart broke all over again. For her plan had failed.