Page 16 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Chapter Ten

“ I am married to a most stubborn man,” Hermia gritted out as Anna finished dressing her. “It has been two weeks since we wed, and we have not shared another meal since the dinner I organized.”

“His Grace is a man of very strong character,” Anna agreed, her voice soft and quiet, as if she did not want to be overheard saying such things.

Really, Hermia should not put her in such a position, but her sisters had not responded to her letters, and Josephine had been busy with William, for they were trying for a second baby, and the two had been locked in a heat that Josephine described as something to rival even the most brazen wildfires.

All Hermia could bitterly think was that it was most lucky for some.

Thus, her complaints were left for Anna most mornings as she prepared for yet another day.

“Despite this,” Anna continued, “you are adjusting most well as the new Duchess of Branmere, Your Grace. Even Mrs. Nightgale has been singing your praises to the staff. She believes you should host your first event soon. A dinner party, perhaps, or even a ball. It will be monumental.”

Hermia could not let her thoughts stray to the forbidden rooms, or the ignored topic of Phoebe’s mother and how she must have been a fine duchess, too.

“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally, but her smile was directed at the floor.

Her mother’s words on her wedding day echoed in her mind, the reminder to not embarrass them and be an exemplary wife. And here she was, being praised for her efforts as a duchess.

Pride welled up in her chest.

When she was ready, she left her chamber and sought out Phoebe for the walks she had been trying to wrangle her into.

Ever since the dinner that first week, Phoebe’s behavior had lapsed into what Hermia assumed was what everybody else had to endure before her arrival.

She entered the library to find Phoebe throwing a tantrum. She was tugging books off the shelves while Miss Tarnen tried to catch and put them in the neatest pile she could without damaging them.

“I do not care for the books!” Phoebe shouted.

“Lady Phoebe, please come down from the ladder,” Miss Tarnen called.

But the little girl wasn’t listening. “Papa does not care for what he bought for me, so why should I? He does not even recall what book he bought me, and yet… and yet?—”

“ Phoebe !” Hermia cried, more distressed than angry.

Phoebe gasped, her head whipping around. Her face lit up as she scrambled down from the top of the ladder, a fair height above the floor.

Hermia rushed forward, calling for the footmen.

Phoebe shouted in glee as she let herself fall, realizing that people would be there to catch her.

Hermia’s heart was in her throat as the footmen caught the girl’s small body and set her down. As soon as she was back on the floor and Hermia dropped to her knees before her, Phoebe’s eyes went wide.

“Am I in trouble?” she whispered.

Hermia had grown up with at least one mischievous sister, so she knew the signs of a girl about to bolt. Yet she still wasn’t quick enough.

Phoebe shouted out nonsense about fairytales, books, and wanting to enjoy something without it hurting, as she ran out of the library.

Hermia hiked up her skirts and gave chase.

“Phoebe, please slow down,” she called out. “You are most definitely not in trouble.”

But the girl wasn’t listening, hellbent on fleeing in a fit of giggles. “You cannot catch me!”

Oh, Hermia definitely could, for she had given chase to Alicia when she wanted to skip her lessons, refusing to be tutored by a man.

She quickly caught up to Phoebe and scooped her up, forced into an unladylike position to do so. But at least the fidgeting girl was in her grasp.

“Ah, yes, I have,” she said, making sure her voice was gentler and more patient than anything Phoebe must have heard in such moments.

That was the reason the girl had bolted: fear of being rebuked. Even if what she had done was dangerous, Phoebe was understandably aggravated, and she needed to be handled with patience before she was advised to act differently.

“If I put you down, Clever Phoebe , will you run again?”

“Yes!”

“Ah, then I fear I have to carry you out to the woods for our walk. But only babies are carried, are they not? Not big, clever ladies like you wish to be.”

Phoebe paused, confused by the different approach.

“That is the thing,” Hermia continued. “Proper ladies do not act in such ways, no matter how much we wish to. It would be a shame for you to keep up such behavior.”

“I am a proper lady! Put me down!”

“Oh, but you confessed you will run, and ladies do not run.”

“I will not,” Phoebe insisted.

Hermia knew well enough the signs of a child ready to give in, so she slowly lowered her to her feet.

Sure enough, Phoebe did not run. She made a small noise of indignation that sounded amusedly like the Duke’s when he was displeased.

Hermia smiled down at her. “See? Now, how about you and I go to the woods and talk about what made you upset? I am here to listen to you.”

“What about Miss Tarnen?”

“Shall we invite her, too?”

Phoebe nodded, chewing on her lower lip, looking rather ashamed. So Hermia lingered with her for another moment. She held her by the shoulders, not to force her to stay put but to assure her that she did not stand alone.

“Sometimes, we feel too much, and it can spiral in ways like this. Other times, I know you are simply being mischievous, but do not be ashamed today. I hear you, my dear Phoebe. I hear you very clearly.”

Surprisingly, the girl nodded, her lip wobbling, but no tears came. Instead, she walked back to the library, where maids had been ushered in to clear up the Phoebe-shaped hurricane that had passed through it.

Soon, the three of them headed to the woodland that surrounded Branmere Hall.

Suddenly, Hermia felt a prickle at the back of her neck, so she turned to scan the windows.

She saw a figure in the Duke’s study. Yet the moment she squinted, it was gone, and the prickle disappeared.

Another incident happened several days later, and Hermia found herself chasing down Phoebe once more. Except this time, the girl’s antics were full of pure mischief, rather than driven by upset.

Distress was something Hermia had experience with, but she could also handle mischief.

“Lady Phoebe, please get back here!” Miss Tarnen cried out as they hurried down the hallway.

Behind them, maids scurried, too. Up ahead, Phoebe’s dark hair fluttered behind her as she looked back at them, sticking out her tongue.

“You cannot catch me!” she crowed gleefully.

“Lady Phoebe, please ,” Miss Tarnen gasped. “You must take your evening bath!”

“I do not want to!” Phoebe yelled, skipping another few paces ahead.

Her chemise fluttered around her ankles, and Hermia’s stomach twisted with nerves at the thought of other servants seeing her. She wished she could simply get close enough to toss a towel over her and catch her like she had the other day.

But Phoebe ran with purpose now, not out of fear. She ran for the sake of the chase—to be a little menace.

Hermia did not waste breath on trying to call her down. That tactic wouldn’t work, no matter what words she used.

Phoebe ran in the direction of the library and the Duke’s study, and Hermia knew that if she could just push herself a bit harder, she might be able to snag the back of the girl’s chemise.

Her cheeks flushed both from the exertion and worry at how exposed Phoebe was, how improper.

Her blush deepened when Phoebe’s cackle echoed further down the hallway right as she approached the Duke’s study.

The door opened, and so did a pit in Hermia’s stomach. She had wed to protect herself and the Duke, yes, but also to be a mother figure. So far, he had already heard about the library incident, and now this .

He emerged from the study, his face turning a deathly white right as Phoebe barreled into him.

“Papa!” she squealed.

Her pause at the sight of the open door was all Hermia needed to snag her chemise and kept her at a stop before she could think to flee again. It was a harsher method than she would have liked, but she was breathless and needed to stop the little tornado.

Finally, Phoebe skidded to a halt.

“I have this handled, Your Grace,” Hermia panted, not wanting him to lash out at the giggling girl.

The Duke nodded silently, but then retreated into the study to give them space Hermia was secretly glad for.

She turned her focus back to Phoebe, grounding her the way she had the other day: hands on her shoulders, kneeling at her eye level so the girl would not feel threatened.

“I do believe we should start calling you Hurricane Phoebe, seeing all the chaos you are causing,” she teased. “Clever Phoebe would not run around the manor in her undergarments, now, would she?”

Phoebe laughed, nodding. “She would.”

“Ah, but Lady Phoebe would not, then,” Hermia said.

“Do you recall what we spoke about the other day? About you being a proper lady? I would like to teach you, but you might just be the fussiest little student I have ever come across.” She kept a smile on her face, as if they were sharing a secret.

“So, how about this? You allow Miss Tarnen and the maids to bathe you, and I shall come and braid your hair before bed. I will show you how I had it done for me.”

Phoebe looked at her wavy hair. “I very much like your hair, Hermia.”

“Then let us strike a deal, shall we? I can make yours look like mine, but only if you are clean. We cannot go to bed dirty, now, can we? Whatever will the ton think?” Hermia gasped, as if scandalized.

Phoebe gave an enthusiastic hum.

“Whatever will the ton think!” she echoed. “Papa, whatever will the ton think?”

“Indeed,” the Duke said.

Hermia chanced a look up at him as Phoebe was finally herded away by her governess. She rose to her feet, her cheeks now flushing for a different reason.

The Duke’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, with no cravat in sight. No obscene amount of skin showed, but it was the most skin she had seen on a man. Since their night of passion, of course.

“Duchess,” he said quietly.

“Your Grace,” she answered. “If I were to judge your expression, I would say you are quite possibly impressed.”

“Impressed? Nothing impresses me.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Still, the way you handle her… I could not have such patience.”

“It is a learned skill,” she explained. “I confess I am only more patient because I raised my sisters, and I did not want to show the same impatience my mother showed me.”

“I understand, but sometimes a harsher approach is necessary. Phoebe must know she cannot run around her home in her… in her…”

“I know,” Hermia agreed quickly, saving him the embarrassment.

“Which is why I have come up with this game where I teach her how to be more ladylike. It is not a lesson, not officially, but she seems to become excited by the few pointers. Besides, bonding over braiding her hair will help solidify her trust in me.”

“What it will solidify is her certainty that you are nicer than anybody else, and she might take advantage of such kindness.”

“A child deserves patience, no matter how challenging they are.” Her tone wasn’t quite clipped, but she was trying to be firm.

“I ought to?—”

“No.” Hermia shook her head. “You ought not to do anything. With all due respect, I do not think your methods are effective. I consoled her after the library incident in a matter of minutes, and yes, I have chased her again, but things take time. I had her back to her governess in no time. Her learning will take time. She is a child, and children should not learn through orders and anger. They should learn through patience, knowing that if they have not done the right thing, they have another chance to do so. They must know there is room to be upset and feel.”

“Room to… feel,” the Duke echoed quietly.

“Yes. She feels a great deal. As adults, we handle so much that we forget children have the same capacity, though in a very different way. If anything, it could be more frustrating if she cannot express everything she is feeling. Punishment could result in more paintings being unveiled, and I am certain you do not want that.” Her eyes narrowed, her eyebrow arching.

“Unless you have more paintings of me than you have mentioned. In that case, I would like to see them before Phoebe gets her hands on them.”

The Duke said nothing. He turned his head away sharply, and she saw how tightly he clenched his jaw as he stormed off, leaving her in the doorway of his study.

Somehow, the sinking feeling in her stomach still felt like a victory.