Page 23 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Chapter Sixteen

T he Wicklebys had returned to their London townhouse, and it was, naturally, the first place Hermia planned to visit.

Approaching the large black door, along with the flowers that climbed towards her old street-facing bedroom window, made dread curl in her gut. She did not want to forgo seeing her sisters, but the thought of seeing her parents made her jaw clench.

I have been an exemplary duchess . I have proven their expectations wrong. I did all I could, and if I am still not good enough, then there is nothing more I can do, and I will not waste my efforts or breath.

Steeling herself, she entered her former home.

Everything was the same, yet so much about her and her life had changed. Still, her eyes flicked up to where her old bedroom was. The bedroom she had snuck back into the night she had gone to Anton Bentley’s party.

“Sister!”

Before she could think about how far she had come from that night, she looked up to see Sibyl flying down the grand staircase towards her.

Arms reached for her, and Hermia caught her sister in an embrace easily, laughing softly.

“Heavens, it has been too long,” she murmured.

Sibyl hugged her back harder. “Only a month,” she said. But they both knew a month was an eternity when they had once spent every day together. “I have missed you.”

“I have missed you, too.”

Hermia gave her another tight squeeze before Sibyl pulled back, her brown eyes—so like Isabella’s and their father’s—bright.

“You must tell me about your new life with His Grace! I cannot believe he swept into Wickleby Hall and saved you the way he did! Oh, it is terribly romantic, Hermia. Does he read you poetry by candlelight while holding hands? Does he tell you he loves you daily? Do you?—”

“Heavens, Sibyl. Do let our sister breathe.” The new voice came not from the staircase, but from the parlor.

Isabella strode towards them, her face as stoic and as beautiful as ever. “Although I admit I am intrigued to know about the state of your marriage.”

Hermia sighed. “I have missed you, too, Isabella.”

Isabella waved her off as if she had no time for such sentiments. “Do tell us!”

“Oh, do not ,” Alicia groaned, coming down the opposite staircase.

It amused Hermia to think that she really had been the glue to keep them together, the string upon which they all could connect. Usually, they would be together in one room or another, always a duo or trio, if not a quartet.

Without Hermia, it seemed, at least at that moment, that they had all been as far from one another as possible. It amused her, for she knew it was not a disinterest in one another, but simply how much their personalities clashed.

“Hermia,” Alicia continued, ever formal and removed from too much emotion without being uncaring. “Or should I address you as Your Grace now?” She grinned teasingly. “Perhaps I should. It shows your power.”

“You may simply call me as you have always done,” Hermia offered. “Which, at some point, was a nuisance in your life.”

Alicia laughed and hugged her.

Surrounded by her sisters, Hermia felt the hole that loneliness had dug into her heart fill a little more.

“I think we ought to give the Duchess of Branmere some space.”

The stern voice that filled the foyer had Hermia springing away from her sisters. Even with her new status and confidence, she was not as steel-spined as she wished to be. Her eyes lifted to her parents, who had just emerged from the parlor.

No doubt they are finally realizing they have to do something for my sisters, with me gone . Now, Isabella is their hope, their toy to make the ton’s favorite.

“Mother,” Hermia greeted, lifting her chin. “Father.”

Her mother’s smile was a cunning thing. “Do report to us on your new life, Hermia. I imagine His Grace has been enduring quite a… bit with you. Is there a sign of an heir? I trust you are doing your duty to continue his bloodline. The young girl is too outspoken, if not intolerable, but she can hardly be his heir now. You must not fail His Grace, of course.”

“Heavens, Mama,” Alicia groaned. “Hermia has just walked in through the door!”

“Hush,” their mother snapped, her eyes not leaving Hermia. “Well?”

Is there a sign of an heir ?

Hermia’s tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth. Her chest still burned with Charles’s rejection on their wedding night.

“I thought I made myself clear: you are my wife in name only.”

Before she could find the words to answer, Isabella grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the door.

“I just recalled that Lord Francis mentioned riding through Hyde Park this afternoon! Mama, I am certain you would not want me to miss an opportunity to greet him.” She turned to Hermia, her eyes flashing with understanding.

“Do come with me, Sister! In fact, the four of us should go. Let us go, now .”

Hermia did not have the chance to feel relief and deep gratitude, or to even assess her parents’ reaction, before they were herded towards the door, gathering bonnets and cloaks, calling for a lady’s maid even though hers was ready to go.

Hyde Park was mercifully emptier that day. By no means did that mean it was ever truly empty, for the pathways were almost always packed, but at least the usual crush was absent that day. This way, she did not have to endure as many not-so-discreet stares.

Her sisters chattered enough that it distracted her from constantly wondering who had passed by and seen the painting.

But Alicia looked at her keenly, understanding flickering in her ever-watchful eyes.

“People have all but forgotten, you know,” she assured her.

“About the painting. It has been a month, and it has been dubbed an engagement present that was revealed before it was ready. A private matter made public. Which I do believe it was, anyway.”

Hermia blinked, surprised. “People believe that?”

Isabella’s grin was sly. “People will believe anything as long as it is spun prettily. Words are powerful, dear sister.”

“Ah, yes, Isabella, you are the mistress of the written word, there to charm every suitor with your wit.” Alicia rolled her eyes.

However, Hermia sympathized with her sister, for she knew the chess game that debutante balls were. Alicia would understand one day.

Both of her sisters would be like queens on the board in very different ways. Both forces to be reckoned with.

“Either way,” Isabella muttered, ignoring Alicia, “Lord Francis is a real suitor, and he and I are looking positive for a courtship any day now! Mama is rather happy with the prospect, which is how I knew she would not object to us crossing paths with him.”

“You must tell me about him some time,” Hermia said, knowing that Isabella would dominate their catch-up now if given the chance to speak about a man. “Sibyl, how about you? You must update me, too.”

If any of them noticed how she delicately avoided their questions about her life, they did not comment on it.

“Oh!” Sibyl squeaked. “I have been reading this absolutely riveting novel! It is about an undersea maiden who has lost her ability to see through a terrible happenstance. Such a curse is ever so dangerous below the waters, of course, but it can be lifted by true love. However, she must hunt down three precious artifacts that, together, will bind her back to her sight! Once that happens, the reward is undoubtedly going to be her hand in marriage.”

She let out a wistful sigh, while Alicia groaned in disgust.

“What?” Sibyl scoffed. “It is beautiful.”

“Yes, and you will be sorely disappointed to find out that real life is very different, Sibyl. In this world, no man will hunt down precious items. He will not even hunt down the depths of your desires, or what interests you have. All he will care about is himself.”

“My, my, you are a pessimist,” Sibyl muttered. “I do not comment on your hobbies, Alicia, so do not comment on mine.”

The two of them scowled at one another, but it was all good-natured.

Four girls were bound to clash, and they had several times over the years, but their girlhood had still bound them. The looming threat of the ton had bound them in earlier years, and now Hermia could see that navigating the ton would only cement that.

“I do not care for romance or gossip or Lord Francis,” Alicia sighed as they rounded a bend in the path, passing through the long shadows of a weeping willow to their right.

On the ground, some apples had fallen, and Hermia thought of Phoebe.

“I care to know how His Grace has been treating you, Hermia,” Alicia continued. “I want to hear facts . True things, not whimsical fairytales that have no place in reality. One must be braced for anything, not just romance.”

Hermia bit back a retort. Once, she would have sided with Sibyl, but the years had made her somewhat jaded. Still, her hope had remained like an ember in an extinguished fire: not quite enough to stir a fire again, but not quite gone, either.

“It has been well,” she answered, her eyes sweeping their surroundings. “How are your lessons?—”

“Oh, do not even mention those.” A weary groan escaped her sister’s lips. “He is as infuriating as ever, and with you gone, I think Mr. Maudley believes he can get away with being so much more?—”

“Bastardly?” Sibyl cut in, making them all halt.

“Sibyl,” Isabella admonished gently. “Do not repeat Alicia’s words.”

“Who is to say that is my word?” Alicia cried.

“Because you are the only one of us brave enough to use it in regard to a tutor,” Hermia pointed out, stifling a giggle.

Ah, I have missed this so much.

Alicia sniggered, nodding. “That is true. Well done, Sibyl. You are taking after me.”

“I am older than you,” Sibyl pointed out, but Alicia merely dismissed her as if it did not matter. “But Hermia, you did not answer all my questions about your marriage.”

At that, Alicia fixed Hermia with a searching look.

Hermia immediately looked away, as if noticing and choosing to say nothing.

It was strange. Usually, Alicia or Isabella would push for answers. While Isabella liked gossip, Alicia merely wanted to consider all sides of an argument or a situation.

Now, Isabella looked mildly curious, as if she wanted to tone down her interest, while Sibyl’s eyes were wide with intrigue.

“My marriage is like any other,” Hermia allowed. “Content.”

“That is all? Your Duke simply makes you content ?”

He makes me far less and far more at the same time.

“Content is good,” Isabella said, catching her eye. The two of them hadn’t always agreed, but somehow Hermia knew her sister understood. “Content is far better than other things.”

And yet, content was a far cry from how Charles truly made her feel. Hermia simply was unable to put it into words.

Josephine’s words from two days ago echoed in her mind.

“He wants you too much and does not know how to express it. From where I am sitting, it looks as though you want something more from your convenient husband.”

The thought was so ludicrous that Hermia pushed it out of her mind.

Perhaps beneath the blanket of red wine and a secret party where they could be Aphrodite and Ares, he had wanted her. But he wanted that version of her, not this one.