Page 24 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Chapter Seventeen

“ P hoebe, we have scarcely been back a full day, and you are already causing trouble.”

Hermia froze as soon as she stepped into Branmere Manor. Immediately, her heart sped up.

What has happened now ?

She hurried to where the voices came from—Phoebe’s playroom.

“Truly, you are testing my patience with this nonsense.” Charles’s voice was clipped.

Hermia quickened her steps when she heard the stomp of a foot.

“Well, Hermia would not yell at me!” Phoebe shouted.

“I am not yelling,” Charles gritted out, sounding as though his patience was wearing thin. “I am not yelling, Phoebe. I am trying to make you understand that you cannot keep doing this. This was an heirloom, not a ball.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Phoebe cried. “You keep so many things hidden! How do I know what I can and cannot play with?”

“Do not get wise with me,” Charles hissed, right as Hermia burst into the room, but he was too busy scolding his daughter to notice her. “You know full well what you can and cannot play with because it is all here ?—”

“Charles.”

The sound of his name on her lips made his spine stiffen.

He spun around to face her.

“This is all your fault,” he accused. “You have been too kind with her, and now she likely believes she can do as she pleases without consequences.”

“She is a little girl,” Hermia reasoned, softening her voice, not giving in to the urge to snap at him.

She had heard her parents fight enough times to know that nothing stopped an argument quicker than refusing to argue back.

“She is old enough to know better,” Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The painting, running away from her bath, touching heirlooms…”

“Papa, I am doing better!” Phoebe insisted.

“Then why have you done this today? Did you not get enough a?—”

Hermia gasped, cutting him off. “I am certain Phoebe did not mean to. Perhaps the heirloom looked like a ball.”

“It was a vase.” Charles exhaled deeply through his nose.

“It was a vase, Hermia, and Phoebe picked it up, yelled catch at a footman, only to run off laughing after she threw it.” He shook his head viciously.

“My patience has worn thin, Phoebe. That was not a mistake; that was a foolish game you know you should not play.”

“Papa,” Phoebe insisted, as if still protesting her innocence, her face red.

Hermia went to her and pulled her close. She saw Charles’s expression shutter, a muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Papa, I did not mean it badly. I was bored , and you have been working since we arrived!”

“That is not an excuse,” he snapped. “If you want to play with the heirlooms, so be it. If what you have at your disposal here is not enough, then there is no harm in my taking it all away. You can say goodbye to your doll house and your trinkets. The actual ball you have is clearly no fun anymore, so?—”

“Charles, do not do that to her,” Hermia admonished, shocked that he would confiscate the girl’s belongings.

But he only shook his head and clicked his fingers, summoning a steward.

“Have some toys cleared from this room,” he ordered coldly. “It seems Lady Phoebe is not satisfied enough by what she has.”

“Papa!” Phoebe cried out.

Charles glared at Hermia, then at Phoebe, even if he softened for a moment, as if realizing what he had started.

But it was too late, and his apology did not come quickly enough. Phoebe pushed away from Hermia, barreled right into him, shouldering him purposefully, and ran out of the room crying.

Hermia shot him a disgusted look and shook her head as she followed the wailing girl all the way to her room.

“Leave me alone,” Phoebe sobbed. “I do not want to see him or be taken back to him.”

“That is not why I am here,” Hermia told her gently, nodding to her governess to vacate the room.

Left alone, she closed the door behind her and walked over to the bed, where Phoebe had curled up atop the sheets, sobbing into her pillow.

Hermia dared to place a hand on her shoulder. “Here, lift your head for me?”

“No,” Phoebe whimpered.

“Please? It would be a shame not to see your pretty little face while I speak to you.”

“I do not care.”

“Phoebe.” Hermia said her name gently. A murmur, rather than a hiss or an exasperated sigh.

She had heard too much of that already, and while she knew that what the girl had done was wrong, she needed to be softer in her approach.

“Ah, you may cry into your pillow and hide your face, but I thought strong ladies faced others when spoken to, and I am ever in need of a strong lady. I noticed that the apple orchard in the garden requires some tending. I was going to meet with the gardeners and put them to work.”

That got Phoebe’s attention.

She sniffled as she slowly looked up. “Apple orchard?”

“Indeed, and I am certain good girls get an apple to snack on for helping me with the task.”

“I… I can be good.”

The confession came in such a timid whisper that Hermia ached for the girl. She said it so uncertainly, as if not quite believing it but wanting to.

Slowly, Phoebe lifted her head and brushed back the hair stuck to her tear-soaked face.

She sniffled again. “Papa is mean .”

“Your papa is… he is a tough man,” Hermia admitted. “He carries a great weight and responsibility. While I do not know the value or importance of the heirloom you played with, you do know it was rather naughty, do you not? And you knew it was not a toy?”

Phoebe nodded bashfully. “It is just that—just that he is so busy! I wanted him to take me out for a slice of apple cake, or whatever it is called, and he kept telling me he was busy. Busy, busy, busy, that is all Papa ever is.”

“I know,” Hermia said quietly. “I know, and I understand it hurts. My papa was always busy, too, but do you know what I did? I kept my composure to impress my papa when he was finally not busy, so he would know that, while he was not there, I was still being a good daughter. I wanted to show him a good example of my behavior.”

“Yes, but Papa is never not busy.”

Hermia took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“The men of our world often, so we could have good lives and toys, and pretty dresses. But he will only get busier if you damage things you are not supposed to touch. If you wish to play with a ball, you may wait for me. I might be visiting friends or my family, but I will always return.”

Phoebe slowly blinked red-rimmed eyes at her. “Do you promise?”

“I promise. And… here, let me tell you a fun secret.” Hermia leaned in as if it was a great thing, coaxing her to do the same.

“Soon enough, you will grow so much older that you will no longer wait for me to play with a ball. So now is our chance to do such things, instead of spending the afternoon shouting at your papa. Yes?”

“Yes,” Phoebe mumbled, nodding.

A beat passed.

Hermia wondered if she ought to say something else, but the little girl beat her to it by asking, “Can we go to the apple orchard now?”

And so Hermia took her along with her.

She found that she had done this quite a few times. Phoebe had accompanied her on visits to the kitchen to arrange dinner on a few nights, had instructed the stewards with her, and now this.

Perhaps I am teaching her more than I realize , Hermia mused as they discussed the tending of the orchard.

At some point, she could swear that she was being watched, and she let her gaze drift to one of the upper-floor windows.

A tall figure stood there, observing, but quickly moved out of sight as soon as she looked.