Page 28 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)
Chapter Twenty
C harles had been on edge ever since Levi’s visit.
Hermia had scolded him for his behavior towards Phoebe and for not answering questions. She was right; he did hide behind those reasons, and while he cared for them, for Phoebe, he knew he was avoiding speaking of his past.
So he had thrown himself into work.
But right as he strode towards the front doors of the townhouse, his name rang through the hallway. He tensed, turning slowly to find Phoebe bounding towards him, her shoes clicking lightly on the polished floor.
She wore a powder-blue dress with little white shoes that possessed small bows of silk. The weather was bringing out some of her freckles, and her curious eyes were already fixed on Charles. He could already hear the tirade of questions.
Behind her, Hermia approached, her hair styled back elegantly, her dress a dark blue. For a woman who often wore bright colors since becoming his wife, he immediately grew suspicious.
“We are coming with you,” Hermia announced, before he could even ask what on earth they were doing.
“No,” he answered.
“Today is the day you are visiting the cottages, is it not?”
“It is, but?—”
“Then we are coming with you. I know the area—a bit—and Phoebe wishes to know more about what you do. She knows about my duties, but not so much about yours. Besides, you have not spent much time with her lately.”
“Because I have not wanted to fall behind on work,” he said drily.
Already, he could picture the reported leaks getting bigger while Hermia spoke, and the rot spreading through the storerooms.
“And that is why you can do both at the same time.”
“I mustn’t have any distractions.”
“I do not think we will distract you, husband.” Her lips curled, humored by his refusal.
Humored by whatever plan she thought she could insert herself into.
“Not to mention, Phoebe will one day be a mistress of a house. Let her see some of the land and the tasks to be done. It would be an excellent lesson on leadership and problem-solving.”
“Please, Papa! Please, please, please .”
His daughter’s pleas softened him bit by bit, but even if he kept refusing, the two of them had him cornered.
His carriage was ready to go, and the cottages were about a two-hour ride from London. There was little reason to keep refusing.
“Fine,” he snapped. “But we are leaving immediately. Into the carriage in less than a min?—”
“I am already ready!” Phoebe bolted out the front door, giggling to herself as she raced for the carriage.
Not even a half-hour into the journey, Charles was regretting his decision to let them join him.
“Papa, how many cottages do we have?” Phoebe asked—her tenth question in the last minute, for certain.
“Do all the tenants have chickens, Papa? Can we have chickens? Have you ever fixed a roof yourself? What about the leaks? I am sure I can fix them. I made the bath leak once! It was very fun, but Mrs. Nightgale did not think so.”
Charles glanced at her. “No, I am sure she did not.”
Phoebe grinned happily. “I will chase the chickens.”
“You will do no such thing,” he scolded. “You will be good and respectful. Making noise in our home is bad enough, but you must respect our tenants’ homes. While we own the cottages, they live in them. Do you understand, Phoebe?”
“I understand,” she said, more serious than he had seen her in a long time. She nodded dutifully. “I will not chase their chickens.”
“Or touch anything you are not permitted to.”
“Exactly. I will be the perfect lady.”
Charles glanced over at Hermia, who gave a slow nod. “I am certain you will be perfect.”
It was the highest praise he had given his daughter in a long time.
“I also was wondering,” Hermia piped up. “How many cottages do we have in South England?”
“Plenty,” Charles answered, letting his gaze stray to the window and the passing scenery.
They went from the city and the grand townhouses that blotted out the sun to the empty fields and the countryside. Cottages were scattered about, and more livestock roamed.
“How do the tenants report things to you? Do they go through a lesser lord and then the lord reports to you, or do they write to you personally?”
“All my tenants know they can reach out to me personally,” Charles told her. “A lesser lord’s correspondence or their own, I will always do what I can for them.”
Hermia nodded slowly, looking thoughtful.
Charles had been so used to her finding ways to rile him up that hearing her taking an interest in his lands and the well-being of his tenants, the avenues he had offered them to reach him, gave him pause.
It made him think , and he had thrown himself into his work to avoid thinking.
“I would like to have chickens,” Phoebe blurted. “I would name them Charles and Hermia, and I would make sure they ate breakfast together.”
Hermia laughed quietly, while Charles pretended not to have heard her.
The cottages Charles needed to inspect were among a cluster he owned entirely, alongside several of Levi’s—a planned land venture. He led Hermia and Phoebe to the first one, where the tenant was waiting outside.
“Mr. Bollet,” he greeted. “Thank you for waiting until I could come out. Have the problems gotten any worse?”
“Mercifully, no, Your Grace.” Mr. Bollet was a forty-year-old businessman who enjoyed spending more time in the countryside while retaining relatively easy access to London.
“My wife is inside, but she would love to meet your daughter and wife, I am certain. If Her Grace and Lady Phoebe would allow it, of course. I am aware your time?—”
“Our time is yours today, Mr. Bollet,” Hermia interjected, surprising Charles.
Under different circumstances, he would have stepped right up, shut her down, and told her he could handle his own business well enough. But there was something about the way she kept handling everything above expectations that pleasantly surprised him.
For a moment, he could only look at her—at how her chocolate-brown hair caught the sun and gleamed, at her patient smile, and eager eyes.
Mr. Bollet gestured to the front door, and the four of them made their way over.
“Do you have any chickens?” Phoebe asked.
“Oh, we have many!” Mr. Bollet laughed. “Do you like them?”
“They are not my favorite animals, but I would like to see them if you have them.”
“Certainly, Lady Phoebe. Tell me, what is your favorite animal?”
Charles thought of goats right as Phoebe proclaimed, “My favorite is goats!”
Once again, he was taken aback by knowledge he hadn’t known he possessed. But he recalled it now. When he had gifted Phoebe her first pony, she had thanked him and said she was grateful, but she loved the thought of riding a goat instead.
“Then I shall see to it that you see my goats before you leave. I have two.”
“Do they have names?”
As Mr. Bollet led them inside, Phoebe’s voice disappeared beyond the door.
Hermia paused, giving Charles a knowing look. He said nothing, and neither did she, yet her smile indicated that she knew he had guessed it.
“Thank you for this,” she said quietly, before ducking inside.
He gazed after her, at a loss for words. His silence was often his weapon, but he thought it was Hermia striking him silent for a lack of choice.
As Charles and Mr. Bollet navigated the storeroom, with Charles taking note of the damage that had been vastly downplayed in his opinion, Hermia trailed after them.
“There is a rotting beam there,” she pointed out.
“Has there been any rain here lately, Mr. Bollet? Aside from the one that caused the first leak. It’s just that the leak is on the other side, and this beam here looks ready to collapse.
Another day or two, and I believe it would reduce the whole storeroom to a cloud of dust.”
Interesting , Charles mused, both impressed and regretful he had not noticed it himself, instead relying on his tenant to keep him informed.
But Hermia continued looking around, pointing out more damage that even Mr. Bollet seemed not to have noticed.
Together, they made a plan.
“We must send more workers out here to do some maintenance,” Hermia suggested quietly.
“Agreed,” Charles said. “I will assemble a team immediately. Mr. Bollet, we will have your storeroom patched up as soon as we can. I will also personally replace any damaged items, stock, tools—anything you need is at our disposal.”
Our.
He glanced at Hermia, who nodded.
Yes, this feels right. This feels like we are not facing one another on a battlefield.
“Thank you, Your Graces,” Mr. Bollet said.
They finalized the plan and then left to go inspect the next cottage.
Charles wasn’t entirely certain, but he could swear Hermia’s hand brushed his as they walked. But neither of them was brave enough to face the other head-on and take their hand.