Page 34 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Hermia had always been a pillar for her sisters. She had kept them strong and steady even on the days she had not felt able to. But here… here, this felt like the most natural thing.

She had been brought into this family as a mother figure, but she had not anticipated how seamless it would become to simply look at Charles and Phoebe and think, family.

Her husband glanced back at her over his shoulder, beckoning her over when they moved on from the parrot. As they walked away, the bird’s squawks rose in the air, delighting more families, but Phoebe had already pulled free from Charles and dashed onwards, finding a herd of lions in their den.

“Careful, now,” Charles warned.

“Papa, they are behind big gates—” She squeaked when, behind those big gates, a lion roared.

She laughed but stumbled back from the gates. Hermia couldn’t help but notice how she moved closer to Charles, seeking his protection and safety. He blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected it, but he held her close.

Suddenly, from further down the pathway, a cry went up, followed by more laughter.

“The blasted thing took my wife’s handkerchief!”

Phoebe perked up at the accusation, and she ran towards the crowd gathered around a monkey enclosure. Sure enough, a fast monkey darted back from the fence, chittering away as it clutched a cream-colored handkerchief.

While the man cried out again, the old woman next to him was red-faced with laughter.

“Oh, it is one of many,” she gasped. “I am having more fun watching it run around with my handkerchief.”

Still, the onlookers clutched their belongings closer.

Phoebe grinned up at a young lady who toyed with her bonnet. Hermia could already see the wonder in her eyes.

“Have you ever thought of what a monkey might look like wearing a lady’s bonnet?” she whispered.

Phoebe giggled, catching Charles’s attention.

“What are you two conspiring about?” he asked.

“Nothing, Papa!” Phoebe leaned in. “Perhaps one monkey can take Papa’s top hat. I think it would look very handsome, just like him! You do think my papa is handsome, do you not, Hermia?”

Hermia’s eyes rose to Charles almost bashfully, not used to being so open about her attraction to him. “I do,” she confessed.

Charles looked back at her, listening but saying nothing.

“But I fear he knows it already.”

“Me too,” Phoebe whispered. “So, we shall not tell him to his face.”

Hermia laughed at the innocence of it all, guiding Phoebe to another enclosure. This one contained another lion, and she realized they had gone in a small circle, lost to the crowd being entertained by the bold monkey.

This time, Phoebe didn’t jump back when a lion roared. Instead, she joined in, tossing her head back and shaking her hair out.

A loud, unruly roar slipped out of her mouth, making Charles jerk his head around in disbelief. Hermia could not hold in her own roar of laughter at his reaction.

Nearby, a governess who was clutching a small boy’s hand jumped in fright. “Heavens!” she cried. Her eyes cut to Charles and Hermia disapprovingly.

Hermia tensed, waiting for Charles to berate Phoebe for her behavior, but he only looked away from the governess.

“You make a fine lion, Phoebe,” he complimented with a grin.

“What about you, Papa? You should roar too! You would be the big lion of our family, like that one.”

Phoebe pointed to the lion that seemed to stand taller than the others, but Charles was already shaking his head and backing away with a good-natured laugh.

“I do not think I will be a lion today,” he told her. “You have displayed the Branmere prowess more than enough for all of us. Come on, I believe there are goats somewhere in a farm enclosure.”

“Farm?” Phoebe perked up again. “With chickens , too!”

“Yes, yes, with chickens.” Charles laughed, extending his hand towards her.

Phoebe didn’t take it. Instead, she tore off down the path, squealing about goats and chickens, leaving him and Hermia to hurry after her.

Hermia bit her lip, wanting to tell him that he was doing well, but she had the sense that he already knew it.

He had already recognized his past mistakes and was making up for them.

Gunter’s Tea Shop was a place Hermia had passed by many times, but she had not been to it since her mother took her and Isabella there during Isabella’s debut.

Although it was a tea shop, it was also a common place for suitors to walk by, peering in through the window to see which eligible lady might be enjoying a sweet treat within. It was precisely why Hermia had been taken there during her debut, and then Isabella.

But today, Charles had arranged their visit, it seemed, for as soon as they entered the shop, they were shown to a table near the back. Private, comfortable, away from the window and thus prying eyes. Away from curious eyes at the front of the tea shop, too.

A menu was placed before them, and Phoebe’s eyes went wide.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Ices,” Charles told her simply.

Phoebe’s face scrunched up.

Hermia rolled her eyes. “It is flavored ice,” she explained. “Not like ice in the winter, or even the cube we often put in lemonade. It is soft, and you can pick any flavor you want.”

“Will it not hurt my teeth?” Phoebe frowned.

“It is certainly cold enough to, but the flavor very much makes it worth it.”

“Is that true, Papa? Have you had ices before?”

“I have,” he said.

“With Mama?”

“No,” he answered slowly. “With my mother.”

Hermia detected something in his voice—something quite soft but pained. A tightness. She wondered if that was why he had brought Phoebe here. A way of recreating a memory that may have turned sour with time.

Charles met her gaze for a brief moment, offering a tight smile, before he pointedly looked down at the menu.

“I will have lemon,” he announced barely a second later.

“You must look properly.” Hermia laughed. “Lemon is good, but?—”

“But nothing.” He smirked at her. “You have turned my world upside down enough, Hermia. Let me have my simple pleasures.”

The look in his eyes said enough: she was not a simple pleasure. As a matter of fact, she was perhaps his most complicated, deep pleasure.

Hermia flushed, suddenly finding the menu very interesting. “I shall have the rosewater ice, then. If Charles wishes to be simple, I shall go for adventurous.”

“And I will go for all of them!” Phoebe stated with the utmost confidence, drawing some looks from the nearby tables.

“You will pick one,” Charles said lightly, his smile never wavering.

Hermia had grown more used to it, yet it never failed to make her heart speed up, pounding faster and harder such that she had to avert her gaze once more.

“Fine,” Phoebe sighed. “Maybe the blueberry and jasmine one. Or the lime one! Hmm, no, I do not like the sound of that. Oh, it says apple and peach here, but I had apples yesterday, so maybe…”

Hermia watched, amused, as the girl made a great show of choosing a flavor.

“Cherry!” she finally decided with a bright smile.

“Cherry it is, then,” Charles said, before she could change her mind.

Within minutes, they each had their order, and Phoebe positively dug into hers most messily. Her spoon was practically a shovel, her hands eager and fast.

Charles ate slowly and surely, far too gracefully to truly enjoy it.

“Charles,” Hermia snickered. “You do know how to enjoy ice, do you not?”

“Of course, I am enjoying it.”

“You must really get enthusiastic about it,” she urged, digging into her ice with vigor. “We are in a tea shop, not a dinner party or a grand ball. Relax a little bit.”

“I am perfectly fine with eating the way I—” He broke off when Phoebe scooped up some of his ice and, very deliberately, smeared it on his dark gray cravat.

Charles stiffened, his face frozen in shock, but Hermia let out a peal of laughter that garnered just as much attention as Phoebe’s excitement had.

Charles cut a mock glare at Phoebe, who giggled innocently.

“Whoops, my hand slipped. I swear it, Papa!”

“Oh, it did, did it not? I suppose you did not purposefully reach over to ruin my cravat, then?”

“Absolutely not, Papa. Hermia agrees, do you not?”

“Yes, Hermia, do you not ?”

Something swept through Hermia at his teasing tone, a burning heat that contrasted with the ice melting on her tongue.

“Phoebe, do fetch me a napkin.”

Phoebe was still laughing when she slid down from her seat.

“I do, indeed,” Hermia answered, once they had a moment alone, reaching over to wipe some of the ice from his cravat.

She pressed the tip of her finger discreetly to her tongue and made a show of humming. His gaze darkened, and she could swear she heard a low growl rumble in his chest.

“Ah, you are right. Sometimes simple pleasures are better.”

“Are you quite finished?” he asked tightly.

“No.”

Hermia flashed him an innocent look as she took the napkins Phoebe brought with her, but the little girl was already speaking about how she had found the counter where they scooped the ices and how she would be right over there!

It allowed Hermia to take her time wiping Charles’s cravat. Her face burned, and she didn’t care if anybody saw them. Not when she could feel his broad chest beneath her hand.

Charles swallowed, and she shivered at the sound. Swipe by swipe, she mopped up the ice, biting her lip when she brushed his chest.

He leaned into her, his voice pitched dangerously low. “If you like the taste of it so much and find humor in my misfortune, then perhaps I should press the cravat into your mouth later tonight. Then, we shall see how much you laugh.”

He gave her a long look, his brow quirking in a way that should have been positively arrogant, but only made her breath come faster.

She had not gathered her thoughts by the time Phoebe returned, grinning about how the lady behind the counter had shown her how to scoop up a generous helping.

Hermia tried to focus on the explanation, but she could not stop thinking of Charles’s breathing, labored and heavy beneath her hand.

Or his promise of her tasting his cravat.