Page 39 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Chapter Twenty-Six

A week later, Hermia strolled arm-in-arm with Charles through Hyde Park. A pace ahead of them, Phoebe skipped in front of her governess.

The weather was pleasant and warm, and Hermia tipped her head back to feel the sun rays on her face.

“I will fly, too!” Phoebe declared, running to the end of the path, spreading her arms as she watched two birds take off, flying alongside one another. Their pale wings stretched wide, brushing one another, and Hermia glanced at Charles.

“I am certain you will make an elegant bird,” he called out to his daughter.

Hermia laughed when Phoebe flapped her arms.

“I will! And you and Hermia? Will you fly with me?”

“Little bird, we will fly wherever you go,” Hermia assured her.

Charles’s arm tightened around hers. “Come on, we should get settled,” he said. “She will be occupied by the birds for some time. She has still not stopped speaking about the menagerie. Apparently, she wishes to tell all her friends about it.”

“Friends?” Hermia felt a little cruel echoing the sentiment.

But Charles understood.

He chuckled. “When she goes to the ballrooms,” he said.

“I do not think she understands that it is still several years away. While it will pass far too quickly for us, it will not for her, I imagine. But soon, she will be a debutante and miss the days when the world could stop for a while and let her watch a puppet show.”

Hermia sat down on a patch of grass that overlooked the lake where Phoebe and her governess ambled along. She thought of the lecture she had once given to Charles about Phoebe growing up and needing her father when she debuted.

She did not regret it now, but she was glad that it had sunk in.

“That is most true,” she admitted. “I do not think the other ladies in the ballroom will speak of menageries and roaring like lions.”

Charles chuckled.

“Although,” Hermia continued, “I dare say that if any of them do, then they will become Phoebe’s best friend, no doubt.”

“Did you ever make a friend in the ballrooms?”

“I did,” Hermia replied. “Lady Redham. She was actually spoken to first by the naval officer I told you about.”

“And you two have been friends since?”

“Indeed. I honestly do not think I would have gotten through the last several years without her. I dare say she kept me sane.”

Hermia kept a gaze on Phoebe, who was chasing after birds, sniggering to herself.

“I am the Mistress of Birds and Storms!” Phoebe announced.

“Well, at least she listened to your story.” Charles chuckled, and the two of them watched the spritely girl. “Heavens, she really takes after me a great deal. My parents were always cross with me. It is why I despise myself for being cross with her. For being like them.”

“I am certain it is different,” Hermia said.

Before Charles could argue, she went on.

“The difference, Charles, is that you learn from the times you are… impatient with her. You have listened to me, and you have brought her joy after those harsher reprimands. Yes, there has been coldness and punishment where there should not have been, but you are learning. I am proud of you. And I believe Phoebe has also noticed the difference. She comes to you more now. She feels as though you are someone she can grow closer to, I think.”

Charles still looked a little hesitant, but he nodded nonetheless. He caught her gaze and reached out to link their fingers. With that hold, he pulled her closer, smiling into another kiss.

Hermia didn’t close her eyes until his lips pressed against hers. It had been a week of them sharing breakfasts in a new room every day. The parlor, the drawing room, the library, even the music room, where Hermia had performed a small tune on the harp.

It was not her most proficient instrument, but Charles had seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. He had fed her eggs afterwards from his fork, grinning and kissing down her wrist.

Now, he pressed more kisses to her mouth as if she were the only thing he had ever wanted to look at, pay attention to, and she kissed him back like he was the center of her world.

That was until a shout went up from the governess right up ahead.

“Lady Phoebe, you must get down from there at once!”

“You cannot make me!” Phoebe shouted back, cackling. “I will do as I please and be free and fly like the birds.”

Hermia and Charles’s attention snapped to the end of the path where they had left Phoebe. Only, now she had half scrambled up a tree, her legs hanging on different branches, her hands struggling to reach high enough to go where she wanted.

“Lady Phoebe, I understand, but this is terribly dangerous. Please, come down from the tree. This is not a prank anymore.”

“I am not pranking,” Phoebe called back, looking over her shoulder at them. “I am most serious! I will fly like the birds.”

Charles and Hermia were on their feet in seconds, racing forward, but they were not quick enough.

For before Charles could call out to Phoebe, to reprimand her or warn her, the branch beneath her left foot snapped.

With a scream, she fell, not quite having found her grip with her hands, and she tumbled to the ground.

A horrible cry escaped Hermia’s lips, torn and panicked as the world moved in slow motion. They were still too far, not there when it mattered, too wrapped up in one another.

Bile rose into her throat, and she pressed a hand to her mouth right as Phoebe hit the ground with a terrible thud .

A beat of silence passed between them, before Phoebe started crying. They were not uncontrollable wails, but genuine sobs of pain as she curled into herself.

Charles rushed to her, his breathing labored, and immediately scooped her up into his arms.

Her elbows and arms were scraped, and her knees were also grazed, but Hermia could not stop looking at how her ankle swelled. It had bent when the branch broke, and the girl had landed right on it.

A wave of dizziness assaulted her as she looked at it, as she dragged her focus to Charles, who only stared down at Phoebe, haunted.

As if he were already blaming himself.

“Charles—”

He cut her off with a quick, “Let us take her home.”

Phoebe cried harder, clinging to him. “Papa, please do not be cross with me! Please !”

And what heartbreak it was to know Phoebe worried more about the anger on her father’s face than her wounded ankle. But he just held her to him, his silence sending his walls sky-high, higher than Hermia had been prepared to face that day after so long of seeing them lowered.

In a way, she, too, feared the look on his face.

Miss Ternan could not stop apologizing, but Hermia scarcely heard the woman, too focused on Phoebe and her pain. Too focused on her husband, who looked ready to tear himself apart.

Please just know that you are not the cause , Hermia begged silently.

Snippets from their conversation echoed in her mind. He had referred to them both in regard to Phoebe’s future, an us that would face her debut.

I was weak.

I was distracted.

I was not careful, and Heavens, this is what I get for shirking the pillar of duty I swore to live by.

I should have been more attentive. My mother was right: inattentive minds miss too much. Lax behavior can cause too much danger. Now, my daughter is hurt, and it is my fault. It is all my fault.

“How could I have been so selfish?” he whispered to himself, leaning over Phoebe’s bedside.

How many times had he even come into her room over the last year? How many times had he read a bedtime story to her or kissed her forehead to bid her goodnight? How many times had he forgone complimenting her for a pretty gown, or good behavior, even if he had thought it was rare?

How many times had he failed as a father?

A wretched ache bloomed inside him, and he fell into it, aware that he was gripping Phoebe’s hand tightly. The physician would be there soon, but until then, Charles swore he would never, ever let his little girl down. He would never shirk his duty again.

Hours passed, and soon, he was not even aware it was dark, not until the bedroom door behind him creaked open and hands rested on his shoulders. His eyes didn’t stray from the sleeping girl in her bed.

“Charles,” Hermia whispered, pressing to his side. Not to seek attention, but to comfort him, yet he felt so detached from himself, so far removed from the room. “Charles, you must sleep.”

“I cannot.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“Charles, she will need you rested.”

“I cannot bear to leave her. I cannot lose her. I will not lose her.” His head shook sharply, his jaw working through his anger. “I should have protected her. All the times I yelled at her, all the times I stopped her from having fun… She is just a child, and I should have protected her today.”

“But—”

“But I got distracted.”

Charles could hear how cold his voice was, but he couldn’t bring himself to soften it. He truly couldn’t find the warmth that had been spreading within him over the last couple of weeks.

“I got distracted by us.”

“We both did,” Hermia said.

No , no, she did not understand. Charles was Phoebe’s father, and it was his sole duty to ensure she remained safe. That was what a father did, and he had failed terribly.

“But she is all right now. Her governess reported that the physician claimed it was a sprain and not a broken bone, yes? She has bruising, but it will heal. She will get better very soon.”

Charles still couldn’t hear it. A sprain, a simple graze, a bruise—no matter what Phoebe got, he needed to take care of her. He needed to ensure her safety, and he would settle for nothing less.

Hermia stroked his shoulder. “Come to bed with me. Let us rest well, for Phoebe’s sake.”

But he didn’t. He stayed in his daughter’s room, keeping vigil over her. And he didn’t speak again, not even when Hermia finally slipped out of the room.