Page 44 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

“We have everything within our grasp, and I have been a fool to ever think otherwise.”

“Charles,” she whispered.

“I know I have been a fool,” he murmured, moving closer to her.

She closed her eyes as soon as his hand touched her face, for as much as her heart had been bruised, she knew she needed his touch. She needed the words he had confessed. She had needed to know that she had not imagined everything.

“Tell me,” she pleaded. “Tell me that we had something.”

Charles let out a tortured noise. “Heavens, Hermia, we had everything. I was just the fool who watched that walk out the front door and told himself it was all fine. But it was not—it was not , and I will spend every day for the rest of my life showing you as such. I was wrong, and I was stubborn in my insistence not to admit it.”

Hermia bit her lip, processing his words.

“You hurt me,” she whispered, eventually. “You hurt me, Charles, and I cannot pretend that you did not. You let me believe that we had nothing.”

“I know,” he groaned. “I know, and I should have told you right there, when you asked me to tell you that you did not imagine it. I should have told you that I loved you—that love has blossomed between us. I was stubborn, and I was too prideful. I should have said more.”

“You should have,” she agreed softly. “You should have—and yet… yet you are here, and you are telling me everything I have ached to hear for so long.”

“Then let me tell you for the rest of my life,” Charles begged.

More silence fell between them, making Hermia’s breath catch.

“Do you promise that you will? Because I—” She paused, catching herself. “Because I love you, Charles. I love you so much that it hurts, and I cannot exist in a cold marriage, and I will not have you make me do so.”

“I will never,” he swore. “Not again. Not like I have done these past two weeks. It has been torture for me, too. I am realizing how duty may coexist with happiness. I am learning how to manage both my duty as a duke and a father alongside being a man hopelessly in love with his wife.”

The confession struck her into stillness, into silence, and she didn’t know what to do with it for a minute.

“I love you, too,” Hermia whispered. “I think I have loved you since the moment we met at the party.”

“Me too,” Charles confessed. “My only regret is that I have not shown it enough.”

“Just… I cannot abide the coldness, Charles. Yell at me if you must, but do not shut me out of your life.”

“I know,” he admitted. “And I am learning. It is a long process, I admit, but I am doing my best. But I am here, Hermia, and I love you, and I cannot live without you. I want to do whatever it takes to show you that I am here for you. For both you and Phoebe.”

“Do you promise?” Her breath was so short, hope filling her heart.

“I promise,” Charles vowed. “I promise. I will not be like my parents any longer. I cannot, not when I have seen what it does to come so close to being like them. I am me. I am Charles Thorne. I am Christian Dawson. And I am incredibly, hopelessly in love with my wife, who stands before me right now.”

Hermia gazed at him, her lip caught between her teeth, her hope rising even more. She took a step towards him, and he held out his arms, ready to pull her into his embrace.

Hermia, hurt and aching, fell into them.

“And tomorrow,” he murmured, “if you wish, we will face your parents together, and they will understand everything they have put you through. The pressures and the ridicule, the responsibility and the scrutiny. You may continue a relationship with them if you wish, but they cannot remain without blame.”

“I agree,” Hermia said quietly, pressing her forehead to his chest. “Charles… thank you.”

“You do not have to thank me.”

“But I will,” she insisted.

“All I ask is that you return to Branmere Manor with me.”

“How could I ever refuse?” Her smile returned.

It felt too long since she had last smiled up at her husband, yet it felt so right to do so.

The following day, Hermia confronted her parents with Charles at her side.

It was not an easy task to face them and spill everything they had caused her, to watch them react to her hurt, to try to deny it.

But she spoke her mind, and that was all she had to do, until Charles tugged her towards his carriage.

Once they returned to Branmere Manor, a cry rang through the hallway.

Before Hermia could react, Phoebe tore down the main staircase in a blur of dark hair and a powder-blue dress.

“Miss Hermia!” she shouted. “ Hermia ! You have returned!”

Hermia’s arms were already open to the girl she had come to see as a daughter for a while. Phoebe raced into them, and her small body fit into Hermia’s embrace as though she had always belonged there.

Hermia held her tightly to her chest, sighing into her shoulder. After a moment, Charles wrapped his arms around them both.

“I love you,” he murmured against Hermia’s temple. “I love you both, ever so much. Forgive me for being so blind.”

“I forgive you, Papa,” Phoebe whispered, as if she were being brought in on a secret.

Hermia could not stifle her laughter.

“I forgive you, Charles,” she mimicked, only to find herself held tighter, and she melted into the embrace.

“I love you, Charles,” she corrected quietly. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I always will, whether you call or not. I will always find you, my Hermia. My Aphrodite.”

“My Ares,” she whispered back.

And, as one, the small family of three held one another, and Hermia knew that this truly was home, filled with the love she had once thought she had bid goodbye to.

There had been no sacrifices, not any longer, only a gain.

“I love you,” Charles murmured against her cheek.

“I love you, Charles,” she said quietly.