Page 45 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)
TWO MONTHS LATER
“ I have always wanted to see the gardens of Branmere Hall,” Sibyl said, looking around the pathways as Hermia led her down them.
On her left, her sister was pink-cheeked and happier than she had been over the last few weeks. What had happened with Lord Grenford at the Hatterlys’ garden party had left her shaken and afraid to venture out a great deal.
On Hermia’s right, Phoebe walked along. She didn’t skip, as if she wanted to show Sibyl how grown up she was.
“They were one of the first things I loved about moving here,” Hermia told her. “There is always something about flowers that can be so calming, do you not agree?”
“Definitely.” Sibyl sighed. “In fact, I received a bouquet from Lord Damien only last week, and I… well, I admit that I pressed a flower to the pages of my book. Now, whenever I read at night, I think about him.”
“Has he courted you since the… the incident?”
“He has tried, but I confess that I have not ventured out much.” Her sister’s face paled with embarrassment.
“I am doing much better, but today is the first place I have truly gone out and felt comfortable. Mother has not been happy with my behavior, but everywhere I go, I am looking around every corner. I know that Lord Grenford left England a week after they tried to apprehend him, but a part of me worries about his return.”
Her fingers toyed with her skirt. It was a nervous tic she had developed after the garden party. Once, mere days after the threat, she had confessed it was a movement to check her skirt was intact. Lord Grenford’s words had left her shaken and out of sorts.
“Isabella has been supporting me most excellently, though,” Sibyl continued. “And, like I said, I have been spending most of my time reading.”
“And Charles and I have enough servants stationed at the docks to be notified of his movements if he attempts to return,” Hermia assured her. “You are safe.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Sibyl whispered, gripping her hand tightly for a moment.
“Is it true you were afraid of storms when you were younger?” Phoebe asked, peering up at her. “Because I am.”
“It is most true,” Sibyl told her.
They paused halfway down a path that was littered with peonies and daisies. The wild look of it all only added to the comfort that the garden brought.
“In fact, I believe Hermia has told you the story of the Master of Storms.”
Where once Phoebe would have leapt with excitement, she now only cleared her throat and nodded. But Hermia saw her smile, the joy she masked with propriety.
“She did indeed, and I would like to be the Mistress of Storms. I think I will be very good at it.”
“Oh, I am certain that you already are.”
“Will you tell me about your books?” Phoebe asked. “And if your suitors like you speaking about them. Do you get to tell them about a big library that your parents own? My papa owns a huge library. He is very proud of it.”
“Will you show it to me later?” Sibyl asked. “I do like books.”
“Yes!” Phoebe squealed, breaking her composure.
Her hair had grown even longer, and the childish pranks were lessening and lessening by the day. With the stability the last two months had brought, Phoebe seemed to realize that she was not losing anybody else, but rather gaining something—a true family.
“I am reading the prettiest tale about a lady whose shoes bring her luck every night in a ballroom where she is surrounded by princes,” Sibyl told her. “Except there is dark magic afoot, and the lady must find out if her shoes are indeed the blessing she believed them to be, or if they are cursed.”
“May I read it?” Phoebe asked eagerly.
“Oh, I believe it might be a little dark for your age, Lady Phoebe,” Sibyl said, smiling gently. “But when you are old enough, I will let you borrow my copy. We will be friends, and I will help you through your debut. How does that sound?”
“That sounds good,” Phoebe agreed. “Then, I will have you and Aunt Alicia and Mama Hermia. Even Aunt Isabella said she will be part of it!”
Phoebe had begun calling Hermia Mama for about a month now. It had happened over dinner one night—something she, Hermia, and Charles had routinely begun to do.
Charles and Hermia had been debating the courses served when Phoebe had announced, “Papa, you must listen to Mama, for I think she is most right.”
Hermia had paused, her wine glass half raised to her mouth. Her eyes had fixed on Charles, who had watched Phoebe with such wide-eyed wonder and adoration as he murmured, “Please say that again, Phoebe.”
And the little girl had merely shrugged and repeated it as though she had not noticed. But that night, she had said it once more and held Hermia’s hand so tightly.
“We will all be a part of it,” Hermia promised now.
Up ahead, in the main part of the garden, she could see her family.
Her parents were there, and although they had a lot of making up to do, their involvement in her life in a distant sort of way had helped.
Her mother was showing more genuine interest in her sisters, rather than treating them like bargaining chips as she had done with her.
It was not the best situation, and Hermia had not entirely forgiven them, but it was something. That was enough for her.
Alicia and Isabella sat alongside them, both resplendent in their gowns. Alicia in red, for she was currently insistent on not following fashion standards, and Isabella in jade-green. Behind them, Josephine and William had their heads bent together, their voices low as they cooed over Thomas.
Phoebe immediately ran over to him.
“I heard there was cake, Thomas,” she announced. “Did you eat my slice?”
The boy just blinked up at her, shaking his head as if he did not understand. He likely did not.
“Did you eat my slice, Levi?” Phoebe asked, turning to stare down the other man joining their party.
“Absolutely not,” Levi swore. “Though, if I had, I would tell you that the raspberry frosting is just delicious.”
“Papa!” Phoebe complained. “Levi is being nasty again.”
But there was such a joyful look on her face, even when she tried to pout.
As soon as Charles turned around, smirking, she rushed over to him.
He stood at an easel and was setting up a canvas.
Later, he would paint them when the sun began to set.
But for now, there was their large group, and there was indeed more cake, and Phoebe was finally happy, and Charles was reaching for Hermia.
She nodded, motioning for him to wait for a moment as she caught a snippet of her mother’s conversation with Levi.
“I am certain one of my daughters has caught your eye, Lord Trewford,” she was saying. “Do you not wish to court any of them?”
“Lady Wickleby, I am certain all of your daughters are as lovely as the one I have been honored to get to know over the last several months, but?—”
“But he is spoken for,” Charles called out, laughing. “Lady Wickleby, Levi’s heart is rather captured, I believe.”
“Oh?” Lady Wickleby looked to Hermia, who only laughed, unable to deny the claim. “By whom?”
Levi shot Charles a glare, but Charles only shrugged.
“It is finally my turn to do the teasing, Levi.” He chuckled. “I have endured your particular brand of it for years. Now, I shall have my fun.”
“But Lady Isabella is a fine woman, regardless,” Lady Wickleby insisted. “Is she not as good as your intended, Lord Trewford?”
“Oh, Mama,” Isabella sighed. “Do not worry.” Glancing at Levi, she grimaced. “It is all right, do not worry about this. I wish you all the best, for I do know the woman you are talking about.”
She flashed him a grin, and he glowered between Charles and Lady Wickleby, at a loss, before he simply sighed and shook his head.
“Well, we do not know!” Josephine called out. “Do share with us, Lord Trewford! Who is the lucky lady? You have a fine life to share with her.”
“Indeed, do tell us the news, Trewford,” William chimed in.
Levi glared at Charles even harder. “You must be very pleased with yourself, Branmere.”
“Most definitely.” Charles smiled innocently. “Josephine, William, I am certain you will learn in due time. Perhaps even at the wedding, which I imagine will be soon enough.”
At that, Levi’s face flushed positively red, and he made a joke about leaving the garden party altogether, but Phoebe planted herself right next to him, offering him another slice of cake.
While everybody was distracted with trying to guess who the mystery lady was, Hermia finally made her way over to her husband, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his tailcoat, and she hummed into his shoulder.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
“My wife,” he replied possessively yet softly, pulling her closer. “Are you enjoying your afternoon?”
Hermia nodded, nuzzling his neck for a brief, indulgent moment before pulling back. “I am. But I will enjoy it even more once we are alone.”
Charles turned around and cupped her face. “Shortly, my Duchess. Shortly.”
They made their way over to rejoin the family, but Hermia frowned at her mother’s fussing.
“Oh, do not put me through so much grievance before your debut, Alicia. I cannot handle another?—”
Lady Wickleby stopped at the silence around her, finding herself facing Hermia’s glare.
She was not afraid to speak up against her parents as much anymore, and her mother cringed before clamping her mouth shut, nodding.
“I will be blessed to have such an independent daughter speaking her mind,” she corrected. “Maintain propriety, though, I beg you.”
“Yes, yes, Mother,” Alicia sighed. “I already have my plans.”
“Heavens help us,” Isabella muttered, glancing skyward.
And a peal of laughter rippled through the group. Hermia’s heart softened, warmed by the sight of her friends and her family together, all content and happy.
She had never thought such things were possible, yet they were. Somehow, she had been the torment of the ton, both a spinster and a shamed woman, yet it had all brought her to this: this perfect bubble and life.