Page 5 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Chapter Two

“ Y ou do not understand! All you ever do is chide me, just like Mama does.”

Hermia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose at her youngest sister’s protests. “Alicia, of course I’d?—”

“No, you do not. You stand here, your voice ever so gentle , as if you think you may coax understanding from me. I will not stand for it. I may only be five-and-ten, and you think you are far greater for being almost ten years older than me, but your age only makes you more na?ve.”

“Alicia!” Hermia admonished.

But her sister wasn’t listening. Heavens, she could be trying at times.

Alicia rose with a groan from the armchair she had sunk into and moved to the window of the library as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.

In her pale gray gown—the gray she always wore, for Alicia insisted it was the color of intelligence, which their mother hated—and with her wavy dark hair, she did look older than her age. Her chin lifted stubbornly, her profile illuminated by the early afternoon sun.

She sighed, turning to Hermia. “All right, yes , you do understand,” she relented.

“But you must not scold me for standing up for myself. I cannot be like—like Isabella, who would simply sigh and laugh at Mr. Maudley’s comments.

She would brush him off, know her worth, and while I know my own, I cannot let his ignorance go without being called out. ”

“Yes, but it is more proper?—”

“I do not care what is proper.” Her young voice sounded ever so weary. “I care about being right. He called me small-brained, Sister, but I was right! What does he know of Angelica Schuyler’s mind? I know; I have read her works. I know what she stood for. He cannot hope to know.”

“Alicia, the thing is that being right does not excuse bad behavior. You called Mr. Maudley pompous.”

“That is because he is,” she muttered. “He deserved it.”

Hermia let out a long breath.

It was not the first time her scholarly sister had butted heads with her tutor.

Only this time, she had not cursed him in French, so that was an improvement at least. But one more offense, and Hermia feared Mr. Maudley would storm out of Wickleby Hall, leave the estate, where her parents had let him reside in a cottage, and return to London.

“Alicia, you cannot lose your tutor. We cannot hire another one. Mr. Maudley tutored all of us, and Mother and Father do not wish to lose their connection with him. He is well-educated and intelligent.”

“He is a man ,” Alicia stressed, scowling at her. “And quite frankly, it is clear that he does not care for women’s history, rights, or ability to speak for themselves. He expects everybody to be like you and Isabella.”

“Me?” Hermia echoed, frowning. “What have I got to do with it?”

“You and Isabella are the same! You do not like to think so, but tell me you would not stay silent if Mr. Maudley called you small-brained and called your passions insignificant. Would you stand up for yourself?”

Without giving her sister a chance to answer, Alicia rambled on.

“No, you would not, for that is not what Mama has taught you. Isabella learned such silence from you, but Heaven forbid she attend a ball, or else she will never shut up. But that is the way, is it not? A lady must be charming and flirtatious in a ball gown, but silent everywhere else once her ball gown has done its job—to entice a husband. Loud until forced into silence.”

“Alicia,” Hermia hissed. “That is enough. Please go and apologize to Mr. Maudley.”

“I will,” Alicia said, and Hermia’s shoulders sagged in relief. “After he apologizes and admits that he cannot even name three women who accomplished things independently.”

Hermia rubbed her eyes, tired of the back and forth, but knowing she had to make her sister see sense. Still, deep down, she softened, for she recognized the fire in her sister.

Alicia was fierce and independent, and Hermia could only hope the ton did not take that away from her once she debuted.

Not that her sister wanted to. At least not for the reasons most ladies did.

“There is more to life than following the needs of a man and ensuring his comfort,” Alicia muttered defeatedly.

“I will not force him to name three women, but I want to ask if he knows of Helen Rowley. Her women’s school has been mentioned in several papers, and rumor has it that the old convent is being refurbished.

Is that not a wonderful thing to learn about? ”

“It is,” Hermia admitted. “But you are expected to always speak back to Mr. Maudley, due to your reputation. Whether he deserves it or not, you must not do it. You must always be better than people expect. Defy expectations, Sister.”

She saw her sister’s forming sneer, knew a nastier comment was coming, but the slam of the front doors made them both jump.

Alicia’s face paled, betrayal flickering in her eyes.

Hermia shook her head; she had said nothing, and word would not have traveled so fast.

“Hermia!”

She barely had a chance to get to her feet before her name was screamed through the halls, making her freeze.

Alicia flew past her, chasing the suggestion of something taking the attention off her.

“Hermia!” This time it was her father. “Come down here this instant!”

Hermia’s blood ran cold. She had not heard that tone in a long, long time.

Not since she had made a mistake at her second-ever ball, where she had accidentally insulted a young lord by calling him a pervert for leering at her.

Her father had done incredibly expensive damage control after, but she hadn’t heard the end of it for months .

Hurrying downstairs, she followed the voices of her family into the parlor. Her mother was leaning against a cabinet, an arm flung over her eyes, her frame shaking with hysterical sobs. Isabella and Sibyl sat behind them, perched on the settee.

Hermia panicked.

“What?” she asked her parents, moving into the room. “Whatever is wrong?”

“Uh-oh, the proper daughter is in trouble.” The snigger came from Isabella, who was picking her nails, a smug smirk on her face.

As angelic as she looked, Isabella could be a scheming little devil when it suited her, and Hermia fixed her with a glare sharp enough to cut ribbon.

Her comment had not gone unnoticed by their mother, though.

“ Proper daughter ,” she spat at Hermia. “Proper daughter? I would be on my knees, thanking God, if I had a proper daughter. How could you bring even more shame upon this family, Hermia? Is being forced into spinsterhood not enough for you? How could you?”

Hermia wanted to back up in confusion. She was a good daughter; she had always done what was asked, had never stepped out of line.

Swallowing every retort, never once taking a moment for herself, she had been a proper daughter.

Except for ? —

No. Now was not the time to think of such a thing.

“Whatever have I done?” she asked, distressed and anxious.

Her mother wailed against the cabinet while her father shook a paper in her face. Hermia’s heart thudded upon seeing the printer’s mark on the sheet, clear only for a moment, what with his wild gesticulating.

The scandal sheets.

“But… but I have no reason to be mentioned,” she whispered. “I-I have been in the countryside for a year!”

“Oh, you have plenty of reasons to be mentioned,” her father barked.

The Earl and Countess of Wickleby moved in tandem, both of them too riled up and furious to stay still.

“You are a disgrace. Heavens, no daughter of mine ought ever to do this! I cannot even look at you, for I fear I have seen far more of you than a father ought to. You shame us, Hermia!”

Isabella snorted under her breath.

Yet Hermia was lost.

“Tell me!” she demanded. “Whatever have I done ? Please, please , Mother, what is this about? I do not understand.”

“It appears you do not understand a great deal today,” Alicia muttered, having taken her place behind fair-haired Isabella and dark-haired Sibyl.

Her three sisters watched her. Alicia looked as confused as her. Sibyl, only a year younger than Isabella at seven-and-ten, looked crestfallen. However, Isabella looked triumphant .

“Goodness, the shame is endless,” her mother groaned. “How much longer do I have to endure?—”

Hermia had finally had enough. “Endure what ? Will either of you tell me what has happened?”

“Don’t you dare take that tone with us!” her father shouted. “Not after—not after?—”

Her mother flapped more sheets in her face. “There is no place far enough to send you!”

At that, her father finally lowered his voice, his movements slowing, though his weathered face remained tight with embarrassment and fury. It was as if her mother’s dreadful declaration had shifted something inside him.

“Do you know the Duke of Branmere, Hermia?”

That was not what Hermia had been expecting.

She frowned. “Yes, but only through the papers and gossip. I have not met him personally.”

Her mother’s face turned an alarming shade of red, and she glared at her viciously. “A liar as well as a who?—”

“ Barbara ,” Lord Wickleby hissed.

Hermia’s heart was pounding so hard that she felt it in her throat.

No— no , it could not be about the party. That was a year ago, and she had not been back in London ever since.

More possibilities ran through her head. She thought of Anton Bentley’s mouth on a man’s, and how he kissed a woman just as easily. She thought of the artwork and the sensuality, the scantily draped bodies that had been in the showroom when she had returned from the only thing she had ever chosen.

She still recalled the feel of silk against her bare skin, but she pushed that all aside.

Could Anton’s parties have been leaked to the scandal sheets? It would make the juiciest story, prompting gossip for months, even years.

But no, surely this had nothing to do with that.

“Hermia,” her father said sternly, “it will do you no good to lie to us, for we already know the truth.”

“The… truth?” she echoed faintly. She was certain the room began to spin around her. “I do not?—”