Page 107 of His Duchess of Scandal
There had been—dare she admit it—love forming between them. Hadn’t there?
Or were his beautiful proclamations just that—not the love messages she had ached for, but simply pretty words?
“Thank you for dinner,” Charles finally muttered, wiping his mouth with a napkin before he stood up and left the dining hall.
Hermia braced herself for the pain as she maintained her smile.
Even Phoebe looked up, upset and pale. “I was bad again, I think,” she whispered. “I made Papa angry again.”
But before Hermia could assure her that she did not, the girl had left the room, her sniffles following her out.
Hermia was left alone, at a loss, unsure of what to do or how to navigate this drastic change.
The following day, Charles left Branmere Manor with little more than a brief mention of attending a business meeting and being back for dinner.
You barely attend dinner as it is.
But Hermia bit back that remark, and only nodded and waved him off stiffly. She didn’t know how to act around him now.
Growing softer and less formal had become so natural that this slide back into distance wasn’t something she was ready for.
Turning on her heel, she disappeared into the drawing room to bury herself in some wine and a book for the afternoon. Phoebe was in her lessons, and Charles had stated that she was not to be disturbed.
So, Hermia busied herself for a while, until Mr. Willoby cleared his throat from the doorway. “There is a guest here to give regards to Lady Phoebe.”
“I will receive him,” Hermia said, setting down her book and her wine.
She rose to her feet right as Lord Grenford entered the drawing room, startling her.
“Rupert Farraday is the man you have met, but his father, Conrad Farraday, and his older brother, Patrick Farraday, were the ones who accused my father.”
“Your Grace.” Lord Grenford bowed. “Please excuse such a last-minute interruption, but I have been terribly busy with work and only now found time to express my concern for Lady Phoebe. Several ladies were discussing what happened at Hyde Park. Some people saw the fall itself—Heavens, what terrible business it must have been!”
“It was,” Hermia answered. “Thank you for your concern, Lord Grenford.”
Her defenses were high, thinking of the older brother and father who had been involved in the former Duke’s death. She didn’t know how to get herself out of this situation politely, but she wanted to honor Charles’s request to steer clear of the man.
“Now, if you will excuse?—”
“I cannot help but notice,” Lord Grenford spoke over her, looking around the room with great emphasis, “that you are receiving me alone. Where is your husband today, Your Grace?”
“I do not see how that is any of your concern,” Hermia told him firmly, pointedly looking away.
“I am sure that is what Lady Mercy once said, too, to cover up for the Duke’s behavior.” Lord Grenford snorted, shaking his head. “Then again, like father, like son, I suppose. The former Duke of Branmere was a bastard who did not know how to treat women well. It is a shame. Many pure hearts become ruined by men who think they own the world.”
“Lord Grenford, I think it is time you leave,” Hermia said, stepping back from him.
But the Viscount was not deterred.
His eyes flashed cruelly. “Your Duke was cold with Lady Mercy, too. He claims it was she who made their marriage as cold as it was, but he should have looked a little harder at himself. You will end up just the same, Your Grace. It is simply His Grace’s cold nature. The man has no heart. The one he had has been buried deep, so far down, I think he has forgotten it ever existed at all.”
“That isenough,” Hermia snapped.
But a seedling of doubt cruelly bloomed in her chest. Her husband had suddenly turned cold this past week after Phoebe’s fall. He had been so quick to discard every ounce of warmth they had nurtured.
No.Charles merely needs some privacy. There is no harm in that.
But if there was no harm in it, then why did it hurt to be so shut out?
