Page 11 of His Duchess of Scandal
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 formonths.
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 withhystericalsobs. 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? Howcouldyou?”
Hermia wanted to back up in confusion. Shewasa 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, shehadbeen 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.
