Page 117 of His Duchess of Scandal
“I have.” Heavens, he sounded so choked up. “I have, Hermia—or, at least, I have been as much as I can be. And I… I wish I had shown it more. I-I have been afraid. Goodness, I have beenso scared. Yet, here you are, my wife, and I have missed you terribly.Horribly.Heavens, I have not been able to focus in any capacity.
“Hermia, I have been so scared of becoming like my parents that I did not notice when I became like them. I have been afraid of letting you down, of letting my daughter down, so I held onto my duty and the pressure that I hated so much. Yet, at the same time—wretched time—it is a comfort because it was what I knew. Please forgive me, Hermia. Forgive me for pushing you away. Forgive me for my fears, for my wrongdoings. You were right, my Duchess, in thinking that something had blossomed between us. It had—no, ithas. It resides right here.”
Charles pressed a hand to his chest, and Hermia let out a weak whimper.
“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 hadeverything.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 wasnot, 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 lovehasblossomed 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 muchthat 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. “Ipromise.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.
