Page 119 of His Duchess of Scandal
“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 ahugelibrary. 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 HermiaMamafor 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.
“Didyoueat my slice, Levi?” Phoebe asked, turning to stare down the other man joining their party.
