Page 14 of His Duchess of Scandal
Hermia’s face burned. She did have a birthmark on the swell of her breast, just below her neckline.
How could the Duke have known about it? And why would he include such a thing in this preposterous painting? What had she ever done to him to deserve this?
“Mama, I have never met this man,” she insisted, trying to be the calm one, trying to be rational.
She had done nothing wrong. She had not draped herself in silk and let a stranger paint her.
“I have done everything you have ever asked?—”
“You have brought disgrace upon disgrace,” her mother all but snarled. “Nothing you say can undo the damage, Hermia.”
“The painting was revealed to hundreds of Society’s finest,” her father added quietly. “Nobody is forgetting it anytime soon.”
Hundreds.It did not matter that Hermia was sequestered in the countryside; she felt a little sick at the thought of being so exposed.
Just how severe was the level of nudity?
“This is unfair,” she choked out. “I have done nothing of the sort to be in this position.”
“It appears the Duke thinks differently about your position,” Alicia piped up, laughing again.
“Hush, Alicia!” their mother cried, frantic and at her wits’ end.
“Oh, Mama, a body is a body. If they were meant to be hidden away, then we would not exist. Power of the flesh is the greatest thing a woman can have; do not be so pru?—”
“Silence!” Everybody clammed up at their father’s order. “The damage is done, and my decision must be consequential to your actions, Hermia. You are to leave England, and that will not be up for debate.”
Even Isabella gasped from the doorway, her round face shocked.
Hermia felt ill. Her skin prickled, and she feared she would hit the floor in a bout of unconsciousness.
“Papa,” she whispered tightly. “Papa, you cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” he snarled. “You will leave for France within the week to live with your aunt Patricia.”
“Mama!” she protested.
Her mother shook her head furiously. “I have agreed. The sooner you are out of the country, the sooner you will be forgotten.”
The words struck Hermia like the snap of a whip, only the welt stung even if it was invisible. Hurt lanced through her chest; they decided to banish her so easily.
“You… you are fine with me being forgotten?” Her question came out too quietly, too hurt, and she willed herself to be stronger. Before giving any of them a chance to answer, she shook her head. “No. No, I refuse. I refuse! I have done everything you have ever asked of me, and I know that I hadno part in this scandalous event. I will go to London to fix everything. I will demand a meeting with His Gr?—”
“You will do no such thing!” her mother snapped. “You will not approach him, nor ever be seen with him. You are leaving for France. You are already a spinster, Hermia, already gossiped about and burdening your sisters. If you do not leave, then your sisters’ fate will be doomed, and they will end up the same.”
Hermia felt that blow harder than the thought of being forgotten.
“Mama, no!” Isabella shouted from the doorway. “Do not be so cruel.”
Sibyl rushed to Hermia, clinging to her, tears already streaming down her face. Her arms wrapped around her tightly.
“Do not go,” she sobbed. “Do not—you are my favorite sister.”
“Mama, do not send Hermia away,” Alicia begged. “She has been good to us.”
Hermia stared at her sisters in surprise, for even Isabella spoke up for her. They butted heads, and could be callous with one another, but they were still sisters. They all knew what it was like to be a lady in this society and have everything hinge on a good marriage.
“There has to be something we can do,” Isabella insisted. “I am certain I can charm somebody who might know who printed the story. There has to be a way, or things we can throw money at, to make this go away. Mama, we cannot send Hermia away.”
