Page 24 of His Duchess of Scandal
The words on the page swam in and out of focus. Hermia rubbed her bleary eyes, half regretting not trying to catch any sleep upon her return from London.
Even the hour she got between arriving and dawn would have done something to restore her exhausted bones. Between the drama from the day before and her venture to the Duke of Branmere’s home, she was ready to collapse. But when she had tried to sleep, images of the Duke flooded through her mind.
The book did little to distract her, and even the parts that were rather suggestive did not pique her interest like they usually did. On any other day, she would have been thrilled to read something that would scandalize her mother.
Sighing, she rubbed her eyes again, attempting to wipe away the fuzziness, but?—
Clink, clink, clink.
A soft tapping on glass.
Hermia half thought she had imagined it, maybe even fallen asleep, but when she followed the sound, she found herself looking at the library’s French doors.
She stifled a gasp.
It was the little girl she had seen at Branmere Manor.
The Duke’sdaughter.
A giggle drifted through the glass as the girl waved, although it was muffled.
Hermia hastily put her book down and rushed over. She tugged the doors open, listening out for voices behind her.
When none came, she pulled the little girl inside.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, equally concerned and surprised.
She gazed down into eyes that were the same shade as the Duke’s, but wider and more innocent.
“I escaped!” the little girl said, quite pleased with herself. “And I waited out there to be let in. But do not fret, I was not cold. I was happier there, for Papa is very cross with me, and it made mefeel all upset inside. He bade me to go back to my chamber, but I did not. When he learns of this…” Her eyes went even wider. “He will be muchcrosser.”
Hermia blinked, amazed and uncertain. “And… how did you get here?”
“I snuck into the carriage!” the little girl declared, once again sounding proud. “It was very easy. I tucked myself into the compartment that smelled like Papa’s leather travel cases.”
She rocked on the balls of her feet, her hands clasped behind her back, giggling.
Baffled, Hermia did not know what to say. Slowly, she closed the doors as the little girl—Lady Phoebe, she recalled a maid shouting—rambled on.
“See, I heard you tell my papa that he was very naughty to you,” she said matter-of-factly. “You said he… ruined you.” She frowned, her little nose scrunching up.
There was a twig sticking out of her dark hair, and Hermia idly plucked it off.
Phoebe merely looked at it and held out her hand. Hermia dropped the twig in it, confused.
“What doesruined memean? Because when I ruin my schoolwork, I scratch it or scribble on it. Did Papa scratch you?”
Heavens.
Hermia looked up at the ceiling.
“Maybe he drew on you?” Phoebe pushed. “I like drawing on my schoolwork, but Miss Ternan scolds me, and so does Papa. So I must know if he did the same, so I can scold him back!”
Hermia was not about to tell her that her father had very much scratched and drawn in a way. She opened her mouth to explain in a way a child would understand, without villainizing her father, even if he deserved it.
Footsteps sounded down the hallway.
Hermia froze for a minute.
