Page 25 of His Duchess of Scandal
“I need you to be very good, and very quiet, and hide for me,” she whispered. “Can you do that?”
Phoebe’s smile widened. “I can do anything I am told! I am averygood girl.”
“Good,” Hermia uttered, ushering her to the sofa.
“You are very pretty,” Phoebe told her, right before she ducked down.
Hermia rushed to the French doors, making it look as though she was opening them right as her parents walked in.
Taking a second to ensure the girl was well hidden, she looked at her parents.
“What are you doing awake so early?” her mother demanded, as if she was already causing problems just by having her eyes open a little earlier than usual.
“I am reading,” Hermia answered sharply. “Not that it is your business anymore. What are you both doing awake?”
Her father’s scoff was too loud, saying enough of what he thought of her questioning them.
Once, she had sat on her father’s lap, perhaps the same age as little Phoebe, and let her curiosity fly as he taught her how to distinguish fake antiques from real ones.
Now, he looked at her as though he did not know her at all.
She looked away from them.
“We must make an early start,” her father said. “We are returning to London as soon as possible to send a letter to Patricia.”
“You say her name as if you do not badmouth my mother’s sister at every chance you get,” Hermia couldn’t help but mutter.
She wanted them to know that they were utter hypocrites, constantly judging everybody yet never themselves.
Her mother had let her down a thousand times, but the one time she stepped out of line, they decided to banish her. Again.
“Pack your things, Hermia,” her father ordered, ignoring her comment. “You are no longer welcome?—”
“Father,” Hermia cut in. “Wait, please. Just a few more days. I… I am already a spinster. Perhaps there is a way to bury the scandal without the need to separate me from my sisters. If you speak to some of your connections?—”
“You have caused enough harm to this family,” her mother interrupted, nowhere near as hysterical as yesterday. If anything, this icy distance was worse. “Do not make it harder for yourself.”
Not for them.Neverfor them.
They did not care, nor had they ever, always in the background, calling the shots from a distance.
Hermia, do this. Hermia, do that. Hermia, make sure Alicia has finished her schoolwork. Hermia, make sure that Sibyl has not spent all afternoon daydreaming. Hermia, Isabella is fightingwith a friend again over the last bolt of fabric at the modiste. Do visit the friend’s mother and smooth everything over, will you?
Hermia, the Wickleby fixer.
Hermia, the Wickleby whore now.
She swallowed back the name her mother had barely stopped herself from saying yesterday.
“You do not deserve your father’s connections,” her mother continued. “Do not ask him to go through the shame of mentioning you in conversation, either.”
Her heart sank.
“Say your goodbyes to your sisters today,” her father instructed. “We will depart together for London. We’ll be taking Alicia with us.”
I am surprised you will not have me strapped to the carriage roof just so you do not have to be in the same space as me.
“Another day, at least,” Hermia begged. “They are my sisters. I… I practically raised them, Mama.”
