Page 27 of His Duchess of Scandal
Surely not…
Surely…
He did not seem to be a charming, sly adulterer. Josephine had once to her that those types of men could be sensed from a mile away, but she had never had a good read on people she did not already know.
“I am Lady Phoebe,” the girl mumbled. “But I do not like theLadypart. That is for when I am older. Why can’t my title be Clever Phoebe?”
Despite herself, Hermia laughed quietly, glancing towards the door. “I can, between us.” It was a harmless thing to offer. “I am Lady Hermia, and unfortunately, Iamolder and must be a lady. Now, tell me something you have never told anybody else, and I will tell you something.”
“I…” Phoebe’s brow creased in thought, as if it took great effort. “I have a collection! Yes, yes, I do. I buried it in Papa’s house, where it is always green. The collection is shiny, and I have read stories about big, fire-breathing creatures whoalsolike shiny things.”
Her eyes lit up, and Hermia was so endeared that she struggled to speak for a moment.
“Excellent.” She nodded, and the girl grinned. “Now, for me… I have a collection, too, but mine is of certain things adults do when they wish they had made a different choice. I have a collection of those.”
“Like meeting my papa? Do you wish you had never done that?”
Before Hermia could answer, voices drifted through the closed library door.
“Where is she?”
“Uh oh,” Phoebe blurted, clearly recognizing the voice.
Just as Hermia did.
Then, the door burst open, and the Duke of Branmere charged inside, his eyes angry.
Chapter Five
“Phoebe,” Charles snapped, “come hereat once.”
His eyes immediately landed on Phoebe, who was curled into Lady Hermia’s side.
“I do not understand!” Lady Wickleby’s cry reminded him that he was not alone.
He barely even looked at Lady Hermia. Had she snuck his daughter out? The idea was foolish, but he saw no reason why Phoebe would leave Branmere Manor of her own accord.
“We surely have not housed a hostage!” Lady Wickleby protested.
“Not a hostage at all!” Phoebe burst out. “No, I am happy here.”
“Hermia.” Lord Wickleby shouted as he and his wife entered the library, skidding to a stop beside Charles. “What have you done now? Was that painting business not enough?”
“Do not blame my friend!” Phoebe cried, scrambling down from the sofa.
Charles frowned as Lady Hermia reached for her, almost dismayed, as if she wanted to protect his daughter.
“Please do not blame her. Not for anything. Lady Hermia is innocent, and I am the one who needs to be sent away, if that is the punishment for the painting.”
Her little head hung low.
Charles could only gape at his daughter. He had no idea what was going on or why she thought she should be sent away.
He looked at Lady Hermia, irritated and confused.
“I did not know the painting would be like when my governess takes my schoolwork and looks at my drawings,” Phoebe mumbled. “Lady Hermia said it goes against the rules.”
Charles stiffened. “Phoebe, stop.”
