Page 29 of His Duchess of Scandal
For all Lady Hermia had accused him of, she was good with his daughter. Even though she was being sent away because of Phoebe’s prank, she did not treat her with cruel words.
Charles slowly straightened, a new thought occurring to him.
What if he could fix everything with a single move?
Fix the rumors circulating about him after he had worked tirelessly to rebuild his name; fix the Wicklebys’ reputation; help his daughter and prevent Lady Hermia from being sent away.
The words slipped out of him, half-formed and yet confident.
“Lady Hermia, will you marry me?”
The library fell silent as death.
Charles boldly met Lady Hermia’s eyes, finding confusion and a flicker of betrayal in them. She still did not trust him, even with the truth of the painting uncovered.
The Wicklebys breezed past him, Lady Wickleby laughing high.
“Heavens, Hermia, do not leave His Grace waiting! Close your mouth, darling; you look like a trout in church,” she all but purred.
Lord Wickleby bowed to him. “Your Grace, I’ve always known you were an understanding gentleman. After all, we have done excellent business, you and I.”
That excellent business had meant nothing only moments ago when they thought they could berate him, but Charles only looked at them coolly.
Phoebe coughed. “Lady Hermia, are your parents always like that, or did someone serve them sour milk for breakfast?”
The library fell silent yet again.
Eventually, the Wicklebys’ polite masks crack.
“Goodness, I have not even offered you tea!” Lady Wickleby muttered. “Hermia, you must fetch?—”
“Lady Hermia will not,” Charles interrupted. “She will remain in the library with me, and we’ll require some privacy.”
He left no room for argument, uncaring if it was rude to order them out of a room in their own house.
For a second, he was met with blinks of astonishment, before they nodded all too eagerly.
“Of course, ofcourse,” Lord Wickleby said.
“Phoebe,” Charles ordered, “go wait in the carriage.”
After a moment, Phoebe hugged Lady Hermia, which further surprised him, before scurrying out after the Wicklebys.
Before she disappeared, she whisper-yelled to her newfound friend, “Please accept!”
Charles could already hear her chatter fading down the corridor.
Alone again, he stepped towards Lady Hermia. He felt unmoored and uncertain, and he hated such a feeling. So he reached for something he was certain of.
“I am sorry for this chaos,” he muttered.
He expected some sort of concession, but he was only pinned by those sea-blue eyes, narrowed in distaste.
Silence was her weapon, it seemed.
Fine.
“I am offering to marry you so I may do my part in restoring your reputation, as I promised last night. This way, you may remain with your sisters. I will bring you back into Society if you so wish.”
