Page 33 of His Duchess of Scandal
What will I do without any of them?
“Be safe,” Alicia told her firmly, pulling back. “I will not receive any reports of my eldest sister being in trouble or being harmed by her husband?—”
“Alicia,” Hermia cut in, worried that the Duke would hear. “I will be perfectly cared for.”
“Do not give up your independence, Hermia,” Alicia whispered fiercely, gripping her hands tightly.
Hermia nodded.
Her sister finally stepped away, leaving her to face Isabella, who nodded at her.
“Good luck, Hermia,” Isabella said. “I wish you all the best.”
“Thank you, Isabella,” Hermia answered, all polite. But then she rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, do come here.”
Isabella did not even hesitate to fall into her arms.
“You are beautiful,” Hermia told her quietly. “Do not let any man make you feel inferior, do you hear me? They will all be lucky to take you as their wife, but save your heart. Save it for a man who will truly see it. Every inch of it.”
Isabella squeezed her tightly, as much acknowledgment as she would give for Hermia acknowledging her insecurities.
Once she moved back, Hermia gave them one last, long look, still fighting back tears.
Finally, her parents approached, and she knew she could not avoid them any longer. She met their gazes.
All cheer had faded from her father’s face; he only watched her carefully.
She was no longer their problem. That was painfully evident.
“Do take care of my sisters,” she said. “I would love it if they could write to me. Please see that it happens. By the order of the Duke of Branmere.”
“Oh, Hermia.” Her father laughed, the sound hard and sharp. “We do not need you to request such a thing. Have a good life.”
He sketched a bow that said nothing of how close they had been when she was younger.
He treated her as a stranger now, and she had to accept such heartache.
Her mother gave her a hug that was too loose and reluctant, a mere guise for her to whisper, “Be a good wife, Hermia. Do not embarrass us again. Ensure that His Grace will never want for anything. Take care of him.”
Hermia stiffened, only to feel a brush on her elbow. The touch wasn’t familiar, not yet, but it eased the tension in her nonetheless.
“It is time to go, Duchess.” The Duke’s voice and touch on her elbow freed her from her parents, finally.
Hermia waited for the grief to well up inside her, but she found there was nothing left for them. She had long resigned herself to not expecting too much from them.
“You are right,” she agreed, fixing them with a hard look as she moved away from them and took her spot at her husband’s side.
The Duke bowed to her parents. “Farewell, Lord and Lady Wickleby. I am certain you know where to call on your daughter, should you need her for anything.”
The implication was clear—they would not call on her, but the Duke would not be blamed for the absence and distance that would no doubt grow.
With one last mournful look at her sisters, Hermia climbed into the carriage and waved at her friends one last time.
Chapter Seven
Branmere Hall was nestled deep in the countryside, surrounded by vast land and a lake that stretched out into the distance. Beautiful gardens wrapped around the building that jutted out of the woodland, making Hermia’s breath catch.
Roses and bluebells climbed up the walls, and she ached to touch them, to see if they were real, because the estate looked like one out of a fairytale.
