Page 40 of His Duchess of Scandal
Chapter Nine
Hermia took her seat at the dining table that night. She had arrived last in the hope of finding the Duke there. And indeed, he was there, right at the head of the table.
His eyes caught hers as she sat down. She suppressed a smile when she saw Phoebe sitting to his right. His fist was resting on the table on the opposite side, as if he were holding all the tension there, as if he did not know what to do.
Hermia guessed that the dining hall had been rather silent before her arrival.
Her husband assessed the table, nodding at the dishes that had already been laid out.
“This is an admirable spread,” he remarked, not quite looking at her. “Very well put-together, Duchess. Lady Phoebe, you should thank your m—you should thank the Duchess for organizing this.”
Hermia bit her lip at the slip-up but did not comment on it.
“Thank you, Hermia!” Phoebe said happily, grinning at her.
But her face quickly fell when she caught the Duke frowning, likely because she had dropped the honorifics.
I wonder if he is jealous that we have already crossed that boundary, whereas he and I have not. Aside from the aliases that night a year ago.
“Papa, what do you want to eat first? I think you should follow my lead! I am going to start with the slices of meat!”
“Venison?” the Duke asked Hermia quietly, and she nodded. “Excellent choice.”
“It is your favorite, I do believe,” she said, and was rewarded with a curt nod. “And the wine is a fine, rich red. I requested one of your favorites, but not yourutmostfinest. I hope that is all right. I assumed you would leave that sort of wine for a bigger celebration.”
His eyes cut to hers again. “Indeed. Although… this would have been quite apt, I suppose.”
Hermia didn’t know, or care, if it was a slight. She simply smiled to herself, happy with her decision. If anything, she was more buoyed by the sight of Phoebe digging into her food, happily devouring her favorite meals.
“How are you… settling in?” the Duke asked as he loaded up his plate, his eyes on her.
Hermia swallowed back a smile, realizing hehadlistened to her in the end. He may have rejected and put her in her place, but he had listened.
“Very well, I believe,” she replied. “I was telling Phoebe’s governess about how I embroidered a map of Wickleby Hall when Alicia—that is my youngest sister—grew aware of her surroundings. She used to get terribly confused, so I did that for her.”
“I did not know you embroidered,” he said.
She laughed. “Most ladies do. In fact, I do not know a lady who does not.”
“I do not!” Phoebe interjected. “Will you teach me, Hermia?”
“Of course.” Hermia smiled. “Anything you wish to learn, I will teach you.”
“I want to be aproperlady, like you.”
Hermia was reminded of how bitterly Isabella had called her ‘the proper daughter’ and shivered.
“I shall teach you all the ways to be so. In fact, I will make you into the most proper lady there is, such that you will steal the hearts of all your suitors, and you will be spoiled for choice.”
“Not for many years,” the Duke muttered.
Hermia hid a snigger behind her hand.
“Although, do not tell your papa I said that,” she whispered loudly to the little girl. “We do not want him to be inundated with suitors. Heavens, when willsucha busy man find time to assess all the young lords who shall one day want to claim your heart?”
She stole a glance at her husband, only to find him smirking. It was small, but it was visible, and it reminded her of that night at Anton Bentley’s party, when he had not been cold.
If anything, he had been warm—too warm, in fact—and had melted her right into his palm, bending her to his whim.
