Page 44 of His Duchess of Scandal
She quickly caught up to Phoebe and scooped her up, forced into an unladylike position to do so. But at least the fidgeting girl was in her grasp.
“Ah, yes, I have,” she said, making sure her voice was gentler and more patient than anything Phoebe must have heard in such moments.
That was the reason the girl had bolted: fear of being rebuked. Even if what she had done was dangerous, Phoebe was understandably aggravated, and she needed to be handled with patience before she was advised to act differently.
“If I put you down,Clever Phoebe, will you run again?”
“Yes!”
“Ah, then I fear I have to carry you out to the woods for our walk. But only babies are carried, are they not? Not big, clever ladies like you wish to be.”
Phoebe paused, confused by the different approach.
“That is the thing,” Hermia continued. “Proper ladies do not act in such ways, no matter how much we wish to. It would be a shame for you to keep up such behavior.”
“Iama proper lady! Put me down!”
“Oh, but you confessed you will run, and ladies do not run.”
“I will not,” Phoebe insisted.
Hermia knew well enough the signs of a child ready to give in, so she slowly lowered her to her feet.
Sure enough, Phoebe did not run. She made a small noise of indignation that sounded amusedly like the Duke’s when he was displeased.
Hermia smiled down at her. “See? Now, how about you and I go to the woods and talk about what made you upset? I am here to listen to you.”
“What about Miss Tarnen?”
“Shall we invite her, too?”
Phoebe nodded, chewing on her lower lip, looking rather ashamed. So Hermia lingered with her for another moment. She held her by the shoulders, not to force her to stay put but to assure her that she did not stand alone.
“Sometimes, we feel too much, and it can spiral in ways like this. Other times, I know you are simply being mischievous, but do not be ashamed today. I hear you, my dear Phoebe. I hear you very clearly.”
Surprisingly, the girl nodded, her lip wobbling, but no tears came. Instead, she walked back to the library, where maids had been ushered in to clear up the Phoebe-shaped hurricane that had passed through it.
Soon, the three of them headed to the woodland that surrounded Branmere Hall.
Suddenly, Hermia felt a prickle at the back of her neck, so she turned to scan the windows.
She saw a figure in the Duke’s study. Yet the moment she squinted, it was gone, and the prickle disappeared.
Another incident happened several days later, and Hermia found herself chasing down Phoebe once more. Except this time, the girl’s antics were full of pure mischief, rather than driven by upset.
Distress was something Hermia had experience with, but she could also handle mischief.
“Lady Phoebe, please get back here!” Miss Tarnen cried out as they hurried down the hallway.
Behind them, maids scurried, too. Up ahead, Phoebe’s dark hair fluttered behind her as she looked back at them, sticking out her tongue.
“You cannot catch me!” she crowed gleefully.
“Lady Phoebe,please,” Miss Tarnen gasped. “You must take your evening bath!”
“I do not want to!” Phoebe yelled, skipping another few paces ahead.
Her chemise fluttered around her ankles, and Hermia’s stomach twisted with nerves at the thought of other servants seeing her. She wished she could simply get close enough to toss a towel over her and catch her like she had the other day.
