Page 46 of His Duchess of Scandal
“A child deserves patience, no matter how challenging they are.” Her tone wasn’t quite clipped, but she was trying to be firm.
“I ought to?—”
“No.” Hermia shook her head. “You ought not to do anything. With all due respect, I do not think your methods are effective. I consoled her after the library incident in a matter of minutes, and yes, I have chased her again, but things take time. I had her back to her governess in no time. Her learning will take time. She is a child, and children should not learn through orders and anger. They should learn through patience, knowing that if they have not done the right thing, they have another chance to do so. They must know there is room to be upset and feel.”
“Room to… feel,” the Duke echoed quietly.
“Yes. She feels a great deal. As adults, we handle so much that we forget children have the same capacity, though in a very different way. If anything, it could be more frustrating if she cannot express everything she isfeeling. Punishment could result in more paintings being unveiled, and I am certain you do not want that.” Her eyes narrowed, her eyebrow arching. “Unless you have more paintings of me than you have mentioned. In that case, I would like to see them before Phoebe gets her hands on them.”
The Duke said nothing. He turned his head away sharply, and she saw how tightly he clenched his jaw as he stormed off, leaving her in the doorway of his study.
Somehow, the sinking feeling in her stomach still felt like a victory.
Chapter Eleven
“Papa, look what I found!”
Before Charles could collect himself or look up, a blur of dark hair and pink skirts shot into his vision. He cried out right as Phoebe knocked over his full inkwell.
Ink spilled over the contract he had been reading, and he cursed violently before cutting himself off.
Slowly, he looked up at Phoebe, who stared at him with wide, panicked eyes.
“Papa, I am sorry. I got too excited to show you…” She clutched the front of her dress, where more ink had spilled. But in her palm, she held up a four-leaf clover. “Hermia helped me find it in the woods.”
Seconds later, Hermia rushed in, clapping her hand over her mouth at the sight. “Heavens. Miss Tarnen, come quickly!”
“Uh-oh,” Phoebe whispered. “It was an accident, Papa, I swear! This was not even a prank!”
“Regardless,” Charles gritted out, “you know better than to barge into my study like this. You should not even be in here, Phoebe! How many times do I have to?—”
Phoebe’s sniffles filled the room, and he felt as though he had been punched in the gut.
Heavens, he had been too harsh again.
Hermia surged forward angrily, tugging the crying girl to her side as ifhewas the problem.
Charles glared at her before looking at his daughter. His heart hardened even when he willed it to be kinder and softer. But why could she not justlisten?
What made him so terrible, but Hermia so good?
“Phoebe,” he said, forcing his voice to be calmer, but his words just came out too clipped. “I need you to stop crying now. Ladies do not cry.”
“Ladies do cry when their papas are being mean!” Phoebe shouted, burying her face in Hermia’s skirts.
His wife didn’t seem to mind that the girl smeared ink on her, too, and merely held her until the governess returned and took her away.
When it was just the two of them in the study, Charles rounded his desk and stopped in front of her.
He jabbed an angry finger at the spillage. “This is your idea of good teachings? She is not getting any better.”
“I told you that it takes time.”
“You are not a parent,” he ground out. “How do you know what you are doing and the methods that will work?”
He moved closer to her, not in anger but in distress, in frustration, because he so desperately wanted just an inch of whatever it was she possessed to console his daughter.
“I am her father, and I am the Duke of Branmere. There are standards she must uphold, and so far she is—she is not…”
