Page 57 of His Duchess of Scandal
Phoebe pursed her lips before shrugging. “I think I have rhymed every word I can think of. So, no, thank you.”
Oh, how simple and straightforward a child’s mind can be.
“Well, how about not rhyming the words? For example, you could write your papa a thank-you note for the fairytale book he bought you—the one you told me about.”
Phoebe was already frowning, her soft young features marred by her displeasure as she shook her head. “No. He will likely only smile at me before putting it in a drawer and forgetting about it. He has too many important things to read, like that contract I ruined! Oh! But—wait, I want to…” she trailed off as she began writing furiously.
Soon, she held up her card to Hermia, and she read it, her heart swelling with adoration.
Dear Lady Hermia,
Thank you for coming into my life,
As my papa’s wife.
I was ever so lonely and sad,
And I always made Papa mad,
But now you are here to make him smile!
Please stay with us for a while.
“By Jove,” she whispered, before realizing her vision was slightly blurred with tears that she hurriedly blinked away.
Phoebe was staring up at her with those inquisitive eyes, and Hermia nodded, unable to speak for a moment.
“Of course, I will stay,” she said eventually. “I will stay forever.”
“Good,” Phoebe almost huffed, as if she had been prepared to pout. “Because my mama did not stay forever, but I would like you to.”
Hermia went still.
Phoebe didn’t seem to notice, but Hermia wasn’t sure how to navigate a conversation about her mother. She didn’t know where the boundaries were drawn, and she didn’t want to risk upsetting Charles if he heard about it.
Her eyes swept the sunroom. A maid stood to attention nearby, on hand to serve tea if called for.
Hermia considered changing the topic, but Phoebe spoke again.
“Did you know my mama?”
The question caught her off guard. Her tongue grew heavy, and she focused on the dust motes swirling above the table, caught in a small beam of sunlight. Her nails tapped the wood, played with the next thank-you note she hadn’t yet written.
It was all she could do to keep her hands busy and ease her worries as she thought of an answer.
“I did not know her,” Phoebe continued, when all she received was silence. “And I would like to—I think. Papa never speaks about her, and I noticed that he took her portrait down from the hallway. I liked it. I used to look at it, because I think I look like her. Is that nasty to say to you? I am ever so sorry.”
“It is not nasty,” Hermia said quickly. “She is your mother, and you have a right to miss her. I am not—I am not your mother, soyou do not have to worry about causing me offense if you miss looking at your real mother.”
“I do not really miss her,” Phoebe mumbled. “But I miss having reminders, I think. Papa never speaks about her, and I wish he would.”
“Have you… ever asked him?”
Phoebe nodded, writing away. “He just avoids the topic or tells me we will discuss it another time.”
“I see,” Hermia murmured.
“He avoids many topics I bring up,” Phoebe sighed.
