Page 61 of His Duchess of Scandal
“He ignored me for a week. No letters, no visits—nothing. I was ready to end our courtship, convinced he had lost interest. In truth, the man was so consumed bywantthat he did not know what to do with it. Oftentimes, that is the way. They cannot speak their mind, and they think they cannot act on what they do not say, either. Left with no other choice—in their terribly small minds—they ignore us untiltheysee the light. It leaves us bereft and unmoored, of course, and that is a terrible fate, but it is the way of men.
“What I am trying to say, Hermia, is that you think he is ignoring you because he does not want you, when the opposite is likely the case. He wants you too much and does not know how to express it. From where I am sitting, it looks as though you want something more from your convenient husband. You would not look so forlorn otherwise. And perhaps he feels the same.”
Hermia was struck silent by the revelation. She struggled to believe her friend, but what if Josephine was right?
On the other hand, what if Charleshadwanted her, but one night had been more than enough? What if she had been terrible in bed? What if she were?—
Josephine finally picked up a macaron and bit into it with a hum of approval, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Oh, you are quite right—these macarons are delicious. We all must take a bite of the delicious things put in front of us.”
Hermia tried to ignore her knowing look.
Upon their return to Branmere Manor after their honeymoon period, Charles introduced her to the staff before immediately departing for business meetings, muttering about catching up on work now that they were back in the city.
Hermia barely got a protest out before the door slammed shut behind him.
“Well,” she sighed, aggravated. “That is that.”
She turned to Mrs. Andrews, whom she had just been introduced to, and?—
Ah.
It was then that Hermia remembered that the nude painting had been unveiled in this townhouse. The very townhouse she had stormed into that night to confront Charles.
The worry she’d had about who had seen the painting grew, now that she was right where many servants had likely seen it. Where many of the ton had likely seen it, too.
According to both Phoebe and Lord Wickleby—not Charles, for he never spoke to her about such things—the Branmere charity auctions were always a hit.
It would not have been a quiet affair nor a small spectacle.
Hermia’s eyes wandered around the entrance hall. Where did Charles paint? What secrets did this townhouse hold, and were they the same as in Branmere Hall?
“Your Grace.” Mrs. Andrew curtsied, a tight smile on her face.
It was not unkind, but it was a smile that held back thoughts that Hermia was annoyed enough to want to know, for she feared they were about her.
She pushed down the urge.
“Mrs. Andrews,” she said.
“Let me take you on a proper tour,” the housekeeper offered, hinting at her improper visit that very first night a month ago.
Hermia fought back a flush of embarrassment at how she must have looked back then, and merely followed the woman.
Chapter Sixteen
The Wicklebys had returned to their London townhouse, and it was, naturally, the first place Hermia planned to visit.
Approaching the large black door, along with the flowers that climbed towards her old street-facing bedroom window, made dread curl in her gut. She did not want to forgo seeing her sisters, but the thought of seeing her parents made her jaw clench.
I have been an exemplary duchess.I have proven their expectations wrong.I did all I could, and if I am still not good enough, then there is nothing more I can do, and I will not waste my efforts or breath.
Steeling herself, she entered her former home.
Everything was the same, yet so much about her and her life had changed. Still, her eyes flicked up to where her old bedroom was.The bedroom she had snuck back into the night she had gone to Anton Bentley’s party.
“Sister!”
Before she could think about how far she had come from that night, she looked up to see Sibyl flying down the grand staircase towards her.
