Page 62 of His Duchess of Scandal
Arms reached for her, and Hermia caught her sister in an embrace easily, laughing softly.
“Heavens, it has been too long,” she murmured.
Sibyl hugged her back harder. “Only a month,” she said. But they both knew a month was an eternity when they had once spent every day together. “I have missed you.”
“I have missed you, too.”
Hermia gave her another tight squeeze before Sibyl pulled back, her brown eyes—so like Isabella’s and their father’s—bright.
“You must tell me about your new life with His Grace! I cannot believe he swept into Wickleby Hall and saved you the way he did! Oh, it is terribly romantic, Hermia. Does he read you poetry by candlelight while holding hands? Does he tell you he loves you daily? Do you?—”
“Heavens, Sibyl. Do let our sister breathe.” The new voice came not from the staircase, but from the parlor.
Isabella strode towards them, her face as stoic and as beautiful as ever. “Although I admit I am intrigued to know about the state of your marriage.”
Hermia sighed. “I have missed you, too, Isabella.”
Isabella waved her off as if she had no time for such sentiments. “Do tell us!”
“Oh, donot,” Alicia groaned, coming down the opposite staircase.
It amused Hermia to think that she really had been the glue to keep them together, the string upon which they all could connect. Usually, they would be together in one room or another, always a duo or trio, if not a quartet.
Without Hermia, it seemed, at least at that moment, that they had all been as far from one another as possible. It amused her, for she knew it was not a disinterest in one another, but simply how much their personalities clashed.
“Hermia,” Alicia continued, ever formal and removed from too much emotion without being uncaring. “Or should I address you asYour Gracenow?” She grinned teasingly. “Perhaps I should. It shows your power.”
“You may simply call me as you have always done,” Hermia offered. “Which, at some point, was a nuisance in your life.”
Alicia laughed and hugged her.
Surrounded by her sisters, Hermia felt the hole that loneliness had dug into her heart fill a little more.
“I think we ought to give the Duchess of Branmere some space.”
The stern voice that filled the foyer had Hermia springing away from her sisters. Even with her new status and confidence, she was not as steel-spined as she wished to be. Her eyes lifted to her parents, who had just emerged from the parlor.
No doubt they are finally realizing they have to do something for my sisters, with me gone.Now, Isabella is their hope, their toy to make the ton’s favorite.
“Mother,” Hermia greeted, lifting her chin. “Father.”
Her mother’s smile was a cunning thing. “Do report to us on your new life, Hermia. I imagine His Grace has been enduring quite a… bit with you. Is there a sign of an heir? I trust you are doing your duty to continue his bloodline. The young girl is too outspoken, if not intolerable, but she can hardly be his heir now. You must not fail His Grace, of course.”
“Heavens, Mama,” Alicia groaned. “Hermia has just walked in through the door!”
“Hush,” their mother snapped, her eyes not leaving Hermia. “Well?”
Is there a sign of an heir?
Hermia’s tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth. Her chest still burned with Charles’s rejection on their wedding night.
“I thought I made myself clear: you are my wife in name only.”
Before she could find the words to answer, Isabella grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the door.
“I just recalled that Lord Francis mentioned riding through Hyde Park this afternoon! Mama, I am certain you would not want me to miss an opportunity to greet him.” She turned to Hermia, her eyes flashing with understanding. “Do come with me, Sister! In fact, the four of us should go. Let us go,now.”
Hermia did not have the chance to feel relief and deep gratitude, or to even assess her parents’ reaction, before they were herded towards the door, gathering bonnets and cloaks, calling for a lady’s maid even though hers was ready to go.
