Page 65 of His Duchess of Scandal
She had heard her parents fight enough times to know that nothing stopped an argument quicker than refusing to argue back.
“She is old enough to know better,” Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The painting, running away from her bath, touching heirlooms…”
“Papa, I am doing better!” Phoebe insisted.
“Then why have you done this today? Did you not get enough a?—”
Hermia gasped, cutting him off. “I amcertainPhoebe did not mean to. Perhaps the heirloom looked like a ball.”
“It was a vase.” Charles exhaled deeply through his nose. “It was a vase, Hermia, and Phoebe picked it up, yelledcatchat a footman, only to run off laughing after she threw it.” He shook his head viciously. “My patience has worn thin, Phoebe. That was not a mistake; that was a foolish game you know you should not play.”
“Papa,” Phoebe insisted, as if still protesting her innocence, her face red.
Hermia went to her and pulled her close. She saw Charles’s expression shutter, a muscle in his jaw twitch.
“Papa, I did not mean it badly. I wasbored, and you have been working since we arrived!”
“That is not an excuse,” he snapped. “If you want to play with the heirlooms, so be it. If what you have at your disposal here is notenough, then there is no harm in my taking it all away. You can say goodbye to your doll house and your trinkets. Theactualball you have is clearly no fun anymore, so?—”
“Charles, do not do that to her,” Hermia admonished, shocked that he would confiscate the girl’s belongings.
But he only shook his head and clicked his fingers, summoning a steward.
“Have some toys cleared from this room,” he ordered coldly. “It seems Lady Phoebe is not satisfied enough by what she has.”
“Papa!” Phoebe cried out.
Charles glared at Hermia, then at Phoebe, even if he softened for a moment, as if realizing what he had started.
But it was too late, and his apology did not come quickly enough. Phoebe pushed away from Hermia, barreled right into him, shouldering him purposefully, and ran out of the room crying.
Hermia shot him a disgusted look and shook her head as she followed the wailing girl all the way to her room.
“Leave me alone,” Phoebe sobbed. “I do not want to see him or be taken back to him.”
“That is not why I am here,” Hermia told her gently, nodding to her governess to vacate the room.
Left alone, she closed the door behind her and walked over to the bed, where Phoebe had curled up atop the sheets, sobbing into her pillow.
Hermia dared to place a hand on her shoulder. “Here, lift your head for me?”
“No,” Phoebe whimpered.
“Please? It would be a shame not to see your pretty little face while I speak to you.”
“I do not care.”
“Phoebe.” Hermia said her name gently. A murmur, rather than a hiss or an exasperated sigh.
She had heard too much of that already, and while she knew that what the girl had done was wrong, she needed to be softer in her approach.
“Ah, you may cry into your pillow and hide your face, but I thought strong ladies faced others when spoken to, and I am ever in need of a strong lady. I noticed that the apple orchard in the garden requires some tending. I was going to meet with the gardeners and put them to work.”
That got Phoebe’s attention.
She sniffled as she slowly looked up. “Apple orchard?”
“Indeed, and I am certaingoodgirls get an apple to snack on for helping me with the task.”
