Page 67 of His Duchess of Scandal
Still, she noticed how eyes swiveled to her as she entered.
To distract herself, she commented on the guest capacity.
“Fifty people between the two rooms,” she told Charles, simply to fill her mind with anything other than worry. “Well, fifty-two, if we count ourselves.”
He raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. He did not say anything, but he looked impressed at her quick counting.
She continued, “I noticed Lady Amber is on the arm of Lord Bretherton. The last time I saw them, she had her eyes set on him. I wonder if they are courting.”
“Do you miss the gossip, then?” he asked, as if mocking her.
She frowned. “No.”
They walked into the drawing room, and Hermia kept her head high and her smile in place.
Do not let that smile drop. The smiles hide a thousand things. Do not let them get to you.
Before Hermia could suggest that Charles get them drinks, a blonde-haired man with icy-blue eyes approached her. He gave a charming smile as he inclined his head in greeting.
“Your Graces,” he said. “It is good to see you both back in London after your honeymoon. I hear Branmere Hall is beautiful at this time of year. Her Grace must agree?”
He looked at Hermia, and she nodded. “Indeed. And thank you, Lord…?”
“Ah, forgive my rudeness. I am certain your husband is eager to make the introductions.” The man’s eyes hardened, flicking to Charles.
Hermia looked at her husband, who only cleared his throat.
Silence stretched enough that she thought he was not going to say anything.
“Duchess, this is Lord Grenford. Lord Grenford, this is the Duchess of Branmere.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lord Grenford,” Hermia said as the man bowed to her. “I do not believe we have met before.”
“Ah, we have not. Although, given your age, Your Grace, you may have known my brother. Surely you know the Grenfords in any capacity?”
Her mind went blank, and she shook her head. Next to her, Charles went rigid.
The Viscount’s smile turned sharp. “I see,” he said tightly. “Well, I suppose when one has a most rushed wedding, one forgets about the ton and how much influence it holds. I am certain you agree, given your… special circumstances?”
Hermia blanched, a retort on her tongue. But then Charles stepped in front of her, his voice as icy as the Viscount’s eyes. “We must make the rounds, Duchess.”
“Indeed, do not let me keep you,” Lord Grenford almost purred, his smile widening in a way that made Hermia’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Enjoy your evening, Your Graces.”
Charles pulled her away and over to the refreshments table. Hermia stepped closer to him as he handed her a glass.
“Who is that man?” she demanded.
“Lord Grenford. I believe that much is obvious.”
“Oh, do not insult my intelligence,” she huffed. “Why were you so avoidant with him? While I do not trust a man with a smile so… quick and wide, I heard your tone change. Why?”
“No reason,” he answered too quickly. “We are not on good terms. There is nothing more to it.”
“Do you think I believe that? You are so keen on duty and propriety, yet you did not even want to make the introductions.”
“Hermia, leave it,” Charles warned quietly. “All I ask is that you stay away from him.”
“I will if you tell me why.”
