Page 74 of His Duchess of Scandal
“Charles?” she called, peering in.
He didn’t even look up at her, engrossed in his work. Or perhaps he had heard her and didn’t want to look up. Perhaps the evening had depleted the patience she had seen in recent days.
“May I come in?”
“You’ve already made up your mind on that, haven’t you?” he asked tightly.
His eyes flicked up to hers, and she blushed. But then she straightened up, reminded herself that she was not meek, but a duchess who had the right to know why her husband kept so much from her.
“Yes,” she answered. “I will.”
“Then enter.”
The command made heat curl in her stomach.
She stepped inside, letting the door close behind her.
Charles sighed, set down his quill, and pushed back from his desk. “Yes, Duchess?”
“I want to know what happened at dinner.”
Charles merely stared at her. Slowly, he cocked his head, as if sizing her up or waiting for her to realize what she had done.
“What happened,Duchess, is that you meddled where you should not,” he began. “And you challenged me in front of my daughterandmy friend. I have endured your sharp tongue plenty of times, but never, ever do it again—especially not where her mother is involved.”
“I understand, but?—”
“There are nobuts.”
“There are,” she snapped. “Phoebe deserves to know who her mother is. She deserves to know if she was loved—if she was cared for! Every daughter grows up wishing to know that she was the center of her mother’s universe. Why can she not have that?”
“I just do not think it is respectful to you.”
“That is utterbol—” Hermia gasped, not knowing where the curse had come from.
Even Charles looked surprised, yet mildly amused. He cocked his head as if daring her to finish.
“I expressly said that I was fine with it,” she added. “All was well. What is ityouare hiding from, Charles? Because I believe you are looking for barriers where there are none.”
“I’m hiding from nothing,” he told her, deadly quiet. “Mercy is dead, that is all. What is the point in making my daughter miss her mother even more? Has she not suffered enough growing up without one?”
Whether the questions were a deflection or sincere, Hermia didn’t know.
It was not that she thought Charles wasn’t sincere or didn’t care, but more that she worried he hid behind Phoebe’s feelings to avoid having to speak about something that may have hurt him.
Mercy’s death, or whatever had happened before that.
“You cannot always protect her from sadness,” Hermia said softly, changing tack.
She moved closer to the desk and saw how he stiffened. In the low light from the candle on his desk, his shirt gleamed, and his unbuttoned waistcoat looked almost navy. His eyes seemed even darker than usual.
Her heart sped up as she looked at him. Even more so when she felt his eyes on her.
“I can try.”
“You can,” she agreed. “But she will cry at the first feel of sun after a harsh winter. She will cry when she skins her knee and you are not there. She will cry when she fights with her friendsone day. She will cry when you leave for business, and she realizes how much she misses you. More so, she will cry over a man one day, a broken heart, and a marriage she might not enjoy.
“There are things you can smooth over, but there are many more you cannot. You can guide her, but you cannot build walls around her and shut out whatever you think will hurt her. You stand to push her away, to teach her that she cannot ask questions. Do not push her away, Charles, because if you refuse her every curiosity, then you will.”
