Page 79 of His Duchess of Scandal
It was such a casual, motherly gesture, so tender and full of care, that Charles looked away again. He focused on the flames as Hermia told her tale.
“There was once a man who flew around the world in a boat?—”
“He flew in aboat?” Phoebe asked, her voice pitching high in wonder.
“Indeed. It had little wooden wings, and he soared through the skies.”
Charles was still staring at the flames.
Wooden wings. How absurd.
But when he stole a glance at the two of them and caught the awe in his daughter’s eyes, he softened.
I should have been doing this for her since she was little.
He thought of the book of fairytales he had bought her. At the time, he had hoped it would distract her and keep her occupiedduring the events he hosted. But perhaps he should have bought it with the intention of reading it to her.
He jerked his focus away, again.
“Do you know what this captain of the skies searched for?” Hermia asked gently.
“A pigeon? I like pigeons. I chase them.” Phoebe’s voice was thick and slurred, as if she were close to slumber.
“Not pigeons,” Hermia said, laughing patiently. “He searched forstorms. This captain believed that storms contained unbridled power, and he wished to harness it. Not for bad reasons, though—Heavens, no. He wanted to power his flying boat so he could fly faster, higher, and he wanted to rescue those who were not seen on the ground. He believed he could do good if only he travelled a little further, a little harder. He wanted the power of the storms to fill the wings of his boat, to push currents that guided him, and he wanted to become a Master of Storms, Savior of People. Would you like that, Phoebe? To be a Mistress of Storms?”
When only silence answered, Charles looked over, finding Phoebe slumped against Hermia’s shoulder, her jaw slack in sleep.
Without hesitation, he leaned over and gently picked her up. He could not love her the way she needed, could not be the father she craved, but he could make sure she was comfortable.
It was not enough, but it was all he had at that moment.
Hermia’s eyes lingered on him as he carried her to one of the rooms. After he laid her on the bed and tucked her beneath the blankets, he stopped. Hethought. And then he pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
He returned to Hermia, but sat closer this time, within reach. This time, he didn’t avoid her gaze, and neither did she. The air between them thrummed with unspoken words and a feeling he couldn’t decipher.
“She will be a fine lady one day,” Hermia noted quietly, breaking the silence. “A force to be reckoned with for certain, but she will be good. She will recall this day fondly, Charles.”
Charles’s jaw clenched as he fixed his eyes on the flames again. “I envy your openness. I… I do not have. Your patience and endless kindness with Phoebe—it is…” He shook his head sharply. “It is admirable. I want to be there for her, but I do not know how.
“My parents never taught me, nor did I ever see an example that I may follow. They—they were a very typical couple. Duty-bound, honorable, strict. It is all I knew, and now I do not know how to be unlike them.”
“I understand,” Hermia said.
Charles thought back to the Wicklebys’ harsh treatment of her. He fought down a rush of anger at how fast they had changed their behavior once he offered marriage.
“One cannot live with parents, and one cannot live without them. However, I still believe my mother pushed me out of the nest, so to speak, and I immediately knew I was better flying alone.”
Charles gave a half smile, tired and emotionally drained. “You knew what she was going to be like from a young age, then.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. I like to think I raised myself, really. My mother will not take credit for any of this.”
Her smile was so pretty it hurt to look at, yet Charles forced himself not to look away.
Silence fell over them, punctuated by the crackling of the fire. It was not tense, though, nor awkward. It was comfortable, and that scared him more than anything.
Hermia broke the silence after a while, her tone confident but careful. “What happened with Mercy?”
The name still made his spine stiffen—a rigid, dutiful response to his late wife.
