Page 82 of His Duchess of Scandal
Isabella and Sibyl stood at the front of the crowd, right on the fringes of the dance floor. But their mother was standing behind them, chattering away, pointing out suitors.
Sibyl’s face was screwed up in discomfort she did not bother to hide, while Isabella’s smile was strained.
Do not pretend, Sister. Be bold in your opinions. Do not let her push you.
“Do you mind if I go to my sisters, Your Grace?” Hermia asked quietly, nodding to where they stood.
Charles’s attention broke as he further searched the ballroom. “I see Levi near the refreshments table,” he told her. “I will come and find you. Wave to me if you need anything. I will be there.”
With that assurance, Hermia set off towards her sisters.
As soon as she was alone, she blocked out the whispers that followed her, more speculation and questions about the painting, and hurried to her sisters’ sides.
“You must come with me,” she said, as though nothing was amiss. “I have much to tell you.”
Isabella’s face flickered, a crack in the façade of the daughter chosen to carry the mantle. Sibyl’s relief was so obvious it hurt to look at.
“Of course,” Isabella said. “Mama, we will meet with those lords later, perhaps?”
Before their mother had a chance to answer or fix Hermia with a glare, Hermia pulled them to the side.
As soon as they were alone, Josephine appeared, surprising her.
“Well, well,” she drawled. “If it is not the ravishing Duchess of Branmere. Have you taken my advice yet?”
Hermia arched an eyebrow. “I do not believe you gave me advice at all.”
“I gave you things to consider, though.” Her friend’s smirk was far too mischievous. Her gown glimmered like bubbling champagne, and she looked beautiful as she always did.
Sibyl gazed at Josephine with both admiration and a bit of jealousy.
“I, too, would like to know, actually,” Isabella spoke up. “Howarethings with the Duke? You have been ever so secretive about your life.”
“Oh, goodness, I have not.” Hermia tried to laugh it off. “As I told you, I am content.”
“Contentment in a wife leads to a slow, painful death,” Josephine said bluntly.
Hermia scowled at her. “Contentment is perfectly fine.”
“I am certain, but you are a lady who craves fire, do you not?”
“Not here, Josephine,” Hermia complained.
“You must crave romance,” Sibyl chimed in, fidgeting with her deep pink skirt almost nervously, as if she were still growing accustomed to the attention at such balls.
Meanwhile, Isabella was a wall of ice, merely looking out at the ballroom with a mask of utter stoicism.
It is as if she is daring suitors to try their luck.
“Has His Grace proclaimed such romance? Made beautiful gestures?” Sibyl’s eyes glittered with the hope of a pretty love story.
Hermia bit her lip. “He has given me a good life,” she answered evasively, pointedly looking around.
She indeed saw Charles watching her even as he spoke with Levi. There was something about seeing him conversing, yet focusing his attention on her. It sent a delicious heat through her.
“A good life,” Isabella snorted. “If this is all I can look forward to?—”
“Isabella, you will have abeautifullife,” Hermia interrupted. “You will find your perfect match, I am certain.”
