Page 99 of His Duchess of Scandal
“No.” Charles shook his head. “No, it is about time I spoke about it. I have kept everything shut away for many, many years. Perhaps it will be a relief to speak about it with somebody who was not involved.”
Hermia braced herself when his gaze turned distant.
“Up until I was around twenty, I went from a happy, adventurous child to the proper, dutiful heir who was boxed in place by duty and pressure. I did everything right, yet it was never right for my parents. Neverenough.” He all but spat out the word. “My father preached about propriety and duty, andwhat it meant to be a duke, and I listened attentively, thinking that was the only way to garner approval.”
He lifted his eyes to her, and she saw so much anger there.
“Only, when I was one-and-twenty, my father was publicly accused of ruining the daughter of Lord Grenford.”
At first, Hermia did not register the name, too focused on listening, but then she gasped. “Lord Grenford from the dinner party and the ball?”
Charles nodded gravely. “Rupert Farraday is the man you have met, but his father, Conrad Farraday, and his older brother, Patrick Farraday, were the ones who accused my father. Conrad was old, and Patrick was due to inherit the viscounty within a matter of months, I believe.
“For his family’s honor and to protect his sister, Patrick challenged my father to a duel. It was merciless, ruthless, and my father was scarcely given time to decline or accept. I tried to prevent it, but I knew that the accusations were true. My father had never been a faithful man, for all his talk of duty, but it was the first time he was caught and forced to face the consequences.
“And those consequences cost him his life,” he finished in a hard voice. “Both my father and Patrick Farraday died, leaving Rupert to inherit his title, while I inherited the duchy much earlier than any of us guessed I would. Thus, the pressure that had eased during university came right back as I became the Duke of Branmere.”
“Heavens, Charles,” Hermia whispered, covering her mouth. “Your father died in the duel.”
“He did.”
How peculiar it was not to hear grief in his voice. There was only bitterness, only hard resilience, knowing that his father’s actions had disrupted his own life.
“And my mother pounced as soon as she could by ensuring I did not slip up once.”
“It must have been so much pressure,” Hermia murmured, her eyebrows drawing together. “You lost your father and life, really.”
Charles shrugged as though he was unbothered. “Thatislife, unfortunately.”
“And your paintings?”
“Forgotten,” he said. “For a while, at least.”
“Did Lady Mercy know?”
Charles shook his head. “That remained my private space, untouched by the coldness of our marriage. Only a few servants knew about it. I did not make it common knowledge. In such astorm of pressure and duty, I needed one thing for myself. Just one small indulgence, and even that felt selfish at times.”
“It is never selfish to find joy where you can,” Hermia told him, reaching over.
She didn’t think he’d let her hold his hand, but he didn’t move his own away. If anything, he held her hand tighter. His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
She didn’t expect the softness, and he held her gaze for a minute longer than she had expected.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For listening to me.”
“Anytime,” she promised. “I do hope you know that, Charles. I truly am here to listen to you, always.”
“As I am for you.”
And she believed him. For so long, she had not been able to, unable to trust her heart or her instincts, not when she had spent so long ignoring them.
Charles’s promise came two days later with a rose and a note left on a tray on her side of the connecting door when she woke up.
My Aphrodite,
When you wake up, eat your breakfast as usual, then find Mrs. Nightgale and ask her to take you to the west wing. I will be there.
Yours,
