Page 84 of Her Beast of a Duke
“After all, we are family,” Alicia pointed out. “So, we ought to be more comfortable with one another, no?”
Stunned and wordless, Oscar just nodded. What else could he say? He had never had a fully functioning family, not one that laughed without force or spoke without thinking of what to say. Yet, he sat around the table with Alicia and Sibyl, Hermia and her family, his own wife, and their friends.
It was strange to be surrounded by such good people, and Oscar, in his own way, couldn’t get comfortable with it. If anything, he couldn’t stop looking at the trio that was Hermia, her husband, Charles, and their daughter, Phoebe. Oscar had heard through rumors—thanks to Edmund’s incessant love oftongossip and informing Oscar against his own desires—that although Phoebewas not Hermia’s biological daughter, the duchess had taken her under her wing as a stepmother.
He could see it now: how Hermia’s face lit up whenever she looked at the young girl, barely two and ten. How her voice softened when she spoke to Phoebe, but her tone was more humorous when she spoke with her sisters.
It made something deeply twist in Oscar’s chest, looking at the simple family, wondering what hardships they had all faced to get to that point. Maybe they all had easy lives. Maybe they had not had to fight tooth and nail, with fists and rifles through a military, to find what Oscar had found in Isabella.
But he watched his wife watching the family Hermia had, and something dug deep in his sternum.
“Oscar?”
He was aware of someone saying his name, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the desperate look Isabella gave her eldest sister. Had he deprived her of a family? They both took precautions to ensure nothing came from their coupling, but what if she wanted it, deep down? He had never even thought of discussing it, and some part of him felt so bitter and disgusted with himself for that.
“What?” he snapped on instinct, finding the source of his name being spoken. It came from Lady Mary, and he swallowed his next bitter retort he’d usually reserve for Edmund when he was bothered too greatly.
“Apologies, Lady Mary, I did not hear what you said,” he smoothed over. “Please tell me again?”
“I was simply remarking on how Lord Harcross throws the most delightful balls. Do you agree? Lord Harcross says the two of you are good friends.”
Oscar looked between Edmund and Lady Mary, raising a brow. He noticed that Isabella did too, cocking her head in that thoughtful way. He filed away a mental note to ask her about it later, suddenly invested in how much his friend looked across at Lady Mary.
“Oh, come now, Lady Mary,” Edmund intervened when Oscar was too silent for too long. “My soirees are merely part of my role. As a marquess, I must impress, no?”
“And impress you do, as I am certain you know,” Lady Mary giggled, and Oscar noted the peculiar flush on his friend’s face. Very few ladies had done such a thing to his usually very confident friend.
“You compliment me too graciously, Lady Mary,” Edmund chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. Around the table, the two of them were watched with thoughtful enough expressions that Oscar actually realized they all thought the same thing. That a single man and a single lady might find something in common to take beyond tonight.
But Oscar still noted how Isabella watched her sister with her stepdaughter, and he drank away the bitter punch that hit hisgut. Had he deprived her? He chased away the thought with another gulp of wine. Her eyes were so wide. Did she envy her sister?
He turned his focus back to Edmund and how he kept looking at Lady Mary. He tried to decipher the looks they gave one another. Something in him wrenched, for he had never seen such a thing, and he was sure he had never felt such a thing. Still, he glanced at his wife, questioning himself.
“Do you like my parties, Lady Mary?” Edmund asked, and Oscar swore he detected a hint of insecurity in his friend’s voice.
“Oh, very much, Lord Harcross,” Lady Mary said. “After all, I see myself as a conventional lady of theton, and, as you know, every eligible lady does attend your balls. Ah, speaking of, Isabella, Lord Stanton did not bother you at Lord and Lady Farrell’s dinner party the other night, I hope?”
At the reminder of the event, Oscar’s hand tightened on his wineglass. Nothing remarkable had happened at it, but Lord Stanton had, in fact, been there, and Oscar had needed to fight every instinct he had not to punch the man through the nearest wall for even daring to show his face.
“Mercifully, he did not bother either of us,” Isabella said, smiling at her friend, and then at Oscar. He noticed how her smile went a little softer when it was aimed at him. It was as though she still put on a front to convince everybody she was all right. With him, that front was dropped, and it struck him to see that.
“Good,” Hermia cut in, her voice hard. “I do not like his even attending the events he knows you will be at.”
“I am certain our mother was overjoyed, though,” Sibyl muttered, and the sisters all looked to her. She was usually the understanding one, from what Oscar knew and had learned through Isabella. But bitterness coated her tongue, and she shook her head. “She is becoming more ruthless in her hunt for a match for me, and…” She inhaled sharply. “I do not know. She keeps speaking about Lord Stanton, and I have half a fear she might try to matchmewith him. She still thinks he is a good choice.”
“Which is precisely why an invitation was not extended to her tonight,” Isabella answered, her voice bright.
“Good,” Hermia said again.
“Good!” Phoebe called out, laughing to herself. She had a round face, still innocent with childhood, but when she peered over at Oscar, her eyes turned curious. “You are like my papa, are you not? A duke.”
Oscar glanced at Charles, who smiled behind his fist.
“I am indeed,” Oscar answered. “And Lady Isabella is my duchess, as Lady Hermia is your father’s.”
Phoebe considered that with a hum, looking between the two couples. “Do you always wear dark clothing? Papa does a lot, butHermia insists on putting pretty colors on him when she can. Does Lady Isabella do the same?”
Despite himself, Oscar laughed. “I just prefer darker clothing, but Lady Isabella has certainly tried to encourage me otherwise.”
