Page 113 of Her Beast of a Duke
“This is unfair,” she choked out. “I have done nothing of the sort to be in this position.”
“It appears the Duke thinks differently about your position,” Alicia piped up, laughing again.
“Hush, Alicia!” their mother cried, frantic and at her wits’ end.
“Oh, Mama, a body is a body. If they were meant to be hidden away, then we would not exist. Power of the flesh is the greatest thing a woman can have; do not be so pru?—”
“Silence!” Everybody clammed up at their father’s order. “The damage is done, and my decision must be consequential to your actions, Hermia. You are to leave England, and that will not be up for debate.”
Even Isabella gasped from the doorway, her round face shocked.
Hermia felt ill. Her skin prickled, and she feared she would hit the floor in a bout of unconsciousness.
“Papa,” she whispered tightly. “Papa, you cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” he snarled. “You will leave for France within the week to live with your aunt Patricia.”
“Mama!” she protested.
Her mother shook her head furiously. “I have agreed. The sooner you are out of the country, the sooner you will be forgotten.”
The words struck Hermia like the snap of a whip, only the welt stung even if it was invisible. Hurt lanced through her chest; they decided to banish her so easily.
“You… you are fine with me being forgotten?” Her question came out too quietly, too hurt, and she willed herself to be stronger. Before giving any of them a chance to answer, she shook her head. “No. No, I refuse. I refuse! I have done everything you have ever asked of me, and I know that I had no part in this scandalous event. I will go to London to fix everything. I will demand a meeting with His Gr?—”
“You will do no such thing!” her mother snapped. “You will not approach him, nor ever be seen with him. You are leaving for France. You are already a spinster, Hermia, already gossiped about and burdening your sisters. If you do not leave, then your sisters’ fate will be doomed, and they will end up the same.”
Hermia felt that blow harder than the thought of being forgotten.
“Mama, no!” Isabella shouted from the doorway. “Do not be so cruel.”
Sibyl rushed to Hermia, clinging to her, tears already streaming down her face. Her arms wrapped around her tightly.
“Do not go,” she sobbed. “Do not—you are my favorite sister.”
“Mama, do not send Hermia away,” Alicia begged. “She has been good to us.”
Hermia stared at her sisters in surprise, for even Isabella spoke up for her. They butted heads, and could be callous with one another, but they were still sisters. They all knew what it was like to be a lady in this society and have everything hinge on a good marriage.
“There has to be something we can do,” Isabella insisted. “I am certain I can charm somebody who might know who printed the story. There has to be a way, or things we can throw money at, to make this go away. Mama, we cannot send Hermia away.”
“Not to mention that Aunt Patricia is horrid and cruel!” Alicia cried. “When she visited, she forced me to rise at dawn for four hours of pianoforte practice and supervised every task like I was a servant.”
“Stop it now, all of you,” their mother ordered. “Our decision has been made. We cannot endure the humiliation any further. For the three of you to have a fighting chance at securing respectable matches, Hermia must leave. Tomorrow, we will plan your departure.”
With one last scathing glare, the Earl and Countess left the parlor, leaving Hermia to finally sink to the floor, shaking from both shame and fury.
Her sisters pulled her towards the settee, fussing over her like they might hold her together.
“They’re being hysterical, honestly. This is a grossly exaggerated reaction,” Isabella said through clenched teeth.
Alicia paced restlessly, her hands clenched into fists. “A woman’s life should never hinge on the idiocy of a man! It’s madness to think otherwise.”
Sibyl stayed close to Hermia, her voice trembling as she whispered, “It’s all so unfair…”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she clung to her tighter, as if refusing to let go might keep the sorrow at bay.
“I will write to you all every day,” Hermia found herself saying, her voice flat. “I am certain it will be fine, and Mother and Father always invite Aunt Patricia for the holidays. I can visit then. What matters to me is that you find good matches.”
