Page 26 of When Hearts Are Wylde
Fear clutched at her, making her shiver as his gaze settled on her.
“You lying bitch!” He ground out the words between clenched teeth.
Gasps rose from every corner of the room, but Hermione hardly heard them. All sound dulled under the roar of her own pulse. In that instant, she knew. The blackmailer had gone to him. Her sins were no longer secrets; they were weapons in Baxter’s hands.
“What is the meaning of this?” Marguerite snapped, standing up in one fluid motion. “This is my home, young man, and I will not tolerate such rudeness! How dare you sir!”
“I dare because the lot of you have tried to make a fool of me!” Baxter answered with a sneer, clearly forgetting to whom he was speaking.
Her stomach twisted. This was the confrontation she had dreaded, but so much worse. It was public, inescapable and she was surrounded by people whom she knew and loved—people she respected and whom she’d hoped would hold her in equal regard. And people who knew nothing of her, people who had no reason to believe anything but the worst of her.
“Baxter!” Phinneas shouted, getting to his feet. “This is neither the time nor the place for the airing of grievances.”
Baxter smirked, slow and poisonous. “What grievances are those, Randford? The fact that your sister whored herself to Hartley or that you would have let me marry her knowing the truth of it?”
The words struck like blows, the shame hot and sharp. Heat rose in her face, and she fixed her eyes on the white damask tablecloth, willing herself not to flinch. She imagined—could almost feel—the eyes on her from every side, the weight of their speculation pressing down until it was hard to breathe.
“You are making wild accusations that are entirely lacking in foundation,” Phinneas said, his voice an unyielding calm.
“Am I? I think not,” Baxter sneered, before turning to her. “I’ll have that betrothal ring back from you. I have dishonored my entire family by allowing it to rest on your finger for even a moment.”
And then—unexpectedly—came the relief. It swept through her like a sudden, clean wind. Yes, she was humiliated. Yes, she might well be ruined. But she was free. He would never be her husband. He would never have the chance to grind her into dust behind closed doors, to let his temper and cruelty rule over her life.
She slipped the ring from her finger without trembling and tossed it down the table toward him. “Take it, and good riddance. If this is the nature of your character, sir, I am better off for having all ties between us severed entirely.”
“Oh, they are severed, Hermione Waring. And before I am finished, all of you will be ruined. All of society will know you for the whore you are, and your brother… Your brother will pay for his lies,” Baxter warned, scooping up the ring before turning on his heel and storming out.
The silence left behind was heavy enough to crush. Hermione’s breath came shallow, her hands pressed together in her lap to keep them still.
“What a terrible man,” Felicity said after a moment, her voice quiet but clear. “It is so fortunate for you, my new sister, that he has shown the madness of his jealousy now, before you were wed to him. You have been spared a terrible fate, I think.”
Grateful for her new sister in law’s quick dismissal of Baxter’s remarks, Hermione managed a small nod, but she could not yet speak. The room slowly filled again with the murmur of voices, some sharp with speculation, others outwardly accepting but obviously skeptical of Baxter’s “madness.” But she could still feel the sting of every word he had thrown at her. And behind it, the heavier truth: she had been spared, yes, but only by the very public destruction of the life she had known.
When the last of the guests drifted away from the table, Hermione rose quietly and slipped into a side corridor, away from the lingering hum of voices. The air there was cooler, tinged faintly with the scent of beeswax and the faint creak of the floors above as servants rushed to and fro, no doubt preparing Felicity for her departure to Phinneas’ home. She let her shoulders drop, just a fraction, the rigid composure she had worn all morning beginning to slip now that she was momentarily unseen.
She hadn’t gone far when footsteps sounded behind her—measured, purposeful. She turned and found Phinneas there, his tall frame filling the narrow space. His expression was composed for any onlooker’s benefit, but his eyes… his eyes were all concern.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice pitched low, for her ears alone.
Her first instinct was to nod and wave it away, to spare him more worry on a day that should belong wholly to him and Felicity. But the weight of his gaze, the sincerity in it, stopped her from giving him a lie. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think I will be. Eventually.”
Phinneas’s mouth tightened. “He will cause trouble. You know that, don’t you? Baxter will not slink away and lick his wounds. He will try to destroy you. All of us, if he can.”
“I know,” she said again, and this time the steadiness in her tone surprised even her. “But he cannot hurt me in the way he would have if I’d married him. That’s no small victory, Phin. I’ve been spared more than I dare to dwell on. That is enough for today.”
His brow furrowed, as though he wanted to press the point, to make plans then and there to counter every possible move Baxter might make. But she stepped closer and set her hand lightly on his arm, a quiet touch meant to stop the relentless spin of his thoughts.
“Phin,” she said gently, “this isn’t the day for me. Not for my troubles, not for my ruin or my redemption. You are a married man now. Felicity is your wife, and she should be the only woman occupying your mind today.”
He gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re my sister. I cannot simply extinguish my concern for you as I would a lamp.”
“And I always will be your sister. Which is precisely why I want you to be with her now—without the shadow of mymistakes dimming your happiness. You and Felicity deserve this moment without my troubles and humiliations to interfere.”
Phinneas studied her for a long moment, the corner of his jaw tightening as if he fought to keep some deeper emotion from spilling into his expression. “I don’t like leaving you to face this alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she reminded him, her voice quiet but sure. “I have you, and I have Felicity, and—” she hesitated, the words tasting bittersweet “—I have Hartley. Even if not in the way I once hoped.”
At that, Phinneas’s gaze sharpened. “He loves you, Hermione. I can see it. I think he’s loved you far longer than either of you would admit.”
