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Chapter Twenty-Three
“He didn’t come,” Hermione said to Phoebe as they sat on the top terrace in the garden. Phoebe looked so shocked that she choked on her tea. Hermione helpfully patted her sister’s back until the tea was cleared, and she settled down again.
“You mean… never visited you?” she asked, her eyes darting back and forth.
“No, he did not,” Hermione said miserably, trying to hold her chin high and not show her true emotions.
“But what does that mean?” Phoebe asked, nearly jumping out of her chair as she leaned toward Hermione’s arm. “Does that mean you are still married or not?”
“Yes, of course we are married, for now at least,” Hermione added, thinking on what Cordelia had said about annulment the night before.
“Oh dear…” Phoebe looked up. Hermione thought at first the words had been in response to her statement, then she grew aware that Phoebe wasn’t staring at her at all but was looking past her toward someone else. Hermione turned to find Rufus and Cordelia standing in the doorway to the house.
She stiffened in her chair, awaiting their anger as they had clearly overheard her conversation. Rufus’ anger exploded first. “Tell me this not true!?” he demanded in fury, crossing the terrace towards her.
“Shh! We must be quiet,” Cordelia pleaded, hurrying after him.
“How can I be quiet now?” Rufus raged as he reached for Hermione. She had suffered his anger enough recently and snatched her arm away from him, determined not to let him take hold of her wrist. When he realized she had escaped him, he made another reach for her. This time, she leapt out of the chair entirely and ran round the table, standing behind Phoebe as though she were a shield.
“Stop this; please, stop this,” Phoebe pleaded, looking between the two of them with her head darting back and forth from where she sat at the table.
“Toughen up Phoebe,” Rufus roared, making Phoebe recoil back in her chair.
“Do not talk to her like that,” Hermione ordered, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Phoebe took that hand, clinging to it.
“I will talk to her anyway I like, just as I will talk to you anyway that I like.” Rufus rounded the table. Hermione released Phoebe and walked the other way, avoiding him. “You are still my daughter, Hermione. You will obey me.”
“Funny, I seem to think that in the eyes of God and the law, I made a promise yesterday to obey another man entirely,” she said tartly. “Not that I have any intention of obeying his orders, but what makes you think that I will obey you now? You may not like it, but being a married woman gives me a little freedom from you. Even if it is very little freedom.”
She could see she had pushed the boundaries too far. Cordelia took a step away and covered her face with a hand. Phoebe placed her hands on the chair arms, apparently ready to jump to her feet and run. Rufus slammed his hands down on the table, making the three of them jump as his nostrils flared, and the teacups danced across the table.
“How dare you talk to me like that? I will not have such insolence from you,” he said, his warning tone so loud that she didn’t doubt some people could hear it indoors.
“Shh,” Cordelia pleaded again.
“No, please, be louder for all I care,” Hermione said, waving at him. “Perhaps it will do this family some good to see what you are really like.” She smiled at him, feeling triumphant, hopeful that if Antony saw who her father really was, he would send Rufus away.
“Insolent girl,” Rufus snapped and rounded the table. Hermione went the other way just as Phoebe jumped to her feet and retreated. When Rufus went for Hermione’s hand, this time, it was not to be. He tripped on one of the chairs instead and fell flat on his face.
“My Lord, please,” Cordelia placed a hand on Rufus’ arm, helping him up. Hermione was backing away from the table with Phoebe. “No good can come from being like this.”
“A little late for that.” At Hermione’s sharp words, Rufus jumped to his feet. She pulled back her sleeve and brandished the bruise he had caused her last time he’d grabbed her wrist. Once again, he looked at Hermione as though she were foreign to him. He stumbled back, staring at his hand as if it were not part of his body, then he strode indoors, straight past Phoebe who cowered out of his way.
Hermione cradled the bruised wrist as Cordelia gently took her arm. “Hermione, we must talk,” she said, trying to steer her away from the terrace.
“I am done talking,” Hermione said, trying to step out of her grasp.
“I am afraid it is not an option. Come with me,” Cordelia pulled Hermione’s arm, jerking her away from the table where they had been having tea. Hermione looked back long enough to see Phoebe looking after her with some concern.
Cordelia dragged Hermione through part of the garden, all the way to the rose borders where the flower heads drooped a little after the heavy rainfall and wind of the day before. Only once they were surrounded by this walled garden, completely alone with no one nearby, did Cordelia release Hermione.
“We must speak about this,” Cordelia said slowly to Hermione, holding her hands out as though Hermione were a wild horse.
“Speak about it?” Hermione asked. “Does this look like speaking?” she asked, waving her wrist in front of her aunt’s face. “My father is getting worse with this. What do you expect me to do? Abide by my father’s every wish out of fear that he will hurt me again.”
“No, of course not, but this is important,” Cordelia pleaded, reaching out toward her. “Listen to me, Hermione.”
“No, I am done.”
