Phyllis gritted her teeth angrily, as she kept dragging her towards the most secluded corner of the ballroom, where they stood in search of their father. Phyllis couldn’t believe that her sister could be so reckless.
“You don’t have to do anything, Joyce, don’t you understand that?” Phyllis said with a heavy sigh, fully aware of the horrible repercussions this might have on them all. “It is enough that you were seen with the viscount alone, without a chaperone. As if that wasn’t enough, you were holding hands and standing so close together as if you had just kissed!” Her voice was on the verge of breaking, and Phyllis had no idea how difficult it was keeping one’s voice low in a moment when all she wanted to do was shout.
“We didn’t kiss, Phyllis, I would never…” Joyce said, sounding apologetic, but it was too late.
Phyllis shook her head. “That doesn’t matter… what you did or didn’t do doesn’t matter. It is what it appears to be, Joyce. And this… this is bad.”
“Do you think Father will be cross?” Joyce asked with a trembling voice.
Phyllis didn’t know what to reply. Saying that their father would be cross would be a gross understatement.
“We’ll have to see, Joyce,” she said, feeling helpless. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
As the carriage carried them through the quiet streets of London, Phyllis couldn’t shake the tension that lingered in the air. Her sister’s clandestine encounter with the viscount weighed heavily on her mind, and she silently hoped that the incident wouldn’t reach the ears of their father. The rhythmic clatter of horse hooves on cobblestone streets seemed to echo the uncertainty that enveloped them. Phyllis yearned for a sense of normalcy, a return to the facade of stability they had carefully crafted for society. Yet, beneath the surface, the unspoken turmoil threatened to unravel the delicate threads of their carefully spun web of appearances.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Just as the trio entered their home, Phyllis forcefully grabbed Joyce’s hand and they were ready to rush upstairs to their respective chambers, but their father’s stern voice prevented them from doing so. It cut through their plan like a dagger, bidding them to listen.
“Come to my study, girls,” he said, the gravity in his voice sending a shiver down Phyllis’ spine.
One thing was obvious. He had heard what happened. He simply refused to discuss it in the carriage, in public, preferring instead the confines of the walls of their own home. She could understand that, and she feared it all the same.
“Yes, Father,” both Phyllis and Joyce said at the same time.
He walked ahead of them, a figure of authority with graying temples. The quietude of his study was overwhelming, almost deafeningly so. As they stepped inside, the heavy oak door closed behind them with a heavy thud. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow on the walls. He gestured at them to take a seat, his expression inscrutable. A small vein on his temple was red and swollen. That was how Phyllis knew the extent of her father’s wrath, which was still being subdued, but she knew that the moment the avalanche started, it would consume them all.
It took only one look for the atmosphere in the study to turn tense, thick with disappointment and anger. The earl’s voice carried an edge as sharp as a blade as he reprimanded Joyce for her indiscretion, his fatherly concern overridden by a sense of familial duty.
“Joyce, do you even comprehend the gravity of your actions? The potential ramifications for our family’s standing? The repercussions for you as a young lady in this society?” His words were stern, echoing within the confined space, as the questions flowed like an angry river. He paced the room, unable to remain seated in one place, as his frustration was evident in every line on his face. Phyllis doubted that she had ever seen him this furious, this upset, this disappointed. Not even when he realized that their mother, his wife, would not return, was he this enraged.
“I’m sorry, Father, I wasn’t—” Joyce started, but she wasn’t allowed to finish.
“Exactly!” her father interrupted her, as Phyllis looked on, unable to say anything, while her plan unraveled before her like a destroyed house of cards. “You weren’t doing anything you were supposed to have been doing! You weren’t thinking! You weren’t even considering others! You were reckless and you didn’t think once about how your selfish actions might affect this family!” He paused only enough to inhale deeply, then he continued his fire. “What if the duke now decides to cancel his engagement with Phyllis because of this scandal!? Do you understand that you might have ruined not only your own chances at a good marriage, but also your sister’s?”
He turned his back on them, as if he wasn’t able to look at them any longer. Joyce, on the verge of tears, cast a desperate glance at her sister. Phyllis gently squeezed her hand in reassurance, although she herself found it increasingly more difficult to remain composed, her expression a mask to conceal her inner turmoil. She knew what those words meant, but she tried to banish them from her mind, in hopes that the situation could still be rectified.
After what seemed to be a small eternity, but was in reality only several seconds, their father turned to them again. He seemed much more pacified somehow, and it was this serenity which made Phyllis’ blood turn cold. She preferred him angry and ravenous for justice, to calm and composed, because that meant that he had reached a decision. Just as she expected him to, he spoke with dignity and a refusal to be denied.
“Phyllis, this scandal has put our family’s reputation at risk. We cannot afford to let it fester,” he continued, speaking as if Joyce had contracted some disease which was now spreading through their blood, infecting them all. The metaphor only made Joyce even more desperate, as tears glistened in her eyes. Every word struck her right to the heart, leaving open wounds that were now bleeding.
“Your engagement with the duke must proceed without delay,” he finally announced, intertwining his fingers behind his back, as he always did when his words symbolized something final.
Phyllis gasped silently, her eyes widening with shock. Deep down, she knew that this was a possibility as a repercussion of Joyce’s lack of thinking. But she was hoping that they could still make him see some sense.
She knew that she had to speak up. Her voice was tinged with a mix of despair and defiance as she did so. “Father, please think about this. It is Joyce who should marry the viscount immediately, not me. My marriage will not save her. The scandal is of her making, it revolves around her, and through her own marriage, her reputation will be saved. It only makes sense to do it that way.”
She felt her voice bordering on desperation. Her entire plan was crumbling around her, and all because of Joyce’s recklessness. Phyllis was furious, but she knew that giving in to anger would not solve anything. Despite everything, Joyce still needed her, and she was her older sister. However, their father’s response was resolute.
“We must salvage what we can from this situation,” the earl spoke, once again facing them, but Phyllis could see no compassion in his eyes. This was purely a business transaction for him, reputation in exchange for his daughters’ hands, and it was now hanging in the air.
“If we wait much longer, the duke might withdraw his proposal,” he continued, rubbing the bridge of his nose, with his eyes closed. He was calmer than before, but still apprehensive and nervous. “We cannot allow that to happen. That is why you two must get married as soon as possible. We cannot allow the whole family to be ruined.”
“Maybe if we talk to him,” Phyllis was adamant. There was still a flicker of hope that her father might see reason, that he might allow Joyce to marry first, so she continued talking. “We could explain…”
“Explain what?” he thundered, his brows knitting in anger. “How does one explain what happened, Phyllis? Is there even an explanation?”
“Well… the viscount did tell me that Joyce didn’t feel well, and he was the first one to offer some help and take her outside for some fresh air. I’m not certain if that is true or not, but perhaps we might say that was exactly what happened…” Phyllis suggested, but from the look on her father’s face, she knew that she was getting nowhere. After all, it was the viscount’s word against theirs, and in such situations, man who lacked morals came up with all sorts of excuses as to why they had followed a young lady to some solitary part of the house or the garden.
