Chapter Four
Every roll of Brutus’s great stride was agony. Cordelia bit her lip, tasting the rusty tang of blood in her mouth. Fisting her hands into the horse’s thick mane she urged him on faster, though she feared it might choke the air right out of her lungs.
A few farm workers stopped their work to regard her, and she knew how strange she must have looked, riding the late duke’s hell creature on a placid April afternoon while dressed in tattered old clothing.
Reaching up with one hand, she pushed the tricorne down harder on her head, but she could feel the snarled mass of curls thumping against her back.
She’d not had time to braid her hair before she set off.
Cordelia wanted to cry out in relief when she saw Hollyhead revealing itself from behind green hills. A few sheep baa’d in protest and jumped out of the way as she kicked Brutus on to the last home stretch.
“Easy! Easy there, maid!” Sam shouted as she galloped into the stable yard. He held his gnarled hands up as she reined Brutus in.
“Help me down,” she breathed out, barely holding back the tears that were threatening.
“Of course, maid,” he said, holding out his hands for her to grip.
Cordelia felt a sob burst from her chest as she hit the ground.
“Hurry up, boy. Come and walk this horse!” Sam shouted to his small assistant. A pimply thirteen-year-old came to soothe the black charger, sliding the saddle off its steaming back and walking him around the yard.
“What ’appened to ye?” Sam asked, eyeing her up and down.
“Took a bad fall, Sam. The road was washed out around Beggar’s Hollow,” she said. “But Brutus wasn’t injured,” she tacked on hurriedly as Sam’s eyes widened.
“Bless ye, maid, it’s not that old demon I’m worried about,” he said. “I’ll get Mrs. Norris to fetch the doctor.”
“No!” she shouted, loudly enough for it to echo off the walls of the stable. Brutus neighed in response.
“Ye may have cracked some ribs,” Sam protested, folding his arms across his hulking chest.
Cordelia feigned a smile, though tears were now running freely down her cheeks.
She brushed them away quickly, steadying herself.
“Oh, Sam, do you think I’d be able to ride if my ribs were cracked?
” she asked. She attempted a laugh but then sucked in a sharp breath at the pain.
Pinpricks swam in her vision. “I must be going. Not a word to Mrs. Norris!”
Sam shook his white head, looking displeased, but not enough that he’d tattle on her. Cordelia kicked off her muddy boots before entering through a servants’ door. One of the staff cried out as she entered the door, but Cordelia held her index finger to her lips.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Lady Cordelia. I didn’t know it was you!” she said, holding a hand over her chest.
“Let me through the back entrance, Dolly?” Cordelia asked, depositing her hat on the kitchen table.
Dolly hesitated for a moment, regarding her with a curious expression. “Yes, my lady.”
Cordelia mopped her cheeks and brow, steeling herself for the last bit of walking before she could collapse into her featherbed. She and Dolly skirted through the servants’ quarters, ducking around a pillar to dodge Mrs. Norris. Finally, they arrived in front of her door.
“Dolly, would you kindly prepare me a pitcher of warm water?”
Dolly bowed her head in assent.
“And please don’t tell anyone about what I’m wearing,” Cordelia added, knowing full well it would be the topic of conversation in the kitchen for the next while, until the duke arrived, at least.
“Of course, my lady, you can trust Dolly,” she said with a wink.
Cordelia opened the door to her room, slipping behind it and shutting it as softly as she could manage. As soon as the lock clicked shut, it was as though her legs turned to jelly. She slid down to the floor, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the smooth grain of the wood.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Portia threw down the book she’d been reading.
“Good lord!” Cordelia yelped, then groaned as her ribs ached powerfully.
“What’s happened?” Portia asked, her brow furrowing. When people spoke loudly enough for Portia to hear, she knew something was wrong. She slipped off the bed and knelt down in front of her sister, pushing Cordelia’s mess of curls away from her face.
“I’ve done my ribs, I think,” Cordelia said, taking Portia’s hands.
“Let’s see then,” Portia replied.
When Cordelia was back on her feet, Portia helped her unbutton the breeches, hiking the long shirt up and tucking it under her armpits. Portia clicked her tongue as she surveyed the damage.
“Bad?” Cordelia asked. But she already knew what the answer would be. Blue and purple splotches had spread on her abdomen like spilled ink. The pinpricks were in her vision again, and she took a shallow breath to try to steady herself.
“You couldn’t have done this tomorrow, or the day after?” Portia said, shaking her head.
“No,” Cordelia snapped. “And why should it matter anyway?”
There was a knock at the door. “That’s Dolly with the warm water,” she said, leaning against one of the pillars of her bed.
Portia went to answer it.
“Lia? What’s h-h-happened? The servants downstairs are in a f-f-f—”
“Flap?” Portia finished on behalf of her younger sister.
Hermione was carrying a steaming pitcher of water. “Dolly g-g-ave me th-this,” she said, shutting her eyes to help force the words out. Hermione’s stammer was always worse when she was stressed.
“Hermione, it’s nothing. I just took a bad fall this afternoon.”
Hermione gasped. “It doesn’t l-l-look like nothing!”
Portia wrestled the pitcher out of her hands. “Are you going to help or keep staring like a fool?”
“What’s going on in here? I can hear you down the hall!” Bea said, slamming the bedroom door behind her, rattling a few picture frames.
“Hush, Bea!” Cordelia scolded.
“Oh my God!” Bea clapped a hand over her mouth. “You look terrible!”
“Bea, go and get some biscuits and tea from the kitchen. Bring plenty of sugar, understand? And not a word of this to anyone, especially Mrs. Norris!” Portia said. Her gravelly voice took on an authoritarian quality when she needed it to.
Happy to have something to do and a secret to keep, Bea tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the hallway.
“And you,” Portia added. “Fetch some fresh clothes, and some rouge.”
“R-r-rouge?” Hermione asked. “Mrs. Norris won’t approve.”
“I didn’t ask you what Mrs. Norris would think!” Portia snapped. “Now, go!”
“I’m not sure rouge would make me look any better,” Cordelia said.
Portia shrugged her shoulders. “Well, we’ll need to try.”
Cordelia braced herself against the bedpost as Portia pressed the warm cloth to her ribcage. Though it ached, it also soothed the pain somewhat. She sighed in relief.
“How exactly did this happen?” Portia asked, eyeing her elder sister with a raised eyebrow.
“I took Brutus out for a ride,” she replied, almost at a whisper.
“Brutus! Truly!” Portia exclaimed. “And here I was wondering why old Buttercup was getting fat.”
“Sam lets me. He doesn’t find fault with women riding astride. Apparently that’s how girls in Cornwall do it,” Cordelia said.
“Yes, in their father’s clothes?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well let our neighbors know their Lady Cordelia rides astride. They’d think me mad.”
Portia exhaled ruefully. “And everyone thinks me the odd sister.”
Cordelia smiled. “Imagine Lady Billings…” But then she remembered something that gave her pause. She chewed on her lower lip, staring out the window.
“What is it?” Portia asked. “Are you well?”
“Oh, Portia,” Cordelia said, leaning her forehead against the bedpost. “Someone saw me. I-I can’t believe… I must have forgotten in the mad rush back to the house.”
“Someone we know?” Portia asked.
Cordelia opened her mouth to reply but could find no words. Who was he? “My wits are addled from the ride,” she whispered, closing her eyes, conjuring up the lone man in the woods. “He was very tall with dark hair… and eyes that were a piercing blue. Like ice.”
Though the rest of him was shadowy, his eyes were unique, full of life, and full of concern for her.
He was so unlike the other men she’d known so far.
Men of the ton, who had trained their gazes to be cold and unfeeling, observing the women around them like pieces of art to be sold off and traded.
But his was warm and seemed to look right through her.
“Haven’t heard you describe a man like that before,” Portia said, a sly smile spreading across her features. “Are you sure he was even real? Tall, dark hair, and eyes the color of a snowstorm. Sounds like you’re describing the hero of some penny dreadful.”
Cordelia shook her head. “Anyway, I did not recognize him, which means he does not know me and I do not know him and the wretched Lady Prudence has absolutely no idea. He looked like a farmer, no one who….”
“I’ve got your tea!” Bea was balancing a tray full of fine china, scones, and clotted cream. The smell made Cordelia’s stomach rumble.
“You’ll need a few lumps of sugar, to help you with the shock,” Portia said, winking at Bea, who poured the tea out in a very un-Bea way, without spilling a single drop. She seemed to be proud of herself for a job well done.
“Here you are,” Bea said, handing the cup and saucer to Cordelia, who took it from her.
“I’d say those lessons you’ve been taking with Mrs. Norris have finally begun to pay off,” Cordelia commented, pushing off the bedpost to receive the cup from her littlest sister. She blew on the steaming tea before trying a sip. It was so sugary her lips puckered. She placed it on the windowsill.
“She only sits through those lessons because I let her explore the abandoned abbey near the creek,” Portia said.
Bea opened her mouth to protest, but voices coming from down the hall caused them to snap their heads to the bedroom door. Portia furrowed her brow at her sisters. “What is it?”
“… and I told her to make haste! He is coming down the drive as we speak!” Mrs. Norris’s shrill pitch was growing louder.