Chapter Seven #2
“Gentlemen!” Mrs. Norris, mercifully, screeched from behind the Nichols sisters.
She strode to the front of the drawing room, strategically placing herself in between the two parties.
“May I have the pleasure of introducing the four remaining daughters of the Duke of Rothesay—” she spluttered as she realized her mistake.
“Apologies, the daughters of the late Duke of Rothesay… of course.”
“Indeed,” Peverill said, looking directly at Portia. Cordelia could practically feel her sister seething.
Hermione kept her head down and Bea locked her hands behind her back, still smiling at the handsome stranger. Portia simply turned on her heel to take a seat near the window. Peverill made his way to the opposite corner of the room.
Cordelia turned to her two younger sisters. “This will not be a pleasant thing to hear. I would prefer it if you were waiting for us in the solarium, or in your bedrooms.”
“But I want to see what will happen!” Bea whined.
“Your sister is right,” the duke said, coming beside her. “This will be all technicalities and unpleasantness.”
“But how will I know what’s going to happen?” Bea asked, directly to the duke. Cordelia filled her lungs, ready to scold her youngest sister for boldness, but to her surprise, the duke did not hesitate with an answer.
“I promise to tell you everything that’s going to happen. Perhaps we could make an appointment for later tonight, after you’ve finished your embroidery?” he suggested.
Bea nodded her head tentatively. “Okay,” she said, barely audible.
The duke gave Bea a tentative smile. He looked over at Cordelia once more, and she felt her cheeks flush. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. He nodded his head and then went to take his place beside Peverill.
“Would you be so kind to wait, my dears?” Cordelia asked again.
“D-don’t worry about us,” Hermione said, offering a paltry smile.
“I’ll come and find you after, I promise,” Cordelia said, giving Hermione an affectionate squeeze on the arm. With that, Hermione gathered Bea into her arms and walked out of the room. Cordelia shut the doors behind them, taking in a deep breath to steady herself.
Mrs. Norris gave Cordelia an affectionate smile before she herself quit the room. There would be no need for a chaperone with a solicitor in their presence.
The lawyer, who introduced himself to the company as Mr. Ingram, cleared his throat, shuffling papers in his hands.
“Now, I heard some of the… uh… discussion shortly before we arrived. I think it would be best if the ladies left. Given the nature of this will, it may indeed cause some more hysterics.”
“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Portia said. Her cheeks were still ruddy, her eyes transformed into hard blue jewels.
“Of course not,” Peverill said, and smiled again at Portia, though she became exceedingly interested in a cushion that had been deposited on the window seat.
“Tea?” Cordelia asked.
“Yes,” everyone said, at almost the same time.
Thankful for something to do, she busied herself, handing out the delicate china cups.
She was a consummate hostess. With her mother having died when she was little and with no other women around, the duke relied heavily on her to help organize parties, facilitate conversation with powerful allies, and make everyone feel comfortable.
But the atmosphere was so thick in the little drawing room that Cordelia wished someone would throw open a window.
Finally, she handed the last cup of tea to the duke himself, who by all rights, should have been served first. But he did not notice the snub.
“Thank you, Lady Cordelia,” he said softly.
Their eyes found one another’s, and Cordelia felt her breath catch. Goodness, his eyes really were unusually blue.
“I should repeat my warning,” Mr. Ingram said. “I think there may be some materials that would be of distress to the ladies present.”
Cordelia placed her hands in her lap, still feeling the place where his skin had brushed hers. She arranged her skirts, smoothing out some wrinkles from the black crepe.
“Certainly not,” the duke said. “Lady Cordelia and Lady Portia are welcome to stay.”
Cordelia’s heart leapt in her throat. Looking up from the patterned teacup perched in her lap, she found herself mouthing the words “thank you” to Mr. Wright.
The duke she scolded herself. But he himself had been correct about the titles that day when they went riding. Mr. Wright suited him much better.
Peverill was leaning on the settee behind where his friend was seated.
Justin Wright has never been uncivilized, uncultured, unfeeling, or uncouth in his entire life he’d said, and it had piqued her interest. As the solicitor argued with the men about the propriety of having women involved in legal proceedings, Cordelia looked up at him through her lashes, trying to take the measure of him.
She’d not really had a good opportunity, or the interest, to do so until now.
He was certainly handsome, no one could argue that fact. With sweeping locks of black hair, a tanned face, and tall frame, she could have pictured him behind a forge with his sleeves rolled up, his chest peppered with soot.
Lord, where did that come from?
“Lady Cordelia?”
“He’s referring to you,” Portia said, loudly enough to cause Cordelia to snap out of her short reverie.
“Oh, yes?” she said, stupidly and barely above a whisper.
“Mr. Ingram was just asking if you might like to have Mrs. Norris come with smelling salts, just in preparation…” Mr. Wright said.
“Goodness gracious, what kind of information is contained in this will?” Portia said, standing. “Is there another long-lost relation that has laid claim to Hollyhead? Shall we look for him in the kitchens this time?”
Mr. Wright’s eyes flashed, but it was not with anger. It looked like he was trying to contain his laughter. Peverill laughed out loud.
Mr. Ingram cleared his throat again, signaling that he was ready to begin.
Cordelia closed her eyes and counted to ten, or maybe twenty was better.
Her nursemaid told her it was important to compose oneself and that it could be done through robust counting.
Sometimes it worked, like when Bea had spilled yellow paint all over one of her new dresses.
Other times… well, other times it seemed like she simply keeled over.