Chapter Ten #2
Traitor, she heard Portia spit in her head. “I’m not used to leading,” she confessed hurriedly.
“A waltz, perhaps?” he said.
Did he have to pick the most intimate dance that was appropriate for ballrooms?
For the thousandth time today, she blushed.
She let him lead her around the dance floor, slowly at first, but eventually twirling a little more quickly.
Cordelia had not danced in what felt like ages.
Usually, she filled out her dance card with some trepidation, as she found dancing at balls tiresome.
Young bucks stepping on her feet or boring suitors with their dull gaze memorizing the steps were all she had to hope for.
But dancing with Mr. Wright was different.
He was so big, his form nearly engulfed her.
He smelled not of brandy and sandalwood, but of wood smoke and leather and soap.
And he held her, not as though she was a porcelain doll, prone to breaking, but like she was a living, breathing woman.
A creature made of flesh and blood, as he was.
She was not sure when it happened, but Cordelia forgot where she was for a moment, like it was when she rode Brutus. The world fell away and she was only here, in a man’s arms, with no dowry to worry about or manners or marriage prospects. She was just Cordelia, enjoying an afternoon.
“Lady Cordelia,” Mr. Wright said. The drop of her title brought her back to Hollyhead, to the empty walls, to the thin tune on the pianoforte.
“Yes?” she asked.
They’d come to a stop in the middle of the floor, Mr. Wright’s hand still spanning the length of her hip, their hands still connected. They were standing so close she could feel his breath tickling the stray hairs on her brow.
“Perhaps you should suggest the next dance? I’m afraid that I am already proficient in waltzing,” he said, with a small smile.
Cordelia dropped his hand, stepping away from the hold. “Yes, indeed. Do you intend to mock me, Mr. Wright? I am beginning to think you invited me here as a jape.”
“No jape intended, Miss Nichols—”
“Lady Cordelia,” she corrected.
Something flashed across his blue gaze and his eyes became hard. “As I was saying, Lady Cordelia. The waltz has drifted down to the dregs of my class. Perhaps there are other ones you could teach me?”
“Yes, well,” she said, smoothing the skirt of her dress. “We shall start with an Allemande. It’s on the easy side. We’ll see if you can keep up.”
*
“Damnable woman,” Justin muttered as he marched down Hollyhead’s main road. The gravel crunched pleasantly beneath his boots and clouds began to drift past the sun, revealing a blue sky. The summers here were probably lovely, but he could not focus on any of that.
Instead, his mind was returning again to the ballroom, to the polished wood floors, to the feeling of Cordelia Nichols in his arms.
In that moment he was reminded of a time in London when they passed a confectionary shop.
Justin was eyeing expensive chocolates and roulades and other sweets they would never be able to afford.
Instead, his mother pointed him to the penny candies.
“It’s better to crave what we can find the money for,” she’d told him.
It was not a cruel thing for her to do, but it was the first time he could remember being told that they were different.
That people of their station would only have access to the penny candies and to not hope for much more.
Justin smiled ruefully at the memory. To think that he’d been made a peer and the entire dukedom could scarcely afford costly sweets today any more than he could all those years ago.
Perhaps keeping an eye on Cordelia was a mistake. He could not afford to become attached to her. She’d made clear how she felt about him, what she thought about his kind.
But there was something beneath that polished exterior he saw that day when she was thrown from the horse…
something he thought he saw a crack in yesterday afternoon.
There was a passion hiding underneath the voluminous skirts and straight mouth that made him want to peel it all away, until there was nothing left but who she really was.
Justin was pulled out of his thoughts by the murmur of voices up ahead.
“You know you shouldn’t be out alone, mistress!”
Squinting, Justin saw that it was the youngest sister, Beatrice, being escorted by an older woman. The young miss was cradling something in her arms.
“Portia told me that I would be allowed to go out on my own this morning if I finished my needlepoint!” Beatrice said.
Justin was learning that the women in this family needed to have the last word; in fact, they absolutely required it.
“What’s this about?” Justin asked as the two parties met on the road.
“I found the young mistress wandering around my garden, Your Grace,” the woman said. She looked to be a farmer’s wife or daughter. Her sleeves were rolled up and the fingernails had dirt caked beneath them.
“I was not wandering! I was trying to fly my kite. It’s a good day for it. The wind is perfect!” Beatrice protested. She held up the remains of the kite, with its red fabric hanging off the side of a broken dowel. “But then it got caught in Mrs. Thatcher’s tree.”
“I saw the little dear climbing the blooming thing from my kitchen window! Luckily my Roger was able to bring her down. There’s not a scratch on her, Your Grace,” the woman said, clearly pleased with herself.
“Can’t say the same for this,” Beatrice said, holding up the useless toy with a heavy sigh.
Justin nodded at Mrs. Thatcher. “Thank you very much.”
“No problem at all, Your Grace! I am pleased to finally meet you,” she said, offering him a curtsy.
Out of habit, Justin had extended his hand. By the time he’d realized his gaff, she laughed and shook it. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, a knot unwinding in his chest.
“We were very sorry to hear about Will. But stranger than fiction, a working-class man being made a duke!” she exclaimed. “Can’t believe one of us made it into Hollyhead House!”
Justin laughed, and then winked at Beatrice, who was watching the exchange with raised eyebrows.
“Shall we get that fixed?” Justin asked the child as Mrs. Thatcher waved them off.
“You could fix this?” Beatrice asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
“I can try,” Justin said, holding out his hand to examine the kite. Beatrice handed it to him after a moment, her eyes narrowing. She folded her arms across her chest as she watched him run a finger along the broken dowel.
“Right, we’ll need to consult with Sam in the stable yard, but I think this kite is entirely repairable,” he said. “Shall I escort you back to the house, Lady Beatrice?”
Beatrice laughed loudly at that as she skipped along beside him. “No one has ever called me that!”
“Really?” Justin asked. “I’m supposed to call your sisters that.”
“Well, they’re truly ladies, aren’t they? I’m only eight and a half, which is much different.”
“Indeed. So what shall I call you?”
“Bea’s fine. Everyone calls me that. Even Mrs. Thatcher, when I go ’round her house for pound cake. You won’t tell Portia I was playing with my kite by myself, will you?” Bea said, looking up at him, her eyes as large as saucers.
“Should I be keeping secrets from your sisters?” Justin said. He waved at Sam as they approached the yard.
“I don’t think it would present a problem. They are keeping secrets from you,” Bea said, scratching her arm.
That piqued Justin’s interest. “Is that so? What kind of secrets?”
Bea shrugged. “Well, I’m not exactly supposed to say… but it has something to do with a piece of paper. I saw them bent over it in the library before I came out here. They wanted me to stay out of their way.”
“Interesting,” Justin said. So, he had been correct.
The chits were out to find the family treasure first. He would need to change battle tactics.
“First things first, let’s fix your kite and make sure it works.
Secondly, we will inform Mrs. Norris that you have scheduled kite flying at nine o’clock in the morning over the next week.
She can supervise you and help keep it from the tops of trees. ”
“Yessir!” Bea said excitedly, saluting him.