Chapter Fourteen
Cordelia gave up on her riding habits. They were far too well-made for the kind of work the duke had put her to.
Every morning she rose with the dawn, putting on a plain dress and pinning her hair back into a serviceable bun.
Portia would have shivered to know that Cordelia was looking forward to meeting the duke.
In fact, there had been no need to sneak out of Hollyhead in borrowed clothes; the long days and hard riding took care of that.
She went to sleep with a delicious exhaustion and rose with a new purpose.
After splashing some water on her face, she checked her reflection in the mirror, thinking she really ought to put on some earrings, or powder her face.
Her whole life, Lady Billings had taught her how one should present oneself in front of a man.
Since she was unattached, every meeting needed to be perfectly orchestrated, from the turn of her cheek to the color frock she wore (ideally something that brought out her eyes, but nothing too scandalous, like red).
But Justin couldn’t care less about all of that. He was so engrossed in the management of the estate that he hardly spared a glance at her. It was rather refreshing, being able to drop the pretentiousness that came with being a woman in society.
Reaching for a jacket and her riding crop, Cordelia skipped down the corridor, pausing before the library.
She touched the doorknob, knowing that she ought to spend some time decoding the secrets that resided in the Complete Works of Shakespeare, but there had been hardly any time.
She was often too exhausted in the evenings to sneak into the library to puzzle over the pages.
Soon, she promised again, and made her way to the kitchens.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said, swinging open the door.
Justin, who had been laughing with Dolly about something, nodded at her.
He was always awake before her, though she knew he went to bed late.
Mrs. Norris had been the source of that intelligence.
She wondered why he would be working so hard to fix a project he saw no future in, but in her secret heart she hoped he might be growing to love the estate…
and if not love it, at least see her attachment to it.
“Morning,” he replied.
“We should stop at the Fosters’ first,” Cordelia suggested, pouring herself a cup of tea. “I’ve also drafted the script for the invitations for the ball for you to look over.”
“You’ll put my secretary out of work, Miss Nichols,” the duke replied, his blue eyes alight. He was all jovial manners in the morning, but Cordelia saw dark circles beginning to form under his eyes.
Mrs. Norris joined the company at that moment, eyeing the duke over his near-constant misnomer of Cordelia’s title. Cordelia knew the old woman thought there was perhaps a bit too much familiarity there, but instead of making a fuss over it, she appeared to encourage it.
“When is your secretary due to arrive, Your Grace?” Mrs. Norris asked. “I’ll have his rooms prepared.”
“The man would give the Germans a run for their money at organization but unfortunately is the worst traveler I’ve encountered. I’d expect him to arrive a week later than expected,” he replied.
Dolly snorted in laughter, a little too loudly. Cordelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He seemed to have that effect on most women.
“We’d better go,” Cordelia said, taking a large bite out of her toast, trying to make sure jam did not drip onto her dress. Dolly had already placed a pack with apples and cake onto the table. Cordelia slung it over her shoulder.
“I’ve asked Dolly to pack you an extra sandwich,” Mrs. Norris added. “And if it pleases Your Grace, send our lady back to us at a reasonable hour. I’m worried about the riding you’re doing,” she said, training her gaze on Cordelia. “Countryside ladies need their rest as well.”
Cordelia caught the underlying meaning in her words. Unchaperoned time with a man breeds gossip.
“I’ll be back before noon, Mrs. Norris,” she replied, offering her a conciliatory smile.
Sam was in the yard with the horses already tacked. Cordelia and the duke did not need to speak to one another. Instead, they turned their beasts east and rode into the sunrise. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the scent of fresh air and roses. How could there be anything better than this?
“Your riding is much improved, Your Grace,” Cordelia said as they reined up near a mossy bank, where the Fosters’ farmland was located.
“Justin,” he corrected.
“Justin,” she replied, hoping her blush was not too visible.
“There,” he said, flashing her a crooked smile, “was that so difficult?”
Cordelia’s heart kicked up a faster rhythm. “Justin, meaning just and fair. Nice of your father to bestow that on you,” she said, hoping the teasing would steady her.
“Aye,” he replied, “and Cordelia is too pretty a name to not say aloud. What’s that mean?”
They began the short walk to where the workers were busy picking up their tools.
“I’m not sure it means anything,” she said. “My mother loved Shakespeare. Cordelia was the first of King Lear’s daughters.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Justin said, rubbing his jaw. “That’s what you’re all named after. I was wondering.”
Cordelia laughed, “Not a great reader, are you?”
“I always preferred math, but I’ve enjoyed a play or two. I saw the Tempest once,” Justin said. They stopped to survey the trench the workers had started on just a few days ago. It was already coming along nicely.
Justin had explained his plans in detail to her before they broke ground, but now Cordelia was able to visualize how the water was going to pump out of the lake and be used to irrigate the crops.
Justin spoke to each individual worker as Cordelia handed them the apples and bit of cake from the manor house.
They were being paid a salary, but the work was taking them from their farms and families for the time being, and it was important to Cordelia to show gratitude.
The workers beamed as Justin congratulated their nascent work. Cordelia watched him, her heart filling with admiration. It was clear that he was in his element, and it gave her a certain pleasure to see how good he was at his job.
“Fair and just,” she teased as they finished their rounds. “You play the role of duke well, Your Grace.”
“Justin,” he corrected again.
She laughed and shook her head. They paused at the top of a hill, surveying the work from another angle. Justin nodded his head, satisfied.
“Well, I’ve had a rather good teacher,” he said, his voice growing quiet as he looked down at her. After a moment, Cordelia broke the gaze, feeling warm all over.
“What was your mother like?” she blurted out.
He did not answer immediately. “I never met her,” he replied. “That’s wrong. I’m sure I met her. I never had the opportunity to form any real memories of her.”
That made Cordelia think of Bea. “Oh,” she replied. Desperate to change the subject, she asked, “And your father? Was it he who decided your name?”
“I never asked him,” Justin said, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“I was sixteen when our mother died,” Cordelia offered.
They began the short walk back to where the horses were cropping grass.
“I never really had the opportunity to know her well. We had governesses my whole life. It was strange; after she died, I suddenly wanted every piece of information about her. I would hound my poor father.”
“Was he obliging?”
“Very. He was well liked. My mother loved him very much. His second wife was a love match. The name was secured twice over; he felt he should be allowed to indulge his second marriage.” Cordelia knew she was babbling, but it was difficult not to.
She worried if she stopped speaking, something would happen that would be completely out of her control…
something that might be entirely inappropriate.
“I think marriage should only ever be an indulgence of love,” the duke murmured, jamming his hands in his pockets.
“Would your father have agreed?” Cordelia asked. He’d never spoken of his past or upbringing, and though Cordelia knew needling him was rude, her curiosity got the better of her.
“No,” he replied.
“Oh?”
“He was unlike your father, in that sense,” he said. “Poverty does that to a person. We lowborn don’t have the time to be sentimental.”
“Oh, I was not implying—”
“I know you weren’t,” the duke replied, quickly. “I… I had a mightily different upbringing to yours. Before your half-brother adopted me…” he trailed off.
Cordelia did not press him.
“I’d best be going,” she said, gathering up Brutus’s reins. “Mrs. Norris’s firm opinion was that we should be seen less together. I wouldn’t want to cause Lady Billings an otherwise preventable conniption.”
The duke laughed at that, but there was a sadness in his blue eyes that Cordelia had not seen before. She curtsied to him and made a move to mount Brutus, but to her surprise, Justin came beside her. Splaying his hands on her hips, he lifted her cleanly into the saddle. Cordelia’s breath hitched.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The duke’s hand lingered on her hip, sliding down to her calf, helping her foot into the stirrup.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied, his voice hoarse.
Untwisting the reins, Cordelia kicked Brutus toward the manor house, her heart thumping in her throat. She twisted in the saddle, seeing that he was watching her ride away. He lifted a hand, the other one still in his pocket. Cordelia did not wave back.
*
Justin watched Cordelia ride away, thinking that it was a very sensible thing she’d done and it had prevented him from doing something himself that certainly would have been nonsensical.
He shook his head, doing his best to clear his mind of images of her.
But it was impossible. She’d looked so achingly beautiful in the morning light he’d wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before.
Every day he was waking up a little more to her beauty, her kindness, her capability.
He was simultaneously thankful she’d run away before he had the chance to kiss her, and berating himself harshly.
He sighed deeply, going to the saddle bag and reaching for his sketchbook.
Buttercup nickered as he approached, and he patted the mare’s flank.
The voices from the workers carried over the cool April wind.
It was nearing the end of the month and instead of wrapping things up in Hertfordshire, he was beginning new projects and dillydallying with his pretty rival.
Since Peverill had left a few days ago, Justin was too busy to search for the treasure himself.
He eventually decided that it would not change much on his end.
He had more than enough money saved up, and the firm was ever expanding.
Besides, he could see how much it meant to Cordelia.
If she wanted to find it to secure her sisters’ futures, then fine.
There were worse things that could happen.
Flipping his sketchbook to a blank page, he planned to walk back to where the men were digging ditches and sketch out the progress they were making. Instead, he found himself rounding out an almond-shaped face and full cheeks.
Cordelia was easy to draw, all soft curves and dips. Justin leaned against a tree, letting his mind wander as his charcoal scraped against the page.
Things had not taken long to change between them. Where he once thought her indifferent and disdainful of him, he saw that she simply liked to know the plan before diving into something. She was calculating and curious, not defensive as he once thought her.
Cordelia was changing the way he viewed the estate as well.
It was not simply a means for rich men to make themselves richer, but was instead its own microcosm.
Every family relied on one another to see them through each season, turning to the landowner for guidance and leadership.
It was a way of life, different from his in London, but not one he would call worse.
“My lord!”
Justin was ripped from his reverie to see a man holding a shovel. He was striding toward Justin purposefully. Oh right, I’m the lord in question.
“Yes?” Justin asked, snapping his sketchbook shut.
“Booth gave his back a good crack when he was digging. We’re down a man. Might need to call someone else, if that pleases Your Grace,” the worker said.
Justin began shrugging off his jacket. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I’ve worked at enough construction sites to know how to dig a trench.”
The man flashed him a wide smile, throwing his own shovel at him. Justin caught it, happy for the distraction. His feelings were complicated, but not impossible. He would sort them out later.