Chapter Twenty
The vicar’s house was more like a spacious shack, with two connected rooms and no door.
Cordelia found three metal buckets to catch dripping rainwater as the storm raged outside.
The shepherds who used the shelter had stacked it with fresh firewood, blankets, and a few cans of peaches.
Mercifully, Justin also found a small flask that contained rum.
The first thing they did was staunch the bleeding gash, ripping up an old blanket. It was, luckily, fairly shallow, but would scar.
“Hopefully it’s healed over by the time of the ball,” Cordelia mentioned. “Too bad you’ll be wearing a stiff coat. One look at this and it would send the dandies running.”
Justin appreciated the comment. After their explosive meeting this past morning, he was hoping they would be able to find common ground somehow.
Losing Cordelia’s goodwill would be a mistake, he reasoned.
In the meantime, he busied himself with building a fire as he heard the sound of wet garments hitting the floor.
Gritting his teeth, Justin realized that the two tiny rooms were perhaps too close.
Hearing Cordelia change out of wet garments was torture enough; knowing she would be peeling them off her body one by one made him want to pour a pitcher of ice water over his head. The rainwater had also diffused the perfume she wore. He could smell her everywhere in the cramped little cottage.
Justin watched the fire blaze to life in a pleasant crackle.
The heat was wonderful. Taking off his shirt, he hung it close to the mantel to dry.
He’d have to leave his sopping trousers on; he didn’t want to further scandalize Cordelia.
Finding a sheepskin rug, he wrapped it around his shoulders and settled into a wooden chair.
Blushing becomingly in the firelight, Cordelia stepped up to the mantel, leaving tiny wet footprints on the cold flagstones.
She’d also wrapped herself in a woolen blanket.
Without her dress, it gave the effect of her being completely nude beneath it.
Unfortunately, he could see a white flash of a shift peeking out beneath the wool.
“That’s divine,” she murmured, holding her hands out. The movement caused the blanket to slip over one of her shoulders, the skin rosy and flushed. Justin looked away.
“I would hang my stockings here,” she told him, “but I wouldn’t want to impose my feminine unmentionables on you.”
Justin raised his eyebrows. “Should young ladies mention feminine underthings to unattached men?”
He half expected Cordelia to make a pithy retort, but instead she chuckled. “As far as your kind are concerned, there is nothing under our dresses that should interest you.”
That was saucy, Justin thought. He wondered what had put her in such a jovial mood and then he saw her glance at the small box beside her, the polished wood glinting in the fire light.
She looked at him as a smile spread across her face.
Justin realized it was the first time he’d seen Cordelia grin at him, unabashedly.
It made his stomach cartwheel.
“Shall we open it?” she asked, reaching for the box.
“Why keep us in suspense?” Justin said. He reached for the fireplace poker and handed it to Cordelia. “You found it,” he added, “you should do the honors.”
Cordelia’s face suddenly became solemn, her jaw clenched. She gripped the fireplace poker in both hands and dropped it hard on the rusted lock. It came apart with a weak twang. Sucking in a deep breath, she flipped open the lid of the box. And stared. And continued to stare.
Justin’s fingers itched. “Cordelia?” he asked, softly.
Reaching into the box she pulled out what appeared to be a stack of carefully folded papers. “Are those… letters?” Justin questioned, leaning forward in his chair.
“Y-yes,” she replied, examining them from all sides. “They appear to be addressed to my father… from your adoptive father.”
Justin felt his mouth go dry. The rain tapped on the glass of the shack rhythmically.
Another bolt of lightning clapped overhead and filled the gloomy rooms with muted light.
He had no idea what time it was. Afternoon perhaps?
He had the sudden urge to stand up and open the door and walk into the storm and then continue walking until he reached London and everything that was familiar.
When Justin made no reply, Cordelia held out the stack to him. The shift in her mood was palpable. Where she’d been warm and cheerful, she was now withdrawn and cool. Gathering the blankets tightly around herself, she turned her gaze to the fire.
The red wax seals had all been broken. Examining the address on the front of one, he recognized Charles Nichols’s elegant scrawl immediately. His heart surged in his chest. Did Alice know that Charles and the former duke had kept up a correspondence?
Picking one of the letters out of the stack, he unfolded the paper. Dear father, it began.
Thank you for sending money for our Justin’s schooling at Eton. He has expressed an interest in geometry and the natural sciences. Alice and I are hoping this to turn into a passionate scholarship at Cambridge, where I completed my studies…
Justin rubbed his jaw as he scanned the rest of its contents. It was dated 1805. He would have been twelve years old.
Grabbing another letter from the back of the pile, he unfolded that one.
Dear father,
Alice and I would like to thank you for buying the commission for our Justin…
The late duke had paid for his officer’s commission as well.
A rising tide of confusion welled in his gut.
Justin always thought his father hated the duke.
He assumed it was because of his disinheritance.
But that could not have been true, could it?
Not if they had been taking the time to correspond with one another.
But why?
“Justin?” Cordelia murmured, cocking her head. “Is everything… all right? You have the look of a man a million miles away.”
Justin cleared his throat, drawing his eyebrows together. He shook his head in consternation, but then to his own surprise, he began to laugh.
“I fail to find the humor in this situation,” Cordelia spat.
“I find it bloody hilarious,” Justin responded, running a hand through his damp hair.
“My entire life, here I am thinking that Charles was hated by the duke for marrying mother, and yet…” He shook his head again, as if that would help him make sense of it all.
“And yet, these letters clearly show how wrong I was. How wrong we all were.”
Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Instead of replying, Justin opened another letter at random.
It was Charles thanking the late duke for tuition costs, for a sum of money to help fix up their London townhouse, for settling the outstanding bill at a dressmaker’s shop.
Standing, Cordelia dragged a chair over to where he was sitting.
Justin let the letters fall to the ground after he read each one.
Tentatively, Cordelia picked one up off the floor. Then she picked up a second.
“Well,” she began. “This is unexpected.”
“Quite,” Justin murmured. He turned his expression back to the fire, unsure of what his feelings were.
“I did not know my half-brother well at all,” Cordelia said. “I have a distinct memory of him picking me up and swinging me around whenever he would walk through the door. I used to crouch behind the big railing in the foyer, waiting for him to arrive home.”
Justin hummed, “I remember him doing that to my little sister.”
“You have a sister?” Cordelia asked.
“Adoptive. Penelope. She was the result of the runaway marriage.”
At that, Cordelia was silent. The fire crackled between them, filling the silence along with the soft tip tapping of rain drops in the buckets. The subdued light outside was beginning to fade even more.
“How is your ankle?” Justin asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Oh,” Cordelia replied, taken aback. “Swollen… still sore.”
“Shall I have a look?”
“At your leisure,” she replied, untucking her legs from the chair. “I apologize for its appearance. Ladies are not supposed to have thick ankles.”
Justin scoffed as he knelt in front of her chair. “Being a lady seems to be quite tedious,” he said, doing his best to draw back some humor in the room and to temper their shared disappointments.
Swallowing, Justin took her small foot in his hand, turning it to the right and the left.
It was certainly puffy, but luckily nothing appeared broken.
The flesh was starting to bruise, and she grimaced as Justin pressed into the delicate bones.
He was doing his best to maintain composure, trying to ignore the long, slender leg that extended up into the mass of her blankets.
Cordelia leaned forward, watching him inspect it.
Her wet hair had come undone from its coif and was spilling in thick curls around her shoulders.
“How is it you get into these scrapes and come out unscathed? I’d give anything for that kind of luck,” Justin said, clearing his throat.
“Unscathed? I’d hardly agree,” she replied. Her voice was low, husky. “A sprained ankle for nothing. You were right in the end, you know.”
Justin’s gaze met hers tentatively. Her brown eyes were wide, assessing him.
“I haven’t thanked you for helping me,” she said, her cheeks blooming.
“At the washed-out road and now the abbey. I’ve been cursing your arrival for some time now, but I can see that if you hadn’t been at the right place at the right time… ”
“Cordelia,” Justin whispered. His hand traveled up her calf, squeezing the muscle there. The smell of bluebells filled his nostrils as Cordelia leaned closer.
*
What am I doing? the thought implored, but it was distant and easy to push away.
She touched her lips to his timidly. They were full and warm against her own, not unlike a woman’s. After a moment she licked his bottom lip and to her delight he opened his mouth, tangling his tongue with her own.