Chapter Twenty-Five
After splashing her face with cold water, Cordelia made her way to the drawing room. Lady Billings had already been received by Portia; the two of them were joined by Henry Peverill and Mrs. Nichols at the card table. It sounded like they were playing a heated game of whist.
“Ah! Lady Cordelia, good to see you!” Lady Billings greeted her cheerfully. “You look rather… flushed. Don’t tell me you’ve also caught a fever, dear girl.”
Cordelia smiled, settling herself on a nearby settee. Bea was all too happy to throw her embroidery hoop to the side to rush up and place the back of her hand against Cordelia’s cheek. “You do feel a little warm,” she remarked.
Mrs. Nichols eyed her with the familiar stare of a concerned mother. “Sickness spreads easily in the spring. Perhaps I shall ring for a broth?”
“I thank you for your concern,” Cordelia said, offering a wan smile. “I think a cup of tea will set me right.”
The players, satisfied with her response, went back to their game.
Bea took her time picking up her embroidery again, huffing.
Then Cordelia heard two voices speaking in low tones.
Looking over, she saw that Hermione and Justin’s secretary were speaking.
Sidling to the edge of the settee, she peered at them.
“I’m sorry,” Cordelia interjected, desperate not to be alone in her own thoughts, “I don’t think we have been properly introduced.”
The portly man stood suddenly. “You are quite right, my dear. Apologies, apologies. My name is Arthur Payne. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He held out a hand to her, and Cordelia shook it, smiling.
She was getting used to ways of the London working class, musing on how she would have been shocked by the gesture only a month ago.
The thought opened the door to Justin’s proposal and his assurance that she would love London, but she set that aside quickly.
“The best secretary in the East End of London!” Peverill added from his roost at the gaming table. “Justin stole you right out from under my nose, the sly sod.”
Lady Billings screeched with laughter. Portia rolled her eyes.
“To be fair, sir, I had told you I wanted a change of pace for quite a while. The shipping world became a hair too… colorful for my personal taste,” Payne replied, reaching in his pocket for a handkerchief.
“All strictly legal, of course,” Peverill replied in that smooth way of his, soliciting another laugh from Lady Billings.
“Yes, well, I was very happy to acquire employment from Mr. Wrig—oh, of course, he is a duke now, I suppose.”
“Mr. Payne, you will refer to the duke as ‘His Grace,’” Lady Billings chided him gently. “Though he is from the humblest of stock, tradition is rather important amongst our ranks.”
Portia held her cards up in front of her face, and Cordelia supposed she was sticking her tongue out at the dowager countess or doing some other impolite gesture.
“Oh, oh yes, my lady,” Payne sputtered, bringing the handkerchief up to his brow to dab the sweat that had formed there.
Lady Billings cleared her throat in a self-important manner, pleased with herself. Cordelia turned back to her sister and the flustered secretary. “Feel free to continue with your discussion,” she said, offering a smile.
“Well,” Payne said, “your sister has an excellent knowledge of botany. We were discussing the possibility of growing wine-making grapes on the estate.”
Hermione adjusted her spectacles, nodding in agreement. “I-I w-w-was curious to u-u-understand which t-t-types were suggested by the g-g-gentleman from the s-s-so…s-s-society,” she said, forcing out the last word.
Cordelia’s heart went out to Hermione but was genuinely surprised she’d struck up a conversation of her own volition. Usually, she was so reserved that her family had eventually given up trying to bring her into discussions, leaving Hermione to her own devices.
“They had suggested lighter varietals of wine, from what I remember. His Grace now has the information. I suppose it will be up to him to decide once and for all,” the secretary said.
Cordelia tried not to flinch at his words. Indeed, Justin would have the last say on everything, from Hollyhead’s fate to her own marriage.
“I s-s-suspect that the enterprise c-c-c-could prove profitable… e-especially if w-w-we decide to use the s-southern s-s-s-sl—”
“Slope,” Cordelia finished.
Hermione’s face reddened as she adjusted her spectacles. “P-precisely.”
“Certainly an interesting prospect,” Payne agreed. “Could you imagine?”
“I actually think it would be rather picturesque,” Peverill claimed, from the gaming table. The group had been deceptively quiet, most likely eavesdropping on their conversation. “You wouldn’t have to endure a bad crossing over the channel to enjoy the charms of the south of France.”
Lady Billings hummed in agreement, but then stood rather abruptly. “I fear I shall not finish this card game, dears,” she said, straightening her spine. “I have to pay a call to the Marchioness of Burton this afternoon. I assume she was invited to the ball?”
“Of course,” Cordelia remarked.
“Good! Her son has just returned home from his final year at Eton. Perhaps you might secure him an invitation as well?” Lady Billings asked, her tone stringent with Cordelia.
She stood, nodding her head. “I did not know James had returned. I’ll pen a letter forthwith.”
“Good,” Lady Billings replied. She nodded her head to her counterparts, excusing herself.
Cordelia followed her out of the drawing room and into the main halls. Now was as good a time as any to seal her fate with the Billings family. The dowager’s cane clicked rhythmically against the floor as they promenaded to the foyer, side by side.
“Let us hope the weather holds for the next week,” Lady Billings remarked.
Cordelia’s mouth went suddenly dry. She tried to think of something to say but was coming up short. Finally, she managed a nod, sure she looked as stupid as she felt.
Lady Billings eyed her for a moment, the edges of her eyes crinkling.
A footman produced a coat and hat. The chatelaine, Mrs. Norris, helped the old woman ready herself for the carriage.
Cordelia knew what had to be done, but by some cruel twist of fate, she’d been struck mute.
She opened her mouth with the intention of asking after Rhys, but instead, all that came out was, “Indeed.”
She was half expecting Lady Billings to fill the silence for the two of them, mentioning how disappointed she was in Cordelia’s behavior, how Rhys was the obvious choice over a mutt duke without a drop of aristocratic blood. But instead she bobbed a shallow curtsy at Cordelia.
“I do hope you speak with Rhys shortly,” Lady Billings said, after a long moment. “But I am afraid to tell you that he has been called on urgent business to London.”
“Oh,” Cordelia replied, surprised by the news. A feeling of trepidation surged in her belly. For what possible reason could he have been called there?
As if reading her mind, Lady Billings answered, “Family business. It will not take him long. He is set to arrive the day of the ball at Hollyhead. I have expressly instructed him not to miss it.” She paused, pursing her lips. “He was eager to leave. I do hope everything is all right with him.”
“Whatever it is,” Cordelia murmured, “I am sure it will be sorted out soon.”
She did not mean to insinuate the “whatever” being a matrimonial pact between the two of them, but as soon as the words left her lips, she knew Lady Billings read it as such. “Oh, certainly!” she said, taking Cordelia’s clammy hands in her own. “I am so very hopeful!”
Cordelia smiled weakly at that, feeling perspiration gathering on her brow. Is that not what she’d come out here to say originally? That she wanted to speak with Rhys? But anxiety had been replaced by dread, the familiar no sounding off in her head.
With a final nod, Lady Billings gathered her voluminous skirts so she could fit through the doorway and climbed up into the carriage. “I always preferred late summer nuptials, anyhow!” she called from her perch.