Chapter Twelve
When Cordelia opened her eyes, she winced at the brightness of the morning.
Where was she? Not in her bedchamber, for the room was enormous, the bedcovers a light yellow rather than blue.
Then she froze.
She was not alone. A man lay next to her.
James.
She reached out to touch his bare shoulder, and he stirred.
Then she glanced at her hand and her stomach fluttered at the sight of the gold band on her finger.
The man she had serviced as a whore—the man with whom she had been in danger of falling in love, thus necessitating her retirement from her profession lest she suffer heartbreak…
That man was now her husband.
And he’d looked upon her in disgust last night before claiming her body—not out of love, or desire, but pure, base lust.
She slipped out of bed and padded across the floor, the thick carpet soft under her feet, and approached the trunk that Isidore had packed for her.
Opening it, she spied on the top a pale-blue traveling gown and redingote fashioned from dark-blue velvet.
Lower down she found what she was looking for—a blue silk dressing gown that she had purchased with her first month’s wages.
She slipped it on, and as she was tying the sash at the waist, a soft knock came on the door.
It opened to reveal Puck holding a tray laden with breakfast things, and Cordelia’s stomach rumbled at the scent of fresh coffee and warm toast.
“Your breakfast awaits,” he said. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s finest raspberry preserve. She thought you might need the sugar to keep your strength up. Only the finest for Lady Bedford.”
“Don’t call me that, Puck,” Cordelia said, tempering the ache in her heart. Then the sleeping form in the bed stirred and she caught her breath as he whispered a name.
“Dahlia…”
“Saint’s furry breeches!” Puck said. “I take it he knows who you are.”
“He noticed it when…”
“He parted your thighs.” Puck wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, don’t tell me—it’s too early in the morning for that sort of talk.”
He set the tray on the table then approached Cordelia and took her shoulders.
“You’re a viscountess now, darling,” he said. “Wear that title with pride, for you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Have I not?”
He cocked his head to one side and grinned. “Not if I heard right last night. He was screaming your name—and we all knew he’d fallen for you from the first time he visited you.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she said, suppressing the nugget of hope at her friend’s words. “Every man who pays a whore for her company falls in love with her at some point.”
“In lust, sweetie. But it’s a rare man who falls in love. Take it from one who knows.” He gestured toward the bed. “I saw the way he looked after each visit—like a man well satisfied.”
“You can say that of most men who’ve enjoyed physical gratification.”
“I don’t mean physical gratification,” he said with a soft chuckle.
“Girl, you didn’t bed him for months. Coriolanus and I were taking wagers on when he’d summon the courage to ask you to shag him.
Made me ten guineas, he did. Coriolanus was sure he was too much of a milksop to ever make the request, but I could see that he was fit to burst. Tell me—is he as well endowed as his breeches suggest? ”
Her cheeks flaming, Cordelia approached the tray and poured herself a cup of coffee. Her hand shook and brown liquid splashed onto the tablecloth.
“Tut-tut—that’ll have to be cleaned,” Puck said.
Cordelia bit her lip and dropped two spoonsful of sugar into the cup, spilling some. Then a warm hand took hers.
“Darling, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She turned to see her friend regarding her, the mischief gone from his eyes.
“Did he not please you last night? I’ll stick his member into a bucket of ice.”
“No, he pleased me very well, Puck. But…”
“Then there’s nothing more to say, dearest. A man who looks as if his soul has been fed the most delectable manna from heaven is a man in love.”
“Is that how you believe Lord Bedford looks?”
“Darling, he looks as he’s always looked…as if he’s gorged on it so much he’ll starve without you, for nothing else will satisfy him. Is it no wonder that you chose his gift? For he made it with you in mind. And, for your part, nothing—and nobody—else will satisfy you, either.”
“But I’m a…”
“You’re a what?” Puck said. “A viscountess? A former doxy? The girl who survived horrors and emerged stronger than any of us? Or are you simply a woman in love with her husband?”
“I-I don’t know which.”
He let out a snort. “You’re all of those things, darling. And that man in your bed is a fool if he doesn’t love each and every part of you. Is that not why you chose his gift, because it spoke to your heart? Personally, I’d have taken the necklace. And you know why?”
“Because you like pretty necklaces,” she said. “Or because you’d sell it on Drury Lane for a few hundred guineas.”
“No, darling, it’s because I’ve already found the one I love—the man who keeps me whole.” He glanced toward the sleeping man in the bed. “And now you have found yours.”
She sipped her coffee, wincing as the hot liquid burned her lips. “He was so…so…”
“Big?” Puck suggested, wickedness gleaming in his eyes.
Cordelia swallowed another mouthful of coffee to hide her shame at the memory of James inside her, filling her completely, as if he were made for her.
“Angry?” Puck said, folding his arms. “Or perhaps petulant? He’s barely out of the nursery.”
“He’s almost thirty, Puck. At least five years older than me.”
“Ah, but any fool can see that he’s not lived. Age isn’t just determined by how many years have passed after we come into the world. Age comes through experience of life. And you, darling Cordelia, have experienced more in life than that pampered young man can ever imagine.”
“And the less he knows about that the better, Puck,” Cordelia said. “He already regrets our union.”
“Then he shouldn’t have consummated it, moaning with pleasure for everyone to hear.
He has prepared his bed and now he must be content to lie in it.
And look at him.” He gestured across the chamber.
“He hardly looks like a man under sufferance. Instead, he wears the look of a man well pleasured. And he’s the most fortunate of men. He’ll realize that soon enough.”
“Fortunate because he has a wife with a dowry of eighteen thousand?” Cordelia said, unable to disguise the bitterness in her tone.
“No, darling. He’s fortunate because he won’t have to wait years, or in vain, for his wife to fall in love with him, because she already has. Am I right?”
Puck pulled her into his arms and her resolve crumbled. She clung to him, letting her tears soak into his shirt.
“I’ll miss everyone here,” she said, her voice catching. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon took me in when I was nothing, and Isidore is like a mother to me. But I believe, Puck, I shall miss you most of all.”
“Sentimental tart,” he said. “And you’re staining my best shirt. Now, chin up, Viscountess Bedford, and tell me whether you love your husband.”
She let out a sigh.
“Yes,” she said. “I love him.”
She remained in his embrace for several heartbeats, letting the silence fill the room—a silence that true friends had no need to fill with fatuous words or statements. Then he freed her and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.
“Be happy, darling,” he said. “And eat your breakfast before it gets cold. Your carriage is due at ten to take you to the country. Mrs. Dove-Lyon has procured the most beautiful blue gown for you to leave in. It’s in your trunk. I helped her choose it. Blue’s your color.”
“I saw it, thank you.”
He blew her a kiss, then bowed and exited the chamber. After the door closed behind him, Cordelia smoothed down the front of her chemise, then turned and froze.
The man on the bed, who’d been asleep, was now propped up on his elbows and looking directly at her.
She approached the table and gestured to the pot.
“Would you like some coffee?”
He shook his head and rose from the bed.
“Tea, perhaps? I could ring for some.”
Ignoring her, he reached for his breeches and pulled them on. Then he began to dress, his muscles rippling with each movement. As he fumbled with his cravat, she reached for him.
“Here, let me.”
He jerked back, then, with a sigh, nodded. She tied it around his neck, smoothed down the knot, and tucked it in his waistcoat.
“Thank you.”
“Have some toast,” Cordelia said, approaching the trunk. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon doesn’t let everyone taste her jam.”
He didn’t reply, and she drew out the gown and began to dress. When she was ready, she turned to see him standing before the table, his hands on the back of a chair.
“Will you join me for breakfast, Cordelia?”
She nodded and sat on the chair while he pushed it in for her.
“I took the liberty of preparing your breakfast,” he said, gesturing to the plate on front of her, on which was a piece of toast spread with butter and jam.
She stared at it as he took the seat opposite.
“Forgive me, I should have asked what you like on your toast.”
She picked up the toast and took a bite. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”
His lips twitched into a smile of pride and she suppressed a laugh. But doubtless he’d never had to perform such a task as buttering toast for others in his life, having everything done for him.
“Perhaps I’ll have some coffee after all,” he said, picking up the pot. His hands shook as he poured brown liquid into a cup, and he spilled coffee to accompany the stain already on the tablecloth.
He colored and she averted her gaze, unwilling to intrude on his discomfort, and concentrated on her toast, though her appetite had waned, her stomach tightening into knots.
At length, he spoke.
“Forgive me.”
“It’ll clean out,” she said, nodding toward the coffee stain.
“N-no, I meant…” He swallowed and set his cup aside. “I’m sorry. For last night.”
Her stomach tightened. Did he regret the consummation?
“L-last night?”
He picked up his cup then set it aside. “I was angry. I didn’t mean to say such things. I-I oughtn’t have called you a whore.”
“It’s what I am,” she said, taking another bite of toast, but the sweet taste turned to ash on her tongue. Then she startled as a hand covered hers.
“No,” he said. “You’re not. Not anymore.”
“What if…if anyone at Bedford Hall asks about my past? Your sisters?”
“You cannot tell them,” he said. “Margaret especially—she’s so young. She wouldn’t understand.”
“And you?” she said. “Do you understand?”
He withdrew his hand.
“The Lyon’s Den has a reputation in respect of the women who buy Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services,” she said. “Of course, most of the men who frequent this establishment apply discretion, but if it becomes known…”
“I don’t want my sisters upset,” he said. “I married for them, to ensure that they had dowries and could make respectable marriages when the time came. I fear I’ve failed them.”
The sorrow in his eyes warred with her indignation at his reference to her tainting his family.
“I can be discreet also,” she said.
“Perhaps. But I will always wonder, with each visitor to Bedford Hall, whether they recognize you. Or whether you and they…”
He shook his head. “No. I must not think of that.”
He resumed his attention on his coffee. When he’d finished, she rose and dropped her bridal clothes and chemise into the trunk then locked it. Then she glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf.
“The carriage will be ready at ten.”
“Yes, I heard.”
She nodded. “I’ll ring for someone to fetch the trunk.”
“Very good.”
So formal an exchange! Was this what their life would be like from now on?
No more easy conversations in front of an open fire, in each other’s arms while he talked of his home and his sisters and she listened, falling more deeply in love with each visit.
Were they to just pass remarks between each other for the rest of their lives?
He dabbed his lips with his napkin then rose, flicking a piece of fluff from his sleeve.
“James?”
He froze and met her gaze.
“Do you hate me?”
He blinked, slowly, then lifted his arm and placed his hand on her cheek.
She leaned into his embrace, relishing the feel of his fingers against her skin as he caressed her.
“No,” he whispered. “I could never hate my Dahlia, no matter how hard I tried.”
Before she could reply, the door opened and two footmen entered.
They winked at Cordelia, then lifted her trunk between them.
James followed them out, then he paused at the doorway and offered his arm.
Cordelia took it and he placed his hand over hers.
Then they followed the footmen outside to the front of the building on Cleveland Row where the carriage waited to transport Cordelia to her future.