Chapter Fourteen
Cordelia watched in the reflection of the dressing table mirror as Tilly finished fixing her hair. There had been no need, but the young maid was so eager to be of service that Cordelia succumbed.
After all, she was a lady now. In appearance, if nothing else. And the world she now resided in valued appearance and decorum over everything else.
Cordelia rose, and drew in a sharp breath as the world shifted out of focus.
“Lady Bedford, are you all right?”
“Yes, Tilly. I’m just a little…”
Apprehensive? Afraid?
What would the maid think of Cordelia if she confessed her fears?
“…hungry,” Cordelia said at last.
“Mrs. Vaughan will be pleased,” Tilly replied. “She likes to see the plates cleared. Miss Margaret and the master always oblige, but Miss Georgiana has the appetite of a bird…”
The master…
Cordelia closed her eyes, but the action only served to push the long-dormant memory to the fore—thick, stubby fingers digging into her arms, pinning her in place, while she choked on the stench of male sweat and stale liquor…
“Lady Bedford?”
A hand caught her arm, and Cordelia glanced up to see the maid’s soft brown eyes staring at her, wide with concern. Then a blush colored Tilly’s cheeks.
“Perhaps you’re…” The maid’s blush deepened. She couldn’t have failed to hear Georgiana call Cordelia a slut.
“I’m what?” Cordelia asked, unable to disguise the sharpness in her tone.
“Well, you’re newly wed, and there’s many a lady who finds she’s with child after the wedding night.”
Cordelia placed a hand over her belly. Might she be carrying James’s child? She had wanted nothing more than to have a child conceived out of love. But there was no love in the bedchamber on their wedding night: only anger, pain, and regret.
She lowered her hand and moved toward her half-emptied trunk.
“I can tend to that for you,” Tilly said. “That is, if you’d like me to. I’m acquainted with the duties of a lady’s maid, and I’d like to serve you. Mrs. Case said to put everything in its proper place, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”
Cordelia smiled at the eager young woman. Perhaps if she’d been sent into service rather than to London, she might have been in Tilly’s position herself.
“Very well,” she said, “that’s most kind of you, Tilly. You may unpack the trunk as you see fit. I’ll trust you to know where to place everything properly.”
She glanced inside the trunk and pulled out an item wrapped in a cloth.
“Except for this.”
“What is it?”
Cordelia unwrapped the cloth and held up the painting. As a wedding gift, Isidore had commissioned a framer to set it in a thin wooden frame.
She glanced about the bedchamber—a room twice the size of her boudoir at the Lyon’s Den, furnished in shades of blue and yellow. The windows looked full east, which meant that the chamber would be filled with light in the mornings.
She crossed the floor to a painting on the wall.
The artistry of the painter was to be admired, for it was a perfectly executed landscape demonstrating skill at the craft.
But other than depicting a field of cattle in appropriate proportions, with purple-hued hills in the background giving the right sense of distance, the painting failed to speak to her soul.
Unlike the painting that had won her heart.
She lifted the landscape from the hook and replaced it with painting of the roses. Then she stood back and smiled. It would be the first thing she saw when she woke each morning.
“Did you paint that, ma’am?”
Cordelia turned to see the maid staring at the painting, her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to understand why anyone might like it. But Tilly only saw the execution—the strokes of the brush and the shapes of the flowers. She did not see the soul of the man who had created them.
“No, Tilly.”
“It’s not very…”
“To me it’s the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen,” Cordelia said. “And it’s not to be moved from here…or ever touched by anyone by myself. Do you understand?”
Tilly’s eyes widened and she stepped back. “Of course, Your Ladyship. Sorry if I offended.”
“You didn’t, Tilly,” Cordelia said. “It’s just that…the painting… It’s…”
“I understand,” the maid said, then she gestured to the discarded landscape. “Shall I remove this?”
“No, there’s no need,” Cordelia said. “There’s a space near the door where it could be hung.”
“Of course, I’ll get Robert to do it.”
“Robert?”
“The footman who carried your trunk up. Ever so kind, he is. He brought me a ribbon, once. Sixpence, it cost him. A pink one for my hair. He walked all the way to Briarton and back—three miles—just because I said I liked pink.”
Cordelia smiled at the adoration in the maid’s voice.
Love might be the doxy’s ruin, but it was something to be nurtured and encouraged in others.
And though the prospect of being a viscountess—mistress of a large house with tenants and servants to care for—ought to have struck fear into her soul, the position afforded her the opportunity to do something for those less fortunate than herself, such as a young couple in love.
A cascade of notes rang in the hallway outside, followed by a single note, eight times.
“Mercy!” Tilly cried. “Forgive me for keeping you, ma’am. Shall I show you to the drawing room?”
“Yes please,” Cordelia replied. “I’m afraid I’d get lost if I tried to find it myself.”
“You’ll find your way ’round soon enough. I suspect them London houses don’t have half the rooms as this house. When I first came here, I learned my way ’round in three days, and Mrs. Case says I’m slower than most due to being a bit of a dreamer.”
Cordelia smiled as the maid chattered on. Perhaps having a maid wasn’t so burdensome after all. And in a world where experience had taught Cordelia that trust should never be given lightly, Tilly might be the closest she’d come to having a friend.
When Cordelia entered the drawing room, there were only two occupants: the footman standing beside the doors, who acknowledged her with a bow, and James’s eldest sister.
Georgiana sat on a two-seater sofa, silhouetted in front of the window overlooking the landscape—the lake at the front of the house that Cordelia had spotted from the carriage on her arrival, the lawn that sloped downward toward a cluster of trees.
Softly undulating hills formed the horizon behind which the sun was already disappearing, illuminating the world in a soft-pink glow.
“Good evening, Georgiana.”
The young woman acknowledged Cordelia with a nod, then resumed her attention on the glass in her hand half filled with a pale-red liquid. Cordelia approached the window and looked out, her gaze following the line of the horizon.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said. “I’d like to explore the walks hereabouts.”
“I daresay you’ve not seen such a view before,” Georgiana said.
Cordelia turned to see the young woman watching her, a cold smile on her lips.
“And,” Georgina added, “I wouldn’t have thought you a very great walker.”
“Why not?” Cordelia said, forcing a smile. “London may lack the magnificence of the country, but there are many fine walks to be had. I can show you, if you like. Hyde Park is—”
“I daresay there are many walks to be had for ladies who take the air, but I thought women such as yourself spent all your time indoors.”
“I take it you mean women who live primarily in London?”
“Or women who work in London.”
Georgiana took another sip of her drink, her eyes glittering. The footman shuffled from one foot to another, then stiffened as he met Cordelia’s gaze.
“Your gown is very pretty,” Georgiana said.
Cordelia smiled and approached the young woman. “Thank you. My friend chose the material, and I thought—”
“I was expecting something far gaudier.”
“Then I’m happy not to have disappointed you,” Cordelia said. “In my choice of gown, at least.”
“I trust the rest of your wardrobe will not disappoint. My brother has a reputation to uphold, and that reputation is at risk now he’s married a—”
“Georgiana!” a male voice cried.
James stood in the doorway, next to his younger sister, who clung to his hand, staring at Cordelia with large cornflower-blue eyes, the same shape as her brother’s.
“Do you intend to make the mistress of Bedford Hall feel uncomfortable on her first night here?”
Georgiana colored, then she rose and approached the fireplace, as if to move herself as far from Cordelia as possible.
“Are you not taking a sherry, my dear?” James said.
“Oh, I-I didn’t think…”
“Georgiana, did you not offer my wife a sherry?” He turned to the footman. “Robert, please pour a sherry for Lady Bedford, and one for me also.”
“If she’s mistress of Bedford Hall, she’s capable of asking Robert herself for a sherry,” Georgiana said. “Did Lady Bedford ask you for a sherry, Robert?”
“That’s enough!” James said, as the footman colored. “Robert, do as you’re told, then tell Mrs. Vaughan we’ll take supper immediately.”
“Can I have a sherry?” the young girl said.
“Of course not,” Georgiana snapped. “Sherry’s not for brats. It’s for gentlemen. And ladies.” She turned her gaze on Cordelia. “So perhaps it’s not appropriate if you—”
“Pour my wife a sherry, Robert,” James growled.
The footman complied. Then the young girl at James’s side released his hand and approached Cordelia. She dipped into a curtsy.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” she said. “I’m Margaret.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Cordelia said. “And call me Cordelia. ‘Ma’am’ sounds overly formal, does it not?”
“It does!” the girl said. “I told James that. I said I wanted to call you ‘sister,’ but he said I’d have to ask you first, seeing as it wouldn’t be proper.”
“Perhaps we can start with ‘Cordelia’ first, then you can call me sister, if you like, once we’ve got to know each other better.”
The little girl smiled and nodded. Then she dipped her head and a faint blush showed on her cheeks.
“You’re very pretty,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“I think that’s why Georgiana doesn’t like you. She’s jealous because she wants to be the prettiest lady in the county.”
Georgiana scowled.