Chapter Fourteen #3
“No, Georgiana,” Cordelia said, smiling. “You’re a grown woman and must take responsibility for your own words and actions. Speak to me as you choose. I care not.”
“Not even if I call you a—”
“You think I can be cowed by mere words?” Cordelia said.
“My only objection would be if you used inappropriate language in front of Margaret, who is of an impressionable age. Besides—I’m not the head of this family.
You must defer to my husband, as must I.
And, when you marry, you must defer to your husband. ”
Georgiana’s lip wobbled but she tilted her chin up. “And what do you think my chances are of securing a husband now?”
“That depends on what you seek in a husband,” Cordelia said.
“Do you want a man who wishes to marry you to maintain his status, a man seeking a fortune to fund his lifestyle? Or do you want a companion for life who will devote himself to making you happy? The first two are men who wish only to take. The third is a man who wishes to give.”
“What of my brother?” Georgiana said, turning her gaze to the silent man at the opposite end of the table who stared at Cordelia, his spoon in midair.
“I would never marry a man who only wishes to take what he wants from me,” Cordelia said.
She glanced at Margaret, whose gaze flitted between each of them.
“Now, my good man…” Cordelia said to the footman holding the tureen. “Forgive me, I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Walter, Your Ladyship.”
“Walter. Please tell Mrs. Vaughan that I’ve never tasted beef consommé as fine as that which I’ve enjoyed tonight. I very much look forward to discussing with her the method she uses for clarification.”
“Very good, Your Ladyship.”
At a nod from James, the two footmen cleared the bowls and began serving the main course, a joint of lamb that they placed before James. As he stood to carve, he met Cordelia’s gaze and gave her a smile, and the remainder of the meal passed without incident.
After the meal finished, James rose.
“Ladies, I’ll bid you goodnight. Margaret, it’s time you retired. See to it, will you, Georgiana?”
“But…”
“We’ve heard enough from you tonight. Please do as I say.”
Georgiana frowned, but she rose and approached the door. “Come on, Margaret, if I must deal with you.”
The younger sister scraped back her chair as Cordelia was rising. She approached Cordelia, hesitated, then rushed forward and embraced her. Cordelia blinked back tears at the onslaught of honest, artless affection, and she placed her hands on the girl’s shoulders.
“Margaret, that’s enough,” James said. “Don’t crowd my wife. She’s not—”
“It’s all right, James. I-I find it…” Cordelia hesitated as her voice caught and she bit her lip to suppress a sob.
Margaret pulled back. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You haven’t,” Cordelia said. “Quite the opposite.”
“Goodnight, Cordelia,” Margaret said. Then she lowered her voice. “Sister.”
A tear splashed onto Cordelia’s cheek and she wiped it away.
“Hurry along,” James said. “I’m eager for my port.”
Margaret skipped toward Georgiana, who frowned, and the two of them exited the drawing room, Georgiana’s sharp tones accompanied by Margaret’s softer voice fading into the distance.
Cordelia rose and approached the door.
“Are you well?”
The deep voice resonated in her bones and she turned to see her husband standing beside her.
“I’m a little tired, that’s all.”
He placed a hand on her arm and she stiffened, suppressing the firebolt of need. He’d hardly touched her since they had taken breakfast that morning, and her body’s craving for him had swelled to the point of agony.
“Then I’ll bid you goodnight,” he said, brushing his lips against her forehead.
“W-will you be visiting me tonight?” she said, hardly daring to meet his gaze.
He let out a sigh. “I’m tired also.”
She nodded and they exited the dining room. They parted at the foot of the stairs and, without a backward glance, he approached a half-open door behind which a warm, welcoming light flickered.
“James?”
He stiffened, then turned to face her, his eyes glowing in the light from the chandelier.
“I am not Dahlia,” she said. “I’m Cordelia.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You think of Dahlia when you look at me,” she said. “Did you only ever want Dahlia as your whore—and never as a wife?”
He blinked, and the shame in his eyes almost broke her heart.
“Forgive me, I…”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “Please.” She gestured to the door. “Your port awaits you, Lord Bedford. I bid you goodnight.”
She turned away from him and ascended the stairs. Only when she’d shed her gown and slipped into the cold, empty bed in her chamber did she succumb to her tears as she blew a kiss in the direction of the object on the wall.
The little painting was a piece of his soul that she was determined to make a treasure of, for though James may defend her against the cruelty of the world outside, the taunts of his sister, and perhaps even the men who used her—in the end, he was a viscount.
And, in marrying her, he’d committed a sin for which he would never forgive himself.