Chapter Seventeen
I miss you so much, dearest Isidore. Much as I love my new home, I don’t belong here at Bedford Hall.
Do all the other women who employed Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services have the same concerns, I wonder?
A woman of doubtful reputation will always suffer the derision of the class into which she marries, but a woman such as I?
James may not say it outright, but I fear he regrets our union already.
With a sigh, Cordelia glanced up from her letter toward the window and the view outside. The sunlight bathed the landscape, which shimmered with shades of green that spoke of health, vitality, and fertility. She should be blissfully happy here, but…
She resumed writing.
He has yet to visit my bedchamber, and I see the fear in his eyes that grows deeper each day. I am certain that he believes it’s only a matter of time before I’m recognized. I cannot bear the thought of his suffering because he had the misfortune to marry a…
A voice spoke from behind, and Cordelia froze.
“I understand from my brother that I’m supposed to instruct you in etiquette.” Georgiana stood in the doorway.
“Will you join me?” Cordelia said, gesturing to an armchair, but Georgiana made no move. “I can send for some tea. Mrs. Vaughan baked some of her oat biscuits yesterday. They’re very—”
“I know about Mrs. Vaughan’s biscuits,” Georgiana retorted. “After all, this has been my home all my life, but yours…for how long?”
“Almost a month, as you know.”
“Yet you still don’t know that ladies aren’t supposed to take tea at this hour.”
“Then it’s fortunate that I’m no lady,” Cordelia said. “Please, join me. We haven’t talked since I came here. I would like to know you better.”
“Did my brother instruct you to say that?”
“Believe it or not, Georgiana, I’m at liberty to say, and do, what I please.”
“Yes, I’ve no doubt that you are.” Georgiana gestured to the letter. “To whom are you writing? I didn’t realize you had any friends.”
“I have few friends,” Cordelia said. “But that’s because I don’t consider mere acquaintances as friends.
A friend is someone who values my company regardless or rank of consequence or whether it benefits them personally or financially.
There are few people in the world capable of true friendship.
But, in answer to your question, I’m writing to a dear friend from London. ”
Georgiana arched an eyebrow.
“A doxy, if you must know,” Cordelia continued. “Very accomplished and exceedingly popular with her visitors. She taught me everything I know.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened and she stepped back.
“Forgive me,” Cordelia said, rising. “I ought not to have said such a thing.” She approached the bellpull by the fireplace. “Nevertheless,” she added, “it’s too late for me to lose my fondness for tea at this hour. Join me, or not, as you wish.”
Georgiana said nothing, though she stepped into the parlor.
“I trust it’s not too late for me to learn a few social customs,” Cordelia said.
“Is it not?”
“I must be able to receive the guests for your brother’s house party next month like a viscountess.”
“Viscountesses are born, not made.”
“Oh, really?” Cordelia sat beside the fireplace. “I thought viscountesses were made as a result of marriage.” She gestured to the chair opposite.
Georgiana remained standing, then she moved toward the window and looked out, folding her arms. Her body seemed to vibrate with unease. Resisting the urge to speak, Cordelia let the silence fill the room, waiting to be breached by the uncomfortable-looking young woman.
Someone knocked on the door and a footman appeared bearing a tea tray.
“Walter, how did you know…?”
“You always take your tea at this hour, Your Ladyship,” came the reply. “I took the liberty of bringing a teacup for Miss Margaret. Shall I bring another for Miss Georgiana?”
“No,” Georgiana said.
“Thank you, Walter,” Cordelia said. “You’re very kind, but that will be all. If you see Miss Margaret, would you tell her that tea’s ready?”
The footman bowed, a faint blush on his cheeks, then exited the parlor.
“We’re not supposed to thank the staff,” Georgiana said. “We pay them. Is that not enough?”
“Civility costs nothing.”
She turned her pale blue gaze on Cordelia. “Did your visitors thank you?”
Cordelia caught her breath.
Would she never be permitted to forget her past? Not that she was ashamed of it—how else could she have survived and earned her fortune? But for James’s sake…
She suppressed the little spike of sorrow.
Each day her husband visibly strove to conquer his dislike of her past, but she saw the struggle in his eyes.
She would almost have preferred him to display the same overt hostility that she saw in Georgiana.
Perhaps, then, it might have been easy to love him less.
Georgiana drew near, and Cordelia tilted her head to meet the young woman’s gaze.
“Are you angry with me?” Georgiana asked.
“For inquiring about my past?” Cordelia shook her head. “Not really. It’s natural to be curious about a life that you don’t understand.”
Georgiana took the seat opposite her. Aware of the younger woman’s gaze on her, Cordelia poured her tea then took a sip.
“Why did you marry my brother?” Georgiana asked at last. “Do you care for him, or did you just want to marry a viscount?”
“Ladies of your rank might marry for titles and fortunes,” Cordelia said, “but I had my own fortune. And when I chose to marry your brother, I didn’t know he was a viscount.”
“Then why did you choose him?”
“Because of the painting.”
“It’s not a particularly good painting.”
“Nevertheless, I preferred it to the other gifts. I didn’t choose it on the basis of technical competence. I chose it because…” Cordelia shook her head. “It matters not.”
Georgiana leaned forward. “Why did you choose it?” The softness in her voice belied her earlier disdain.
“Because it told me much about the man who had painted it.”
“What?” Georgiana said, her eyes gleaming with fervor. “What did it tell you about him?”
“You can hardly expect me to divulge that,” Cordelia replied.
Georgiana pouted and slumped back in her seat with a huff. “Do you fear discovery?” she said. “I mean…if you’ve…” She gestured toward Cordelia, her nose wrinkling. “Th-the house party…”
“You’re concerned that I might be…acquainted with some of the male guests?” Cordelia said. “It’s unlikely. And I wore a disguise at the Lyon’s Den.”
“A-and…” Georgiana colored. Her eyes glistening, she turned toward the window. “Wh-what about before?”
Sweet Lord! How much does she know?
“Before?”
“I-I mean…I…” Georgiana wiped her eyes. “I assume you weren’t always at the Lyon’s Den. It’s not an establishment for children, I imagine.”
“Or ladies of your rank,” Cordelia said. “We come from very different worlds, Georgiana. But I find myself living in your world now, and I’m eager to learn its customs so as not to let you down.”
“Let me down?”
“And your brother and sister, of course. But I presume with your come-out on the horizon, you’re anxious not to have your social standing jeopardized by inappropriate behavior on my part.”
Shame flickered in Georgiana’s expression and she lowered her gaze. “Do you mean to insult me?”
“No, I’m merely stating the truth as I see it,” Cordelia said. “Which brings me to your brother’s request. He’s anxious for me not to disgrace the Bedford name during the house party, therefore I’d appreciate your assistance in showing me how to act appropriately as hostess.”
Georgiana nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll do my best to ensure that my brother is proud of us.”
Us?
Her expression softened and Cordelia’s heart warmed to see it. Hostile she might be, but Georgiana loved her brother. And, if nothing else, that was one quality that they shared.
Footsteps approached. The door burst open and Margaret entered, panting.
“I’m late. Forgive me, Cordelia. Have you finished your letter to your friend?”
“Margaret!” Georgiana said. “Decorum, please. How many times have I, and Miss Flight, told you not to run? It’s most unladylike. What will our guests think?”
“They won’t care. I’m just a silly child—isn’t that what you keep telling me?”
“You must grow up eventually, Margaret. You’re a Bedford and we must do all we can to ensure that the Bedford name is not disgraced, especially—”
Georgiana broke off and met Cordelia’s gaze.
“I’d better speak to Mrs. Case about the guest list,” she said. “I take it you’d rather I oversaw the choice of guests to ensure that…”
“That the Bedford name is not disgraced, Georgiana,” Cordelia said. “Of course. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Georgiana said, the coldness returning to her voice. She rose and swept out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Margaret approached the table. “Oh, you started tea without me.”
“Forgive me, I ought to have waited,” Cordelia said.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. If you’re thirsty, why wait for me when the tea’s getting cold?”
“It’s what ladies are supposed to do.”
“Did Georgie tell you that?” Margaret pulled a face. “You shouldn’t listen to what she says. She doesn’t know how to be happy, that’s all. She only knows how to be a lady.”
“Can’t ladies be happy?”
Margaret sat on the chair her sister had vacated and swung her legs back and forth.
“Ladies never seem to be happy. They don’t smile and they’re always so concerned about saying the right thing, using the right fork at the dinner table, and knowing how to address a duchess.
Did you know that when you first meet a duchess you have to call her ‘Your Grace,’ but after that it’s ‘Duchess’? Where’s the sense in that?”
Cordelia laughed. “I don’t know, Margaret. I’ve never met a duchess.”
“Would you like to?”
“I’m not sure.”
Margaret slid off the chair and took Cordelia’s hand.
“You’re a viscountess. It’s almost as grand as a duchess, and grander than being a wife of a knight or baronet.
” She tilted her head to one side. “Then there’s a marchioness.
No—she’s grander than a viscountess and a countess.
But not as grand as a duchess. Yes, that’s it.
Do Many Errands Very Beautifully, Kate.”
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s how Miss Flight taught me to learn the order of rank,” Margaret said. “Duke, marquess, earl, viscount, baronet, knight.”
Cordelia smiled. “I must write that down.”
“I’ll write it down for you. Miss Flight’s always saying I must practice my penmanship. You have a neat hand, don’t you?” Margaret gestured to the desk. “Did you finish your letter? I can come back later if you haven’t.”
“But your tea would then be cold,” Cordelia said. “I’ll need the rest of the day to finish my letter. I’ve so much to tell Isidore.”
“About us? I hope you have good things to say.”
Cordelia glanced at the letter and her cheeks warmed. Margaret stared at her, the expression in her eyes showing a perception that belied her young age.
“You needn’t worry about Georgiana. She’s always scolding me for not showing proper etiquette. I often think that’s all she cares for. She scolds James, as well. Sometimes I don’t like her.”
“You mustn’t say that, Margaret, my dear,” Cordelia said. “Georgiana’s your sister. I wish I’d had brothers and sisters when I was younger.”
“But you do have sisters now—me and Georgie. And I like you, even if she doesn’t.”
“I like you as well, Margaret.”
The young girl colored and gave a shy smile. “James likes you. Very much. I can tell.”
“How can you tell?” Cordelia asked, then issued a silent curse at the note of desperation in her voice.
“He gets this look when he likes something—when he really likes it, I mean. Such as when he bought his favorite horse, Hercules. Each time he rides Hercules there’s this expression in his eyes, as if he’s lit up from within.
He sometimes had that look when he came home from London.
” Margaret tilted her head to one side. “Did he know you in London before he married you?”
Cordelia nodded. Margaret smiled and clapped her hands.
“I knew it!” she cried. Then her smile disappeared. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“James said I wasn’t to ask about when you lived in London. He said you weren’t always happy and that I mustn’t do anything to make you unhappy. But weren’t you happy when you saw him?”
“Yes,” Cordelia said. “I was very happy, each time I saw him.”
“Were you sweethearts? I’d like a sweetheart one day. At least, I think I would.”
Cordelia opened her mouth to deny it, but the memory was too strong: the gentle, sweet man who had opened his heart to her at the Lyon’s Den—the only man who’d had the power to destroy her livelihood as a doxy by claiming her heart.
“Yes,” she whispered. “We were sweethearts.”
“And now you’re married, so you can see him all the time. Though he’s often with Mr. Wood, seeing to the estate. At least, that’s what he tells me he’s doing when I ask. What does it mean—‘seeing to the estate’?”
“It takes a lot of work to keep the estate running,” Cordelia said. “There are tenants to visit, buildings to repair, farms to run.”
“I don’t think I’d like to have to do all that.”
“You won’t have to. A lady’s responsibility is to oversee the household.”
“Is that a lot of work?”
“Mrs. Case is a great help,” Cordelia said, “but I’m a poor learner. I’m not used to running a home. But it’ll be much easier for you, because you’ll know what to do by the time you’re old enough to marry.”
“Perhaps,” Margaret said, “but I don’t want to spend all my time running a house. I’d want my husband to spend more time with me, otherwise why would I marry him?”
Cordelia sighed.
Margaret was right. Why, rather than retire with her fortune to a cottage in the country, had she ever agreed to marry a man who preferred to spend as little time with her as possible?