Chapter Twenty
James glanced at his reflection in the cheval mirror, behind which he could see his bed.
His untouched bed.
His valet moved into view, his stoic expression displaying no sign that he’d noticed his master slipping out of his wife’s chamber shortly before the clocks struck seven.
It was not the done thing for a viscount to spend the entire night with his wife. But West was not one for gossip. Which was just as well, given that it was not the done thing for a viscount to marry a—
“Which one, sir? The blue or the green?”
James made a dismissive wave. “I care not, West. You decide.”
“Very good, sir. If you’ve no objection, I recommend the blue. To complement your waistcoat.”
After donning his jacket, James made his way to the breakfast room, where Cordelia was already helping herself from the buffet.
Suppressing the urge to sweep aside the place setting and claim her over the breakfast table, he picked up a plate and joined her.
“Good morning, Cordelia.”
She nodded, then resumed spooning eggs onto her plate.
James gestured toward the fish. “Would you like a kipper?”
She inclined her head and he scooped a portion onto her plate. Then she approached her place at the table and sat. A footman drew near and, at a signal from Cordelia, poured brown liquid into her cup.
“Thank you, Charles.”
“Ah—so my wife is capable of speaking?” James said, smiling. But she showed no pleasure at his weak little joke.
He took his seat and gestured to her plate.
“One’s strength is always needed at the start of the day’s activities,” he said. “Or after a night’s exertions.” He leaned forward, hardening at the memory of her sweet lips around his manhood. “Last night…” he said. “How the devil did you know how to do?”
She glanced at the footman and colored.
“Charles, we can manage from here,” she said. “We’ll call if you’re needed again.”
“Very good, ma’am.” The footman bowed and exited the breakfast room.
“There was no need to dismiss him,” James said. “The staff are very discreet.”
“I’d rather they weren’t party to such discussions after your sister…” Her voice trailed away.
After Georgiana called her a whore in front of the whole household.
The tremors in her hand almost indiscernible, she picked up her teacup and took a sip.
“The servants know not to spread gossip, Cordelia,” he said, “and I will personally ensure that anyone making remarks about your…your past will be dismissed without reference.”
She picked up her cutlery and began to eat. James took a bite of his breakfast, relishing the flavor.
“I swear we have the best kippers in the county—perhaps even the whole of England,” he said. “If you’d like to take a tour of the estate with me, I can show you the smokehouse.”
“I should like that,” she said in a toneless voice.
They continued eating, the silence punctuated by the scraping of cutlery and the ticking of the longcase clock in the hall outside. Then Cordelia set her cutlery on the plate and met his gaze.
“You called me Dahlia last night.”
Was that the reason for her subdued behavior?
“Did I?”
She nodded.
“Forgive me, Cordelia. Rest assured I’ll not make such a mistake when our guests arrive next week. I’ll observe propriety, and I trust—”
“You trust that I will do the same?” she said, her color rising. “So you are ashamed of me.”
“Of course not, but you must understand that in my position, I must do everything I can to avoid…”
He hesitated.
Shit—he’d been about to say “disgrace.”
But what could he say instead? That he couldn’t abide the fact that she had given her body to other men for cash, and that he’d always be looking over his shoulder in case someone recognized her?
That if she were recognized, his acquaintances would despise him for having married her?
That her very existence risked his beloved sisters’ future?
And that, in spite of all that, he loved her?
“I’ll do everything I can not to expose you to derision,” he said, at length.
“I understand,” she replied. “You have no wish for my past to come to light in front of your guests.”
“Our guests,” he said. “This house party is to honor you as my bride.”
She nodded, and James resumed his attention on his plate.
“Do you only see Dahlia when you look at me?” she said. “Is that why you can only love me in private?”
His conscience stabbed at his heart. “I-I do love you,” he said, “but…”
“Ah, yes, the obligatory ‘but.’” She exhaled sharply. “Forgive me, James. Like all women who secure a husband through the machinations of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I’m poorly acquainted with the customs of your class.”
“Such as the custom that viscounts aren’t supposed to love their wives? Sweet heaven, Cordelia, do you not understand—”
Footsteps approached, and Georgiana appeared, Margaret at her side.
“Where’s Charles?” Georgiana asked.
“He’s in the kitchen, Georgie,” James said. “You’ll have to pour your own tea.”
“I hope that won’t become a habit.” Georgiana glanced at Cordelia. “We wouldn’t want our traditions to be replaced by more modern practices.”
Cordelia looked up. “Modern as in not expecting others to wait on us all the time?”
“We employ Charles to—”
“That’s enough, Georgiana,” James said, fixing his gaze on his wife. “Perhaps it’s time we reconsidered the customs we’ve grown up with.”
“Customs that have been in place for generations?”
“We must adapt,” he said. “If a custom restricts our freedom, or gives rise to unhappiness and discomfort, then it’s time to abandon it.”
He fixed his gaze on Cordelia and the expression in her eyes softened.
“Such as?” Georgiana said.
Cordelia spoke up. “Such as the custom of accusing a woman of witchcraft if she earned the disfavor of her peers,” she said.
“Did you know that a woman accused of witchcraft endured trial by drowning? If she drowned, she was declared innocent, but if she didn’t, she was declared a witch and burned at the stake. ”
Georgiana tilted her head to one side. “So she died either way.”
“Yes. It is the lot of our sex to be condemned merely through someone expressing suspicion or disdain, irrespective of what we have or have not done, whether or not we were forced.”
Georgiana hesitated, her color heightening. Her eyes narrowed, and her hand shook as she reached for her knife.
“I…” she began, then shook her head.
“And it wasn’t that many years ago,” James said, “that if a man wished to rid himself of his wife, he could accuse her of adultery and have her executed.”
“What’s adultery?” Margaret said, settling into her seat.
“Nothing you should concern yourself with, Margaret,” Cordelia said. “Perhaps we should discuss something else. Georgiana, do try the kippers. They’re delicious.”
“I know they are,” Georgiana said. “I want toast, but Charles is not here.”
“Well, I like kippers,” Margaret said. “I’ll have two—yours and mine.”
Cordelia rose and approached the buffet, then returned with a full plate, which she set in front of the little girl.
“Thank you!” Margaret said, and Cordelia placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled.
James let out a sigh. If only she’d smile at him like that.
“It’s not done for the lady of the house to—” Georgiana began, but James interrupted.
“Yes it is, Georgiana. Just because you’re incapable of appreciating a little kindness and consideration, doesn’t mean that the rest of us shouldn’t. Apologize to my wife.”
“James, there’s no need…” Cordelia began, but James raised his hand.
“There’s every need. Well, sister?”
“I apologize,” Georgiana said sheepishly. “I do, however, trust that Charles will attend us for breakfast when our guests are here, unless Cordelia wishes to serve them all. And I hope you’ll behave, Margaret, in front of our guests.”
Margaret poked out her tongue and a piece of chewed fish fell onto her plate.
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Damnation! Hasn’t Miss Flight taught you any manners?”
A snort came from the opposite end of the table, and James glanced up to see his wife hiding her smile behind her cup.
“Ha!” Margaret said. “Georgie cursed! Ought she wash her mouth out, brother? Miss Flight says I should wash my mouth out with soap and water when I curse.”
“I don’t curse,” Georgiana said.
“You said ‘bloody’ the other day when you cut your finger.”
“Hush, brat!”
Margaret pulled a face, then resumed eating. Cordelia glanced up at James and he smiled. His heart soared to see her return the smile.
She was right in that they came from different worlds, but perhaps, in time, they might be able to span the gulf between them.
Georgiana approached the buffet and spooned eggs onto her plate. Her eyes glistened with moisture as she sat and began to eat.
“Georgiana, is there anything I can help you with in preparing for the house party?” Cordelia said. “I would hate for you to do all the work when the task should fall to me.”
Georgiana opened her mouth and James frowned at his sister, meeting her gaze. She sighed and nodded.
“Thank you, that would be most kind,” she said. “Perhaps you could assist me with the place cards for dinner. My penmanship is not very good.”
“And you think mine’s better?”
“I happened to read the direction on the letter you wrote to your friend in London. You have a clear, bold hand.”
“Then I would be delighted, Georgiana, thank you.”
James nodded encouragement, and his wife smiled at him again—but this time it almost reached her eyes.
“I have the guest list here with me,” Georgiana said. “I was intending to write the place cards after breakfast.”
“May I see?”
“Of course.”
Georgiana fished a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Cordelia, who unfolded it, sipping her tea.
Then she froze, and her cup slipped, spilling brown liquid onto the tablecloth.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” she said, a little too brightly. “I must ring for Charles.”
She set the paper aside, rose, and approached the fireplace, where she rang the bell. Then she resumed her seat. But though she smiled, her eyes had hardened, their expression showing, for a heartbeat, a combination of fear and hatred.
As breakfast continued, Cordelia chatted animatedly—a little too animatedly—answering Margaret’s questions about yesterday’s picnic and promising to take her next time. Even Georgiana managed to be civil for the remainder of the meal.
As they filed out, James caught his wife’s hand, waving his sisters ahead.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“Of course.”
“I won’t press you,” he continued, “but I want you to be able to tell me if anything is distressing you. Is it the guest list?”
She nodded. “I-it’s unlikely that he’ll recognize me, but I…”
He pressed a finger against her lips.
“Hush,” he said. “I care not who he is. What happened before matters not.”
“Doesn’t it?”
He looked into her clear silver eyes, bright with moisture, and his heart slid into place.
“No, my love,” he said. “Nothing matters except your happiness. It’s you I love—not Dahlia, the doxy who first gave me pleasure, nor the woman I competed for at the Lyon’s Den, but the woman standing before me now. My Cordelia.”
He dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers.
“My love, I fear that a dull day with Mr. Wood awaits me, but I should like to visit you again tonight, if you’ll be willing?”
She took his hand and kissed it.
“Yes, James,” she said. “I will always be willing with you.”
He kissed her again, slipping his tongue between her lips. She drew close, and his body tightened at the feel of her lush form against his, the soft breasts pressed against his chest with the delicious little peaks that he longed to taste.
More delectable than any breakfast.
“Perhaps I might visit you in your parlor later this afternoon,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“How can I possibly resist such a delicious invitation?”
He kissed her once more, then took his leave, drawing in deep lungsful of air to dispel the inferno of lust in his blood. It really wouldn’t do for Mr. Wood to take orders from a master with a raging cockstand ready to burst.
Before he turned the corner at the end of the hallway, he glanced over his shoulder to see Cordelia approaching the morning room. Before she disappeared, she drew out the guest list once more, then screwed it up in her hands.
Whose name had distressed her so much?