Chapter Twenty-One
Cordelia’s breath caught in her throat as a carriage appeared through the trees, drawn by four horses—two black and two white. A warm hand took hers and squeezed it.
“All will be well,” James said. “There’s no reason for concern. Is there?”
He raised his eyebrows, his tone implying that he was seeking assurance rather than offering it.
“No, of course not,” she replied. “I-I’m just not used to Society gatherings. I didn’t take part in any of the organized events at the Lyon’s Den. Save one.”
He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles against her cheek.
“Aye,” he whispered, “and I’m ever thankful that you decided to participate in that particular event.” He lifted his free hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Ah—Sir George and Lady Marlow. They can always be trusted to be the first to arrive.”
“How do you know?”
Georgiana let out a huff. “The crest on the carriage, of course. I really don’t think—” She broke off in a fit of coughing.
“Are you well, Georgiana?” Cordelia said.
“Of course I am!” Georgiana snapped. “It’s just a slight chill.”
“One crest looks the same as any other,” James said. “But Sir George is the only man I know who keeps carriage horses of different colors. He values quality and compatibility over appearance. Much like myself.”
He gave Cordelia’s hand another reassuring squeeze.
“And here comes Earl Stiles,” he said as a second carriage appeared, drawn by four chestnut horses. “Another stickler for punctuality.”
“Which is to be expected,” Cordelia said.
James stared at her, and she caught a flicker of concern in his eyes.
“Are you…acquainted with the earl?” he said.
She winced at his tone. Surely he didn’t suspect Earl Stiles as having been one of her visitors?
The man had a reputation for being unfashionably in love with, and faithful to, his wife.
But Cordelia had seen him twice before. In court, when he had delivered justice—or what the men who set the law deemed to be justice—upon some of the women of her acquaintance in London, before Bessie Dove-Lyon had taken her in.
“I have yet to be formally introduced to the earl,” she said. “But I know of him. He’s earned quite the reputation in London as a magistrate. He adheres to the law meticulously, and exercises discretion when benevolence and understanding is required.”
James lowered his voice to a whisper. “Did you…?”
“I’ve never been subject to his justice, if that’s your concern,” she said, frowning. “But I acted as witness to others who had the misfortune to appear before him. He showed them as much leniency as the law permitted.”
“Then my opinion of him is even higher than before,” James said, “which is something of a challenge, given that I always thought him an excellent man. I think he’ll like you.”
“And his wife? Will she like me?”
He grinned. “Wait and see.”
The first carriage arrived and the Marlows, a couple in their fifties, climbed out, followed by a young man with mild features and soft-blue eyes.
“Sir George, Lady Marlow!” Georgiana cried, approaching him with the confidence of the practiced hostess. “What a pleasure to see you again. I trust your journey was enjoyable.”
“Perfectly so, Miss Georgiana.”
“And Mr. Marlow. A pleasure to see you also.”
“Th-thank you, Miss Bedford,” the young man said, coloring.
“You know my brother, of course,” Georgiana continued. “May I present his wife, Viscountess Bedford?”
Cordelia felt her husband’s hand on the small of her back, then he propelled her forward.
“A pleasure,” Sir George said. “I’ve heard much of your beauty, Lady Bedford, and I see that the rumors are woefully inadequate. What do you think, Leonard, my boy?”
The young man’s color deepened and he glanced toward Georgiana.
Rumors…
Cordelia stiffened.
“Oh, George, don’t be a fool!” Lady Marlow said, approaching Cordelia, hands outstretched.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear. You must forgive my husband for being overzealous in his flattery.
We’ve heard nothing of you, other than reading in the London Times that young James had finally caught himself a bride.
And a very pretty one, I might add. Which is not flattery, my dear. It’s the truth.”
“You’re very kind, Lady Marlow,” Cordelia said.
The young man approached Georgiana, who gave him a smile before resuming her attention on his parents. Then he issued a bow to Cordelia.
“I-I’m most pleased to meet you, Lady Bedford.”
“Mrs. Case will show you to your chambers, Sir George,” Georgiana said, gesturing toward the waiting housekeeper. “You’re in the room on the east wing, with Mr. Marlow in an adjacent chamber.”
“Are we in the same room as before?” Lady Marlow said. “Wonderful! The aspect from that side of the house is delightful in the morning. Wait until you see it, Leonard—you’ll not have seen anything more beautiful.”
“No, Mother,” the young man said, his gaze on Georgiana. “Very beautiful indeed.”
“I’ve always said to Sir George that you make an excellent hostess, Miss Georgiana.”
Lady Marlow continued to extol the virtues of Georgiana with her son nodding, his color deepening even further, to the point where his cheeks were almost rendered scarlet, though Georgiana barely gave him a glance.
Cordelia’s own cheeks warmed at the stark reminder of her inadequacy compared to James’s sister. Would she ever learn how to be a viscountess?
Perhaps not. Ladies of rank were born, not made—or married into.
I cannot do this.
She retreated toward the main entrance as the second carriage drew to a halt while the footmen were unloading the trunks from the first. Margaret had the right idea, having concealed herself in the gardens somewhere to avoid the social niceties.
“I-I don’t know if—” she began, but Georgiana interrupted.
“Stay, Cordelia,” she said. “There’s nothing to fear—particularly not from Earl and Countess Stiles.”
Cordelia stared at her. She’d never heard such cordiality from her sister-in-law, though perhaps it was for the sake of appearance than any sisterly affection.
“Are you certain?” she said.
“The countess was not born into the aristocracy,” Georgiana replied. “She, of all our guests, should understand your discomfort.”
Are you attempting to assuage my fears, Georgiana, or shine a light on my humble origins?
Cordelia forced a smile as the carriage door opened and Earl Stiles stepped out. Would he recognize her, even though she’d never stood before him awaiting judgment? Those deep-set, dark-brown eyes of his had always seemed to take in every detail, and commit them to memory to be used when required.
He turned his gaze on her, and she caught her breath as his brow furrowed.
“Earl Stiles,” Georgiana said, moving to greet him, “welcome. Might I introduce my brother’s wife?”
The earl’s expression intensified.
“Viscountess Bedford,” he said, his deep voice resonating in Cordelia’s bones. He turned toward the carriage and his brooding intensity lightened.
A statuesque woman stepped out of the carriage. Dressed in a brilliant blue gown, her hair the color of ripe chestnuts, and eyes the shade of emeralds, she was the most beautiful creature Cordelia had ever seen.
“Frederica my love,” the earl said, “this is Viscountess Bedford.”
“I’m so pleased to meet you, Viscountess.” The woman offered her hand, and Cordelia stared at it.
“Oh, I…” Cordelia glanced at her husband. He’d not said anything about ladies shaking hands. Weren’t they supposed to curtsy to one another?
A noise that sounded like a low growl rumbled in the earl’s throat as he glared at Cordelia. But the countess ignored it and stepped forward to embrace her.
“Forgive me, my dear, for being so forward. But I, of all women, understand how tedious it is to greet guests when hosting a house party, especially one’s first. Sometimes a degree of informality is preferred over social nicety, do you not think?”
The countess’s eyes gleamed with natural warmth, and Cordelia relaxed in her embrace.
“Frederica, I think—” the earl began, but the countess laughed.
“You think too much, Hawthorne darling. You’re not in the courtroom now.”
The earl fixed his gaze on Cordelia, and her skin tightened with apprehension at the recognition in his eyes.
He knows.
“As you say, my dear,” he said. “I’m not in the courtroom now.
And, as you know, I shall always preserve the sanctity of confidentiality and refrain from reference to the courtroom and whomever may enter it, be they the accused or”—his eyes seemed to darken—“a witness for the defense. Do forgive me, Lady Bedford, if I gave you cause to believe that I intended to offend you. I assure you that my intention was quite the opposite.”
“Hawthorne, of what are you speaking?” the countess said.
“It matters not,” Cordelia said. “I am very pleased to welcome you to my home, though my sister Georgiana has kindly taken on the role of hostess, given that I’m unused to the role.”
Then the earl smiled and the thundercloud in his eyes dissipated, turning their dark-brown hue into a warm chocolate.
“Shall we take tea?” Georgiana said. “The rest of the guests can join us when they arrive. I thought we might take it in the rose garden. It’s so warm today.”
“Ought you take tea outside, if you have a chill?” Cordelia said, but Georgiana ignored her and escorted Stiles and his wife inside.
Before they followed, James caught Cordelia’s hand.
“Are you well?” he said.
“It’s your sister who has the chill.”
“I meant in spirits. I’m sorry if Georgiana was harsh. She can be a little short-tempered when she’s unwell.”
And when in full health, at least toward myself.
“I’m quite well,” Cordelia said, “though somewhat apprehensive.”
“You’re doing marvelously. Now you’ve greeted the first guests, things will only get easier.”
“When are the rest expected to arrive?”
“Throughout the afternoon. But now you’ve met Stiles, you can have nothing to fear from the others, surely?”
Cordelia swallowed her fear as the image of the stark letters written on the guest list filled her mind’s eye. Then she nodded.
“Good. Now, perhaps you might persuade Margaret to make herself presentable for the guests? Georgiana will be busy playing lady hostess, and Margaret’s more likely to listen to you. I should like her to join the party for tea.”
He drew her close and brushed his lips against hers.
“Do not fear,” he said. “You’ll be a triumph. Stiles was the only guest that concerned me, but he’s the model of discretion, and, given his wife’s history, he’s also the one most likely to be sympathetic toward yours.”
“Is the countess…?” Cordelia shook her head. “I’ve no right to know.”
“She’s a natural child,” he said. “Something of a scandal when Stiles married her, but they weathered it. As can we. Few know of her true origin.”
Cordelia cringed, then nodded. “I understand the need for discretion, James. But a whore is a considerably worse prospect for scandal than a bastard.”
He flinched, and she sighed.
“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I didn’t mean to distress you.”
“But my past will always come between us, won’t it?”
“Not if we don’t let it,” he said. Then he took his hand and led her inside. She had survived the ordeal of greeting the first guests. But as for the name that had caused fingers of dread to curl around her heart…
That ordeal was yet to come.