Chapter Twenty-Two
“There’s nothing so pleasurable as taking tea out of doors.”
Cordelia glanced at Countess Stiles and sipped her tea. “Y-yes, I suppose so.”
“And the weather has been particularly clement of late,” the countess continued. “We must always take every opportunity when it arises, for the weather is at risk of turning at any moment.”
How was Cordelia supposed to respond? Lustful men and sneering glances she could deal with, but delicate Society small talk? In the end she settled for something bland and, with luck, inoffensive.
“I quite agree, Countess Stiles.”
Her companion tilted her head to one side. “It’s just ‘Countess’ after the first address,” she said.
“Oh, forgive me, I d-did not…”
“Neither did I at first.” The countess leaned toward Cordelia and lowered her voice to a whisper.
“My Hawthorne quite despaired of me, and I have to confess to taking a perverse pleasure out of addressing some of the less congenial people of our acquaintance incorrectly, just to see the expression of horror on their faces.”
She leaned back in her seat and set her cup aside.
“Of course, that doesn’t prevent me from engaging in a little sport at their expense. In any case, I’d rather you didn’t call me ‘Countess.’”
“Ought I call you ‘ma’am’?” Cordelia said.
“Good heavens, no!” The countess laughed. “That makes me sound like an aged matriarch, though with three grown-up children I confess I’m on the brink of earning that accolade. If you have no objection, you might call me Frederica, if I might be permitted to call you…?”
“Cordelia.”
“Cordelia! Oh, how pretty! I only know of one Cordelia, and she was banished for her honesty then executed. A tragic lesson on the frailty of trust.”
Cordelia let out a laugh. “I trust that, rather than making reference to the punishments your husband metes out in court, you’re speaking of King Lear’s youngest daughter,” she said, “who preferred to speak the truth, even if others resorted to flattery.”
“Ah, another student of the Bard of Avon,” the countess said. “I see we’ll have much to talk about. I fear that most women of my acquaintance are not well read. They prefer to study the rules of Society, such as the order of rank among the aristocracy.”
“Do Many Errands…” Cordelia began.
“Very Beautifully, Kate!” The countess laughed. “I’ve not heard that for some years. Not since my Thomasina was young. Where did you hear that?”
“From my youngest sister-in-law.”
The countess glanced toward Margaret, who was chatting animatedly to Mr. Marlow.
“A delightful child,” she said. “What a pity that our children have to lose their youthful enthusiasm and constrain themselves to the rules of the ton. But it’s a necessary evil. I myself was a little wild as a girl, but I believe Hawthorne married me because of it, rather than in spite of it.”
“You were childhood friends?”
The countess smiled. “I’ve known him almost all my life. I believe we were destined for each other, though the path to our union was not a straight one. Had you known Lord Bedford long before you married?”
Cordelia’s cheeks burned with shame. The countess stared at her then took her hand.
“Forgive me for being so forward,” she said. “It’s not my place to ask. Hawthorne is always chiding me for speaking out of turn. But it matters not. The two of you are made for each other.”
“Are we?” Cordelia said, glancing toward James, who was deep in conversation with Sir George.
“You only have to look at him to see that he adores you.”
“But—”
“A difference in rank is no obstacle if a man and woman truly love each other. You may have a few more obstacles to overcome, but that’s half the enjoyment—overcoming them together. And overcome them you will, my dear.”
“You believe so?”
“I know so,” the countess said. “You’ve been married only a few weeks. You have years ahead of you, and I envy you, just starting out on your journey.”
The countess was right.
Cordelia smiled and picked up her teacup again, then froze as a voice called out, hailing the arrival of the final guests.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ffortescue, and Sir Iain Leaney!”
Cordelia gripped her teacup to temper the tremors in her body as the final guests arrived—a dark-haired couple accompanied by the man whose name had clawed at her soul ever since she’d read it on Georgiana’s guest list.
With a scraping of chairs against paving slabs, the gentlemen stood while James and Georgiana approached the newcomers.
Cordelia rose and followed.
“My dear Mr. and Mrs. Ffortescue,” Georgiana said, before she gave a sideways glance at Sir Iain, her cheeks turning pink, “we expected you much earlier. I trust your journey was uneventful?”
“Sadly not, m’dear,” Sir Iain said, bowing over Georgiana’s hand, which he took and kissed. “My deuced driver, ignorant fool that he is, almost overturned my carriage. It was only by the very good fortune of these fine folk encountering me that I survived the journey intact.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Georgiana said, her voice deepening as she curled her fingers around his hand. “I trust all is well now? Mr. Ffortescue, I can only thank the Almighty for the good fortune of your being on hand to effect a rescue.”
Sir George Marlow and his son approached, the elder gentleman extending his hand while the younger fixed his gaze on Sir Iain, a mixture of envy and despair in his eyes.
“What’s all this, Leaney?” Sir George said.
“Nothing of consequence,” Sir Iain replied. “But I’ll ensure my driver is thrashed when I return. Damned fool. Oh, begging your pardon, Miss Georgiana, for cursing.”
“Oh, I quite understand, Sir Iain,” Georgiana said, a little breathless. “I’m only glad that you’re safe and well. I believe you know everyone here, except my sister-in-law?”
“Ah, Bedford’s new bride about whom all of London is gossiping,” Sir Iain said.
“Bedford, you’re a deuced sly fellow. None of us expected you to thread your head through the parson’s noose so quickly.
Miss Peabody is most put out—the foolish chit had quite set her cap at you and was heartbroken when you did not attend Lady Tissingham’s ball. ”
Then he turned to Cordelia and their gazes met. She caught her breath, her stomach clenching in fear, but saw no recognition in his pale eyes.
He curled his lips into a smile. “You’re to be forgiven, Bedford, for abandoning Miss Peabody in favor of such a delightful creature. As delectable as a flower, I might add.”
Cordelia’s heart skittered. Had he recognized her?
But he merely took her hand and lifted it to his lips. She suppressed a shudder.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Bedford.”
“Likewise.”
“How charming you are, m’dear.”
“I think tea is in order, do not you, Sir Iain?” Georgiana said. “You must be in need of some after such a journey.”
He offered his arm, and Georgiana took it and steered him toward the tea things, where a footman stood waiting.
“Damned fool,” Mr. Ffortescue muttered. “He overtook us on the road, yelling at his driver to make haste. I said to my Sophie that one of his wheels was not balanced properly, did I not, my love? Some young men are prone to folly. But that was never a failing of yours was it, my boy?” he said, turning to James.
“Always a sensible fellow, and I can see that you have extended your good sense into your choice of wife.”
“You’re too kind, Mr. Ffortescue,” Cordelia said. “But I must ask: Is the poor coachman abandoned on the road?”
“No, my dear,” Mr. Ffortescue said. “Sir Iain is a little prone to exaggeration. His carriage was only caught in a rut, and with the help of my own man, we managed to pull it out and he finished his journey here, albeit at a more sensible pace. But that wheel will need to be seen to as soon as possible.”
“There’s a wheelwright in the village, is there not, James?” Cordelia said. “Perhaps Charles could send for him.”
“That is surely Sir Iain’s business, my dear,” James said.
“I’d hate for the coachman to bear the brunt of the blame for something that’s not his fault.”
“Quite right,” Mr. Ffortescue said. “Kind and sensible as well as beautiful. An excellent choice you’ve made there, Bedford.”
Cordelia met her husband’s gaze, and her heart swelled at the pride in his eyes.
“There’s no need to tell me something of which I’m already aware, Ffortescue,” James said, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Cordelia’s apprehension lessened as the tea party continued. Sir Iain barely looked in her direction, his attention focused on Georgiana.
As tea drew to a close and the footmen began to clear away the accoutrements, the guests milled about, as if looking for instruction.
What was she supposed to do? Order them inside? Members of the aristocracy didn’t take kindly to instruction. Perhaps she ought to announce the hour at which dinner would be served?
She glanced about. Where was Georgiana when she needed her?
Excepting Sir Iain Leaney, the rest of the company were present, including Mr. Marlow, looking miserable as he tucked into his fourth slice of shortbread.
Earlier she’d seen Georgiana circulating among the guests, engaging in the ineffectual remarks that passed for quality Society conversation.
Then she caught a flash of yellow silk through the gate leading to the walled garden and set off toward it. She heard voices before she reached her quarry.
“Such a ridiculous puppy, Georgiana. I can’t think why you invited him.”
Cordelia froze. The voice was Sir Iain’s.
“He’s charming, Sir Iain,” Georgiana said. “And it was Sir George and Lady Marlow I invited. I couldn’t exactly invite them without inviting Leonard.”
“Leonard, is it?” Sir Iain chuckled, and Cordelia suppressed the ripple of nausea at the thick layer of charm in his tone. “Somewhat familiar an address for a man not worthy to kiss the ground upon which you have walked.”
“Oh, Sir Iain! You do flatter me.” Georgiana let out a girlish giggle that ended in a fit of coughing.