"Martha. Martha!" Cordelia hissed quietly as she rushed down the hallway to her bedroom, desperately searching for her old nurse.
"Yes, Miss Cordelia?"
She turned quickly to see the old woman step out of one of the guest rooms, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Quick, I need your help getting dressed."
The woman nodded and followed after her, taking note of the frazzled state of her expression and knowing that there was only one possible reason that could illicit such a reaction. However, she did not voice her observation as they entered the young lady's bedroom.
Cordelia's thoughts were a chaotic muddle as she watched her nurse move to her wardrobe to decide on an appropriate outfit, and she inhaled shakily as she sat down to wait.
For one week she has been in London. For one whole week, she had constantly been looking over her shoulder, waiting for the moment she would have to face the Marquis. But with no word or rumour circulating he was to return, she had fallen into a false sense of relaxation. Only to discover, to her horror, that the next time she would meet him would be in her drawing room. The unexpected sight of him shook her so that she felt cornered and petrified.
"You must calm down, Miss Cordelia," Martha's raspy voice stated soothingly as she approached her with a gown made of silk. "Do not let his appearance unsettle you so."
Cordelia sighed heavily as she stood. "I know, Martha. It is just . . . He—They . . ."
"I know, Miss. I know." Her wise, gentle expression offered her a small comfort as she was assisted from her dress. She stood quietly as the new one was adjusted to fit her petite frame and a matching pair of gloves were adorned.
"There we are. You look beautiful in this dress, and you have nothing to feel ashamed of." Her withered hands offered her shoulders an encouraging squeeze as they looked at Cordelia's reflection in the mirror.
Martha was right. The soft grey fabric accentuated the fairness of her skin and hair and made the blue of her eyes more vibrant. Her tender features and intricately designed ensemble made her look every bit the niece of the wealthy Dowager Countess of Mayfield and nothing like the country girl she had once been.
She exhaled heavily as her shoulders sagged. "It is not my appearance that I am ashamed of."
The old woman offered her a tight smile, remembering that day all too well. "You were a child, Miss Cordelia," she said softly, attempting to encourage her.
"But I should have known better."
A morbid silence ensued between them, and Martha busied herself with the final touches of her appearance before taking her leave. For a few breaths, Cordelia remained in her room, taking the time to compose herself and steel her resolve to face their company downstairs. When she felt she had readied herself enough for the upcoming confrontation, she straightened her shoulders in an attempt of bravery and returned to the drawing room
As expected, the Marquis rose to his feet when she entered the room once more. But she kept her gaze focused on her aunt as she made her way towards them. Trying her best to keep her expression as aloof as possible, she took a seat beside her, vaguely aware of the Marquis resuming his seat once she had done so.
She accepted the tea offered to her by the butler and focused her attention on the cup. The silence in the room was deafening, and it took a considerable amount of concentration for Cordelia to keep her grasp firm yet gentle on the teacup so that it would not begin shaking from the increasingly poor state of her nerves.
"So . . ." the Dowager began at length. "I am assuming that Miss Sutton is now in your care permanently, Lady Mayfield?"
"That is correct," her aunt responded her gaze intent on the lady before her.
Lady Midrake raised a gloved hand to her chin in thought. "Hmm. Did you not have a brother, Miss Sutton? I distinctly recall seeing him many years ago . . . on the farm."
Cordelia tensed at the woman's words, knowing that she was referring to her childhood years. More specifically, it reminded her of her lowly birth.
The Dowager continued, her tone one of cordial conversation but eyes like that of a snake intent on striking, "Would he not have been able to provide for you? I am certain that he would have been a much better match for the role of guardian for you. After all, he is direct blood and of the same . . . social standing as yourself."
"We have not received any correspondence from him for many years," the Countess stated, her voice void of emotion and heavily guarded, and yet still managing to sound genial. "We are not certain if he is still alive or not. My decision to care for her as guardian was for her protection and security."
Lady Midrake offered her a tight smile. "Quite so. You have done the same as any concerned aunt should; however, we cannot forget her . . . rightful place in society, can we?"
"Her rightful place is beside me," the Countess responded with the slightest tick in her jaw. Although she kept her voice very calm, her gaze was like that of sharpened daggers. "If you disapprove—"
The Dowager smiled and waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, no! You misunderstand me. I only wish to voice my concern that I am sure Miss Sutton is finding it difficult to adjust to such a glamourous world of wealth and status. It must be a trying task, considering her previous behaviours."
Her haughty gaze was upon Cordelia then, perusing her with a scrutiny that she remembered all too well. Although the Dowager attempted to hide her changing features with rouge and powder, her personality remained the same—condescending and malicious.
However, she knew full well that Lady Midrake's dislike for her was not without reason. She lowered her gaze a moment later, the skin tightening about her mouth ever so slightly to reveal her discomfort.
"Despite your voiced misgivings," the Countess rose to defend her, "Miss Sutton has become a remarkable success."
"Really?" The Dowager asked, her eyebrows raised in mock surprise before drifting back to the silent young lady, whose expression was blank but her posture stiff. "I suppose it should not have come as a surprise considering you are now acquainted with the Viscount of Tilbur. Quite a handsome find, wouldn't you agree, Lord Midrake?"
All attention focused on the only gentleman in the room now, who had remained as silent as his female counterpart. His back rested against the back of the couch, his posture confident and self-assured. He looked first at the Countess, whose irked expression at the audacity his mother displayed was clear, then the silent young lady next to her, who had kept her gaze averted for most of what was being said. Finally, he looked towards his mother, his eyes hardening to give the appearance of steel.
"I do not understand why you were surprised that she would be a success at all," he stated calmly, a hint of a jeer directed towards the Dowager in the way he looked at her. "It is a given that she would be with her ability to keep her tongue pure of rude remarks. Her attractive appearance is also most pleasant to gaze upon and certainly does not hinder her appeal to gentlemen."
Cordelia's teacup jostled slightly in her grasp, the Marquis' words forcing her to meet his gaze, to gauge if what he had said was in earnest. She attempted to ignore the sudden thump of her heart beneath her breast as she beheld him.
His eyes were that of heavy smoke and, as their colour implied, robbed her of the very breath in her lungs. Try as she might, she failed to find reprieve from the overwhelming intensity his gaze alone seemed to evoke within her.
She had been in shock when she first saw him that she had not noticed the changes that had occurred to his appearance in the last six years.
But they were changes that she was finding extremely difficult to ignore now.
His face had matured into sharp masculine lines and a strong jaw, and his dark hair combed back neatly to reveal his strong forehead. The coat he wore accentuated the broadness of his chest and shoulders, while his breeches were tailored to perfection. It struck her then that he was no longer the young man that had been sent to the militia, but a strong, fine gentleman who had seen the terrors of war and survived, triumphed even.
Although she was relieved to see that he was in good health, she had to remind herself that along with his appearance, his personality would have altered too. Something that was all too clear by looking into his stormy gaze. He certainly was not the soft-hearted, gentle person that she had once known.
Her stomach coiled in a mixture of shame and despair.
And it was all because of her.
The Dowager looked at her son, shocked by his bold words, but he remained unbothered by her glowering eyes and took a sip from the cup of tea in his hand.
A little discombobulated by his response, Lady Midrake straightened her shoulders and focused her attention once more on the weakest in the room. "Miss Sutton, would you be kind enough to treat us to a tune on the pianoforte?"
The Dowager's mocking voice pierced Cordelia's thoughts, and she quickly turned her attention to the woman. She noticed the knowing glint in her dark eyes as she gestured to the beautiful instrument situated at the side of the room.
Her request brought to mind a memory of the first time that she had met her. Cordelia had not even been with her aunt for a day when the lady had come to the house. She had asked for her to play then, but her aunt had saved her from the embarrassment, knowing full well that she had never received any instruction on any instrument before.
Since living at the Manor, there was not as much distraction, and her skills, enhanced by the employment of a master, had grown immensely that she was now quite proficient. However, it still did not mean that she was comfortable performing for people.
Nevertheless, just this one time she was grateful for the distraction so that she would not have to face the Marquis' gaze, and for the one occasion to prove the woman wrong. She nodded, complying without resistance, and placed her cup aside before walking towards the instrument. She sat down gently, taking a moment to decide the best piece to play before a beautiful Sonata flowed from her fingertips.
Her fingers ran over the keys, not missing a single note as the piece continued. After a few successful bars, she heard the Dowager state in a voice that sounded decidedly tight, "You remember the distant relative of my husband who stayed with me for a few months many years ago. Her name was Lady Alicia."
"I do," Lady Mayfield responded briskly.
"Well, she has made an exceptional accomplishment of the pianoforte in recent years. And I am certain that when she arrives in London, as she will be a debutant this year, she will be the toast of St James'. That also brings me to the purpose of our call. I would like to extend an invitation to you . . . and your family for the ball that we will be holding for Lady Alicia's arrival on the 7th, two days after she is scheduled to arrive."
"Thank you, Lady Midrake. That is most kind of you. But may I ask if there is any particular reason why she has not yet come to London?"
The Dowager straightened her shoulders with a bright smile upon her red-stained lips, giving Lady Mayfield the impression of a peacock preening its feathers. "She has been residing in Paris for several months now to learn of the latest fashions. Her father owns a marvellous property there."
"I see," she commented in return, a hidden smile lifting her lips. "Well, I am certain that she will be successful in her own right. Although I believe that she will have arrived a little too late to make any lasting impact worthy of remembrance."
The Dowager bristled at the Countess' insinuation, and she turned to look at her son, only to frown when she realized that he had not been paying attention to her at all and was rather focused on the young lady seated at the instrument.
She turned to look back at the Countess, her smile tight and gaze irked, her vindictive intentions sourly doused. "Well, the eligible gentlemen will have to be the judge of that. However, I believe we better be going. We must not overstay our welcome, of course. Come along, Lord Midrake," she said and stood, the movement forcing Landon's attention back to his mother.
The shuffle of skirts distracted Cordelia momentarily, and she briefly glanced up to see the ladies start making their way from the room, the Marquis seeming to hesitate. But as soon as she noticed him begin to look back at her, she quickly turned her attention back to the instrument.
Her fingers stuttered a little and her heart increased its pace when she heard him slowly approach her. She kept her eyes low, attempting to relax the sudden tension in her shoulders. But her façade was crumbling quickly when she felt his presence loom over her. She lowered her head further, forcing herself to focus on the music and wishing to blend into the wood.
"I remember the first time you played for me."
Her fingers froze, not expecting the deep timbre reverberating above her.
"You had been so nervous that you looked close to fainting. Do you remember?"
She pressed her lips together, her hands stationary. She remembered that day too and how she had been so proud of herself for playing through one full line without pausing that she felt she needed to show him until it came time for her to do so. Then her anxious nerves fired and she blundered so terribly that she felt it was possible to die from embarrassment. But he had encouraged her to continue, never once judging her even though Lady Alicia was a year younger and so much more proficient.
"I do," she murmured, but not only was she remembering the moment but the man standing behind her as well, specifically how kind and gentle he had always been towards her.
"Not at all how you have played now."
She was silent for some time, her jaw smarting from how tightly she held it. "It . . . appears that we have both changed drastically these past years," she finally responded, keeping her eyes trained on her fingers, which began to tremble slightly from her frantic beating heart.
A short silence ensued between them before she heard his heavy sigh above her. "Indeed we have."
She felt her spine tense at his words. For a brief moment, she felt like turning in her seat to face him, attempting to decipher what he felt behind that shuttered expression of his and gauge how he felt about her. But she could not, petrified of what she might see.
So, she forced her stiff fingers to continue, and she felt relief pass over her when he finally stepped away from her and left the room without another word.
* * *
The sun shone brilliantly the next morning as Cordelia stepped onto the balcony that showed the breathtaking view of Mayfield House's back garden. The sunshine was warm against her fair skin, but the air had a coolness that refreshed her. The morning was so pleasant that she had wished to go for an early morning stroll in the park; however, upon making inquiries with the servants, she learned that her aunt had already left to see her horses, which were stabled at a livery nearby, and that her cousin had given the servants strict instruction not to be disturbed throughout the morning.
Now if they had still resided at the Manor, it would not have been a problem for her to walk on her own, as she often did. But the city life was constraining, and many would have questioned why she was walking alone from both a safety perspective as well as scandalous.
But she supposed that a slow walk in the garden would suffice. It was not as large as the park, but it would do well enough. And so with that thought in mind, she made her way down the staircase that led to the grounds below.
The spring air brightened her spirits slightly, but her mood was still dismal as she glanced at the neighbouring house, her thoughts centered on its owner. She believed that she had done quite well yesterday with how she conducted herself when in his presence. But she supposed that all the schooling in the world could not have prepared her for facing him again with perfect propriety.
Although he had grown into a handsome, strong man, she could not help the guilt and shame that she felt whenever her gaze met his. She had been the cause of his suffering, and those impenetrable eyes of his gave away nothing of his true sentiments towards her. He always did have a talent for hiding his true feelings, a quality that had certainly been expounded upon from his time in the militia.
If he had received the letter that she had written the day that he had left all those years ago, she might have felt a semblance of comfort, knowing that she had done what she could to explain herself. But he never received it, and she had spent many sleepless nights wondering how his view of her had changed.
Of course, she had been nothing more than a girl at the time. But her actions had caused a massive ripple to occur. Something that could not be reversed. It would be for the greater good that she avoided the Marquis altogether. A difficult task considering he would most likely attend many of the same functions as herself, but it did not mean she had to speak to him.
With that thought in mind, Cordelia forced herself to relax as she ambled along the pathways that wove between the flowerbeds. The alluring scents of the roses and the quiet cheerfulness of the daffodils eased her mind, and she almost forgot about the issue at hand until a voice suddenly called out to her.
Her heart stuttered when the deep timbre registered in her mind. Slowly, almost wishing that she heard incorrectly, she turned. Her throat constricted and her fingers trembled anxiously as she beheld the sight of the Marquis walking towards her. His long strides moved him to her far too quickly, and she felt like a helpless rabbit pinned under his stormy gaze when he finally reached her.
They offered each other the usual greetings before Cordelia asked in a low voice, "And what brings you here on this fine morning?"
He regarded her with those stormy eyes of his briefly. "I wished to discuss a particular matter with the Countess but was informed by the servants that she is unavailable at present."
Cordelia inclined her head. "I see. Unfortunately, she is not available; she has gone to inspect her horses and will be back shortly. Is there a problem that I may be able to assist with or perhaps my cousin, who is in his study, may assist?"
"No, it is not an urgent matter," he stated calmly.
She nodded, and they fell into a strong silence. She glanced to him expectantly, waiting for him to announce his leave . . . but he never did. Instead, he continued to stand there, watching her closely. She shifted uncomfortably, her cornflower blue eyes peering up into his expressionless face briefly before looking away.
"Is there something else . . .?" she asked slowly, attempting to hide the anxiousness seeping into her voice.
"You seem to have had an early morning," he stated randomly, gesturing to the garden.
Cordelia offered him a small smile of confusion. "I am still used to rising early and going for a walk when we resided at Mayfield. Usually, my aunt accompanies me to a walk in the park, but since she had already left, I thought the next best action would be a small walk in the garden."
"You always did enjoy your early morning exercise," he stated, causing her heart to twist at the realization that he remembered something that was of such little significance.
She offered him a tight smile and slowly edged around him in a discreet hint for them to walk back to the house. She did not want to be out here with him, nervous to be alone in his presence.
"Have you come to enjoy your stay in London?" the Marquis suddenly questioned once they were a bit closer to the staircase leading up to the balcony.
His unexpected start of discussion briefly made her think that he was attempting to prolong their time in the garden, but she quickly dismissed the thought. "I will admit that it is different to life at Mayfield, but the people are pleasant enough. I have enjoyed the companionship," she responded.
Her words made him frown. "Did you not have many people to speak to at Mayfield?"
She looked up the same moment he looked down, and their gazes clashed in such a violent manner that she felt her breath hitch in her throat.
"N-no," she stuttered. She cleared her throat, quickly looking away. "You are aware of the distance Mayfield is from London where most of my aunt's friends reside. Although we had visitors, it was not often. And . . . my cousin, if you remember, is not the easiest of company."
"So you were lonely?"
She quickly shook her head, feeling her pulse beat erratically beneath her skin at the look in his eyes. "I would not say that. I enjoyed the peace only the country can evoke."
There was a ghost of a smile upon his lips. "I share your sentiments precisely," he agreed as they ascended the staircase. "I see that you have also grown closer to your aunt in the last few years."
Cordelia smiled as she turned to face him once they reached the summit of the stairs and stood on the balcony. "Yes, I suppose you know better than anyone how difficult our relationship was when I first arrived in London."
"Indeed I do. I am glad to see that your stay with her has turned out to be a favourable one."
"It is not like I had any choice. My aunt and cousin are all I have left after my parents passed," she said, her eyes deepening in sadness as she briefly thought of them.
"Well . . . you have made quite a success in the social world," he stated, attempting to divert the topic to a more pleasant one. "Now that you have experienced both, which would you say you prefer? Society or the country?"
"Oh, most definitely the country. The air is fresh and clean, there are no constraints of time, and no one to condemn you for the smallest mistake . . ."
Lord Midrake's shoulders tensed as her words became lost on her tongue, knowing exactly to what she was referring. She lowered her gaze instinctively, her delicate hands balling into small fists as her lips pressed together into a thin line. He stepped towards her then, wanting to address the topic, but her name being called from the open doors pulled both of their attention to the source.
"Yes, Martha?" she asked.
The old nurse curtsied. "Forgive my intrusion, but Mrs. Baxter wishes to speak to you. It is of the utmost importance," she said, directing her gaze to Cordelia, a knowing look on her face.
"Oh . . . um, thank you. I will speak to her now," she stated then reluctantly turned to look back at the Marquis. "I am very sorry, I—"
"Do not be sorry," he interjected with a shake of his head. "I have overstayed my welcome as it is. Thank you for your time."
She gave a small curtsy in farewell, before nearly rushing to the doors in her haste to escape the sudden hole she had unintentionally dug for herself. She was all too aware of the Marquis' gaze on her back as she left him, and only once she was out of sight, she breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, Martha," she said with a grateful smile as she looked at her loyal nurse.
The old woman's kind eyes stared at her warmly. "Not at all, Miss."
FUN FACT: ladies always wore gloves and were only to be removed discretely when eating. Once the meal was completed, the gloves would need to be worn once again. The only time when it was acceptable to wear gloves while eating was when the lady's hands were considered 'not fit to be seen'.