"Cordelia, is that . . . you?" the gentleman asked, his eyes wide as he beheld the sight of the beautiful young lady before him.
She nodded numbly and it was only a soft, concerned touch to the gentle curve of her back that jarred her from her shock.
Edward's smile almost split his cheeks as he stepped towards her to wrap her in his arms, pulling her into a strong hold that reminded her of the many times he hugged her when she was little. Still in a state of shock, she habitually wrapped her arms around him in return, her eyes wide and lips parted in mute bewilderment before he released her.
"I cannot believe that it is you!" he smiled as he looked at her. "You have grown into such a striking young lady."
"W-what are you doing here?" she asked, trying her best to pull herself towards some level of decorum.
It had been so many years since she had seen her brother, almost a decade. He had changed vastly since, but those eyes of his had never changed. His face brimmed with confidence and the expensive garments he wore signalled that he had become a rather wealthy man.
His features, on the other hand, held a rugged quality to them, no doubt from his many years at sea. But he was still a decidedly handsome man, and the air of self-assurance about him certainly did not hinder his attractive qualities.
"I am the owner of a shipping company. I returned from the Continent a couple of days ago for this occasion, as I am quite good friends with the host and hostess," he stated proudly. "And what of you? Are you keeping well? How did you come to this social circle? Are Mamma and Papa still well? I was hoping to see them after the ball. There was no chance for a visitation beforehand."
His last words reeled her back into reality quickly, and her bewildered expression became one of pain. "You never received my letter?" she asked quietly.
Her sudden sombre mood made Edward's smile falter. "No, I did not. I have not received much correspondence at all these past years. I suppose it was due to all my travels that I was sometimes difficult to locate. What did it say?"
She glanced away, her throat tightening to such an extent she found it difficult to formulate the words. "Edward . . . Mamma and Papa passed away six years ago."
It took a few seconds of stillness before she noticed the colour drain from Edward's face completely, a mixture of pain and disconcertment enveloping his expression. He looked away a moment later, blinking rapidly. "I did not realize . . ." he began at length, confusion furrowing his brow. He turned back to her. "And you? Who has been taking care of you all these years?"
"Aunt Eloise," she replied, glancing in the direction of the Countess, noticing her gaze already looking their way.
His expression eased in surprise, his lips parting mutely. "Aunt Eloise . . . the Countess?"
Cordelia recognised the emotion that began to form on his features, one that created a darkness about the sharp lines of his face. She averted her gaze, her voice becoming very small as she replied, "Yes."
She desperately hoped that he would not question the matter further, and when she realized that the Marquis was still standing silently beside her, she quickly cleared her throat and began to make the necessary introductions. "My apologies for excluding you, Lord Midrake. May I introduce my brother, Edward Sutton? Edward, this is Lord Midrake. He is a . . . old friend of mine."
The gentlemen greeted each other, her brother's eyes flittering between them. "Lord Midrake . . . I believe I know the name, but your face is not familiar. I must have been acquainted with your father."
"It is possible," the Marquis responded cordially. "He did have several matters dealing with ocean trade, particularly with horses."
It was then that the couples surrounding them began their formation for the last dance of the set, and Edward's eyes curved with something akin to embarrassment. "Oh, excuse me. I do apologize for interrupting your dance." He turned to Cordelia. "We shall speak more later. Would it be all right if I call on you throughout the day tomorrow?"
Her heart twisted with uncertainty, unsure of how such a meeting would go. But she inclined her head once in acknowledgement. "That will not be a problem at all," she replied before drawing her attention back to her partner as he led her to the formation.
The second dance was similar in appearance to the first, and she had since relaxed in the Marquis' presence. But her mind was not present on the current activity, her thoughts clouding her mind with its turmoil of information and old feelings.
She felt as though she had seen a ghost when she gazed upon her brother. After so many years without any contact, she was certain that she would never see him again. Although he explained that the lack of correspondence might have been due to his constant travelling, his bewilderment upon hearing of her living arrangements made her chest tighten with unease.
Yes, she may be on good terms with her aunt now, but she was never always so fond of her, and there was a reason for that.
A reason that her brother still vividly recalled judging by the expression on his face.
"I was not aware of your brother returning to London," Lord Midrake stated after several moments of silence. "It is peculiar that he never received your letter."
He glanced at his partner when he received no reply, and he noticed the paleness of her cheeks and the absent look in her eyes. Concern made him falter in his steps, and the slight interruption in the movement jarred the young lady back into focus.
She looked at him and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment at not having any presence of mind. "My apologies. What is it that you were saying?"
He made no notion of response, merely continued to watch her as they danced. Eventually, he responded, "I thought seeing your brother would have made you happier than you appear to be."
Her jaw tightened, and she found it difficult to respond until she noticed his beseeching gaze. With a sigh, her shoulders relaxed, and she bowed her head slightly. "It is not that I am not happy. I am very much pleased to see him again and know that he has done so well for himself. It is only that his abrupt return to my life has startled me a little, and I hope there shall be no dire consequences because of it."
"Such as?"
Cordelia thought to tell him of her true fears, but she could not find it within herself to utter them aloud. It may sound foolish, but she felt that as soon as one voiced a fear, it would then come true.
An altercation between her brother and the Countess was the last thing she wished to witness. She could not remember much about him, but she could recall that his stubbornness was the masculine parallel to that of their aunt.
Taking heed of the indication that she no longer wished to speak on the matter, the rest of the dance was concluded in silence. And once they bowed in parting, Cordelia was quick to return to her aunt, leaving the Marquis to stand there with a hint of indecisiveness on whether he should follow her or not.
Her mind was scattered as she made her way through the throngs of people, her hearing muffled as though she was under water and her body beginning to ache. She felt flustered and cold all at once, and she frowned at the peculiar sensation, hoping with everything in her that she was not falling ill.
But as she reached her aunt, she felt her strength leave her even more when she noticed the Viscount was standing with her once more, his expression serious while hers was indifferent. He seemed to ask her something, but before the Countess could respond, she noticed her niece approaching. She smiled at her warmly, although her eyes scrutinised her features.
Lord Tilbur turned to her then and offered her a pleasant smile. "I hope that you are not engaged for the next set, Miss Sutton. May I have the pleasure?"
Cordelia did not want to give him any pleasure of a dance. She wanted to go home. She was feeling worse the longer she exerted herself, but she knew it would be terrible manners to leave such an event before the appropriate time.
Against her better judgement, she agreed to his request and focused what little energy she had on not tripping over her feet as she was escorted back to the dancefloor. As they waited for everyone to take their position, Cordelia happened to glance to the side and noticed, with surprise, that her aunt was standing a few women down from herself, the Duke of Kentwood standing before her.
Lady Mayfield did not seem at all happy to be there, but the Duke was clearly beside himself with joy, the smile on his face revealing just how pleased he was. She was curious to know how he had successfully managed to get the stubborn woman to agree, but she had a strong inclination that Lady Topham was involved.
As Cordelia expected, the conversation between herself and Lord Tilbur was non-existent as they moved through the steps of a Cotillion. When he did speak, the topic was plain, and so her responses were unenthusiastic at best, her weariness not helping the matter.
But it was once the first dance had ended and the Viscount led her to a more secluded portion of the ballroom that she felt her energy return briefly, although it was more from panic than from the respite, Alicia's words beginning to echo in her mind.
"I believe I have not yet told you how lovely you look this evening," he began, his countenance unusually tense, which only aided in her growing panic.
She could not find an adequate response, but her eyes began to dart about the room as if hoping for some form of intervention to what she knew was forthcoming. "I realize that we have not known each other for very long, but the times that I have spent with you have been my happiest of days. As you are well aware, I am the owner of many extensive properties and have been in search of a wife who will be a suitable mistress for it."
"Lord Tillbur—" she began, her gaze startled as she quickly attempted to divert his attention from the matter.
"No, pray. Let me finish," he stated calmly, holding her gaze. He drew a deep breath and continued, "However, despite my searching, I was not able to find the perfect lady on whom to bestow such a tremendous honour. That is until I met you. Miss Sutton, you are without a doubt, the most beautiful lady that my eyes have ever beheld. Your grace and gentle countenance are unrivalled, and it is my avowed hope that you will do me the honour of accepting my hand."
Her lips parted, attempting to interrupt him, but he held one hand up to silence her.
"Upon such acceptance, you will become the Viscountess of Tilbur Hall, the wife of one of the most accomplished men in the country. A position that any woman would be most delighted to acquire, especially someone with your lack of title."
He spoke with such an even tone that he failed to portray the suggested passion with which he viewed her. His expression was calm, his eyes veiled of all emotion. The sheer lack of expressive emotion in his speech made Cordelia feel somewhat irked by him. Although he was correct in thinking that she should have been pleased by his proposal, his delivery thereof could not have drawn blood from a stone.
In fact, she felt insulted.
Lack of title?
But she was still attempting to find an appropriate response when they were rudely interrupted by Lady Midrake. The Dowager was dressed in yet another elaborate gown that teetered on overly ostentatious. It was clear as day that she was attempting to shine the brightest at the ball, which was rather ridiculous.
"Forgive my intrusion, Lord Tilbur, but I wish to speak to Miss Sutton alone." There was no room for argument in her tone, and her hard gaze bore down on Cordelia with a harshness that she would have coiled from if she had not been so thankful for the interruption.
She turned to the Viscount and offered him a brief curtsey in parting before following the Dowager. The woman moved like a soldier on a mission, her large skirts rustling from the harsh turns she made as they navigated their way through the crowd.
They came to an open set of French windows and stepped outside into the chilled evening air that rested over the balcony. Cordelia's mind was curious as to why the Dowager needed to speak to her so urgently, but her caution rose a little when the woman closed the windows behind them, trapping the noise of the ballroom inside.
But Lady Midrake did not turn to face her yet. Instead, she gazed through the glass panes of the window, causing Cordelia to do the same. Inside, she noticed that the dancing had recommenced. She knew that she should have been dancing with the Viscount once more, but she was relieved by the valid excuse of the Dowager needing to speak to her.
"I see the Countess is dancing with the Duke of Kentwood," Lady Midrake commented at last, causing Cordelia to glance once more through the window to see her aunt dancing with such elegance that she was certain that all who were not dancing were watching her.
The Dowager's jaw was tight. "Incredible lady, I must say. Taking on someone else's child, who was not even of the same background as herself was no easy task. She has done well in protecting you from the harsh realities of your life."
Cordelia's attention snapped to her, a frown instantly marring her features. "I am sorry but I do not quite understand."
With an exasperated sigh, the Dowager turned to look at her. "Come now, child. You do not honestly believe that you belong here, do you? Dancing with nobility, dressed in the finest silk and muslin. You were not born for this world."
Cordelia felt her heart twinge at the comment, but she forced her expression to remain calm and impassive. "I have just as much right to be here as any other young lady."
The Dowager's expression hardened then. "Do not think that I have forgotten of your origin."
The night air was cold on Cordelia's skin, and the fatigue that she felt returned with greater intensity as she met the lady's gaze. "My origin does not determine who I am as a person."
She was not certain where the sudden confidence arose from. Perhaps it was a mixture of her tiredness, overwrought emotions, or vexation at the Viscount's proposal, who though possibly not meaning it as a harsh remark, had had the same effect as what the Dowager was saying now. Whatever the reason, she was not going to stand down and let the Dowager slander her name.
Lady Midrake seemed to realize this, for her expression eased and her shoulders straightened. "Is that another lie that your aunt has spewed? My dear child, you should know by now that no amount of money, fine clothes, or horses can ever change what you truly are. You seem to have forgotten your proper place in society. But I have not, and I have to remind you of such a crucial fact."
"My aunt has spewed no lies to me on the subject, and I do not wish to hear any more on the matter." She moved to the door, but the Dowager blocked her path, her eyes hard and expression vicious.
"You certainly are a stubborn little thing, are you not? You try your best to avoid the topic because you know it to be true. You know as well as I what you truly are: the daughter of a milkmaid on my late husband's estate. You will never change, and it is time that you realize that."
"I do not have to stand here and listen to this. Move away from the door this instant," Cordelia replied, her voice rising in agitation.
"If it were not for your aunt, you would be my servant this very moment!" the Dowager's voice rose in anger. "A worthless little runt whom no one, not the Viscount of Tilbur and most certainly not my son, would cast a second glance at. You are nothing more than a fraud: a goat attempting to pass off as a choice lamb. You shall never be viewed as anything else, for you are nothing without your pretty dresses. Lord Tilbur was correct when he said that a person with your lack of title should be delighted at the prospect of being married to him, although he is foolish for thinking that society would be happy at such a union. A milkmaid's daughter and a Viscount? What a joke. But of course . . . he does not know that little fact, now does he? Of course, he does not. Any man with half a brain would know better than to make an offer of marriage to you."
The Dowager's gaze was vicious as she glared at her. "And you seem to have forgotten that your low-class blood runs thick in your veins. After all the distress you have caused my son through the years with your lowly actions, you certainly hold no right to any of the attention you receive. You are nothing. That is all you have been and all you ever will be. It is time you stop polluting this world with your lies and go back to the barn where you truly belong."
Cordelia's jaw tightened with indignation, but she could not deny the words that tore through her heart. She should have known that she could never put her past aside. It was not that she was ashamed of her birth—she could not help the family she was born into—but her actions were inexcusable. And although the Marquis had attempted to assuage her guilt over the matter, she knew the truth.
She was to blame for it all.
The fire dimmed from Cordelia's eyes, and her shoulders sagged as the burden of guilt weighed down on her. She averted her gaze, missing the triumphant look on the Dowager's face.
"Let this be your final lesson on the matter," she stated, her voice jarring to the young lady's weakening state of mind. "For the next lesson that should arise if you do not learn from this will not be so pleasant."
Cordelia did not have the strength within her to respond, and the noise of the ballroom filled her ears as the Dowager opened the windows once more and stepped inside, leaving her standing out there alone on the balcony.
She attempted to find some semblance of normalcy in her expression, but she felt she did not have enough time to prepare when she saw Lady Topham moving towards her. "Oh, there you are, Cordelia. I was getting worried about where you had run off to when I did not see you with the Viscount. Silly girl, you cannot be out in this air. You will catch your death from a cold. Come along now. Your aunt is searching for you, as she feels it is time to leave."
Cordelia followed after the lady silently, her confidence feeling like a brittle autumn leaf desperately clinging to its branch, all the while the Dowager's haunting words echoed in her mind.
FUN FACT: private balls generally commenced between 21:00-22:00 and lasted until 5:00 the next morning. Sometimes the ball might even end with a breakfast.