The abrupt, severe movement of the horses surging forward had flung the unsuspecting passenger backwards, causing Cordelia to hit her head against the protruding piece of wood of the carriage seat. Pain blossomed against her temple, allowing the numbing fogginess in her mind to ease as the wheels of the vehicle spun beneath her, rocking her back and forth and side to side.
The continuous motion made her feel nauseous, and the added pain echoing in her head made her weak. She desperately tried to make sense of her situation, but her mind could not conjure a thought other than to focus on the pain in her head and the churning of her stomach.
Soon she could withstand it no longer, and she began to sob as she expelled the contents of her stomach onto the polished wooden floor of the carriage. Embarrassment and uncertainty of her situation did not aid in her unknown bout of sickness, and she was too weak to lift a hand let alone try and escape.
There was nothing she could do.
She was not certain how long or how far they had travelled, the sour taste on her tongue and unrelenting pain in her head not giving her a moment's respite, her uncontrollable tears worsening the situation. But through her despair and feeble frame, she heard the sound of the horses' hooves change in their intensity, as though they were no longer on ground but cobblestone.
Cordelia glanced up weakly from her prostrate position on the carriage seat and noticed the ebb and flow movement of street lamps. She knew then that they must have entered a town of some kind, but which one she had not the energy to decide.
* * *
Meanwhile, back in London, the Dowager Countess of Mayfield was seated near the warm fireplace. Her broken leg was still set in its cast and extended on a cushion in front of her. While the room was silent, her thoughts were loud as she attempted to concentrate on her embroidery.
Oftentimes, she found herself wondering about her young niece and how she was faring. Her letters were always polite and reserved, showing no burst of emotion as the Dowager had expected to see. After all, she was visiting the place of her childhood, and those times were not always pleasant specifically the last one.
She glanced up at the clock to see it strike three o'clock.
It was unlike her to remain awake so late at night if there was not a function, but she surmised that the reason for it was due to her resting so much throughout the day. She did not need as much sleep at night, which was extremely annoying at times.
But it was not the only reason, she felt awake at such an hour. She did not know why, but something felt ominous about the air, and it was a feeling that she was not at all comfortable with. Forcing the trepidation aside, she continued to focus on her embroidery for another half an hour.
She jolted, nearly dropping her needle when a loud knock suddenly came at the door.
She placed her embroidery down beside her and glanced around, listening intently as old Nelson went to answer the door. There was a sudden franticness of footsteps that did not calm Lady Mayfield, and she quickly reached for her walking cane.
Walking was considered a difficult task, but she was thankful for not being in as much pain as she had been previously, as she hobbled towards the door. "Nelson," she called. "Whatever is the meaning of this?"
The old butler turned to look at her and bowed slightly. "It is Miss Cordelia. She has returned."
Lady Mayfield's eyes grew wide with surprise. "Returned? How could she possibly—"
Her words died on her tongue, and she gasped in horror as she gazed upon the sight of her dishevelled niece being supported by two maids as they carried her through the front door, large tears rolling down her cheeks and a putrid stain on her gown.
"Cordelia, what happened?" she asked as she moved towards her as quickly as her leg would allow.
But the young lady just sobbed all the louder, attempting to conceal her face behind her stained gloved hands, her body trembling viciously like a leaf in the wind.
"All right, no matter. Do not worry about it at the moment. Let us just get you cleaned up and comfortable." She nodded to the two maids who flanked the distraught girl. They bowed their heads in acknowledgement, and the Countess watched them guide her towards the stairs before turning to the old butler.
"Where is Martha?" she asked, concerned but also angry that one of her most trusted servants would leave her niece in such a state.
But Nelson shook his head, confusion evident in his own eyes. "I do not know, m'lady. She arrived on her own. The driver of the phaeton found her in that state when he opened the door for her."
"And who does the driver work for?" she asked, her expression furrowing into a harsh frown.
"The Marquis of Midrake."
The shock left her momentarily speechless, but she did not allow herself to rush to any conclusions as she looked at Nelson. "Get a man to ride to Midrake immediately. I wish to know exactly what has happened to Miss Sutton."
He bowed and rushed off to do as instructed, and she turned towards the staircase. Having a broken leg was extremely trying in a house filled with stairs, and she knew she would need assistance up the staircase lest she fall and break her other leg.
Disgruntled and frustrated by her lack of independence, Lady Mayfield was forced to return to the drawing room to await the report from the maids tasked with looking after her niece.
It was a little before 4 o'clock when the maids entered the room and gave her a brief account of how Miss Sutton was faring. According to them, she was resting, but her features looked troubled and strained. There was darkness beneath her eyes, and her arms were lethargic as she was assisted into a clean nightgown and there was a haunted aura about her eyes.
The report puzzled the Countess exceedingly, and she asked if Cordelia had spoken of what had happened. When the ladies answered in the negative, she dismissed them, leaving her alone to her thoughts.
Although she had not been overly tired, all traces of sleep were banished from her body and mind as she pondered over the events of the night. How was it that she was returned home without her chaperone or even her maid? Did no one notice the state of her appearance or at least attempt to prevent whatever may have caused it?
Too many questions and too few answers did not sit well with her.
The dawn was breaking over the tops of the buildings, and the fire had long grown cold in its crate as Lady Mayfield remained in her seat, contemplating all that could have happened. She was pulled from her thoughts when, from the outside world, she heard the urgent approach of hooves.
She looked out onto the street and noticed a carriage with a familiar crest engraved on the side halt suddenly before Mayfield House.
Knowing who it was before the door was even opened, Lady Mayfield attempted to rise to her feet as quickly as possible, but the discomfort of her mending leg prohibited any sudden movements. She had only just managed to stand when the door to the drawing room was opened and Lady Topham and Edward Sutton rushed in.
"Eloise, I am so glad you are awake. Is Cordelia here? Oh, please tell me she is!" she babbled in a frantic tone, her hair in a disarray of curls which had most likely been in an elaborate style not too many hours ago.
"She is here," she began, her even voice not betraying her concern over her niece. "But you must tell me what happened. Tell me everything."
Lady Topham shrugged her shoulders helplessly, her frantic eyes calming slightly upon knowing her charge was safe. "I could not say even if I knew, Eloise. All I know is that I could not find her, and when I eventually asked Lord Midrake, he stated that she had been sent home in one of his carriages."
That surprised the Countess, and she frowned at the knowledge. "Why would he feel that necessary?"
She raised her hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "I do not know. He refused to say and appeared extremely angry."
"Angry?" the Countess asked with a frown.
Why would he be angry? Although she thought, he was always a grumpy person.
She turned her focus back to her friend. "And where is George?"
A guilty look came to both their expressions. "We were so worried about Cordelia that we may have forgotten him back at Midrake."
The Countess sighed and shook her head before gently sitting back down on her chair. "I do not know what has happened either, Mary-Anne. I have sent someone to make enquiries, but I suppose we will only know for certain once Cordelia awakens."
* * *
The sunlight was heavy on Cordelia's painful eyes as she was drawn from her sleep by the tender touch of a cool cloth against her forehead. She grunted and attempted to turn, but her entire body felt as though it had been crushed beneath a rock, and it took a far greater amount of effort than she thought was required to open her eyes.
Her vision was blurry initially, and when they finally cleared, she noticed a familiar face peering at her.
The face of her dear nurse, Martha.
Noticing her lips move and the concerned expression on her face, Cordelia realized that she must have been speaking to her. But she remained unresponsive, blinking slowly to reveal her clueless state of mind.
" . . . call Her Ladyship. I will return right away," Martha stated quickly as she rose from her seat beside the bed and rushed from the room, her skirts flittering after her in her hastened movements.
Slowly Cordelia rolled her head to the side to gaze at the room surrounding her. First, a feeling of comfort and security filled her upon recognizing that it was her room in Mayfield House, followed by confusion about why she was suddenly there.
A little more awake now, the memories returned to her full force. The night of the ball and the Viscount fainting. Her moment alone with the Marquis . . . The warmth returned to her body quickly with the memory, but after that, her mind grew misty, and she tried her best to remember what occurred after that.
Through the haziness of her memories, she began to recall hearing laughter, but whom she could not quite decipher. Perhaps it was her own, it was difficult to say. Then she remembered being led somewhere, a tight grasp on her arm preventing her from leaving the person's side. It was a man, of that she was certain. A tall stature and strong physique.
Then the sound of a scathing voice suddenly broke through, and she felt her blood run cold in her veins.
"You are a fool. A cunning fool, but a fool nonetheless. I suppose the pigsty never loses its stench no matter how hard one tries to conceal it."
She recognised the voice. How could she not, when he was in her dreams so constantly?
With painful clarity, she recalled how he had looked at her, as though she was lower than the very ground beneath his shoes, the contempt and disgust on his face so palpable that she could still feel its scalding intensity.
With an aggrieved heart, she was reminded of how he had treated her so callously, shoving her into a carriage to be driven away with nothing but herself to protect her, for a reason that she still could not remember. But could it have been something so horrendous for him to have behaved in such a manner? Did she really insult him or offend him so greatly?
Unless . . . his loving words had been nothing but a lie.
They say that actions speak louder than words, and his whispers of love and devotion paled in comparison to the intensity of his actions against her. Actions that could have left her in a great deal of danger for having travelled such a distance with no one but the driver of the carriage.
And his parting words . . .
Against her will, large tears began to roll down her sunken cheeks, as the full force of pain and embarrassment was dropped upon her shoulders. But she was too exhausted to find the strength to raise her hand to swipe them away, and so she lay in her bed, listening to the sounds of her ragged breaths and galloping heartbeat.
Did he always view her in such a light? Was she so . . . undesirable that her life should have been compared to a pigsty?
It was then that another thought came to mind, a distant memory of her speaking to the Dowager Marchioness at the ball. The lady had reminded her quite clearly of her rightful place in society and had even gone so far as to say that she must heed her warning, that she must learn where she belongs lest the next lesson that comes her way may not be so pleasant.
She had thought she was bluffing then, believed that she was more than what she was born as. But it was clear to her now that that was not quite the case. How could she be more than what she truly is when one of her oldest friends believes her to be on the same level as having grown up in a pigsty?
The tears began to flow with greater intensity, and she was battling so against the inner turmoil that she failed to notice the door open and the uneven footfalls of her aunt's entrance until she noticed the figure of a graceful silhouette enter her misted vision.
She attempted to swallow her painful tears as she watched her aunt gently sit down on the thick eiderdown, her dark eyes glancing over her distraught expression silently.
Without a word, the Countess rested the back of her hand against her forehead for a second before glancing at the abandoned bowl of water on the bedside table.
"Your fever has broken at least," she stated in her calm voice as her hand returned to her side. "How are you feeling? Would you like something to drink or eat?"
The fact that the Countess was not questioning what happened made her feel a little more at ease, and she managed to croak the response of asking for a glass of water.
Martha came forward and assisted in raising her in her bed to rest against the many pillows that had been stacked behind her before offering her a glass. The water was refreshing to her parched throat but it did not seem to waiver the muddle in her mind.
Once she was satisfied, Martha assisted in making the pillows into a comfortable position for her before retreating from the room. Cordelia looked back at her aunt, who had not uttered a word, only to see her focus intently upon her.
"When you are ready," she stated calmly, watching her niece closely.
Cordelia glanced away, and she felt the pain return. The emotions squeezed her throat, choking her, and she whimpered as she shook her head adamantly. "Please, I do not wish to live here anymore. I never should have come back to London."
The surprise was evident on the Countess' face. "Are you certain that is what you wish?"
She nodded, her cornflower blue eyes filling with tears. "You said that we would leave when I felt I could not handle the city anymore. Well, I know now that I cannot. I do not want to be surrounded by strangers or anyone at all anymore."
Lady Mayfield was quiet for a moment as she regarded the pain that so clearly marred her niece's delicate face. Eventually, she inclined her head. "All right, when you are well enough recovered, we will leave for the Manor immediately."
"No . . ." Cordelia shook her head, sniffing as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks. "I just . . . I want to disappear immediately."
Her admittance made the older lady pause. "Why do you feel that is necessary?"
Cordelia attempted to clear her throat, but the emotions choked her so terribly that it was a battle to speak. But she did her best to explain what she could remember of the evening, lingering on how the Marquis, a man whom she had once considered her closest friend, had harshly dismissed her from his home in the dead of the night. As though she was nothing more than a . . .
The embarrassment of being dragged through such an ordeal when she felt so poorly already did not ease her, and she wept bitterly as she retold the previous night to a stunned Countess. Of course, a bit of censorship was required, specifically the moment when she and the Marquis had been alone before he needed to return to the ballroom.
Eventually, in a small voice, she said, "I cannot remember any more than that."
The silence was deafening in the room, with only the slight crackle of the fire breaking it. Lady Mayfield remained perfectly still, but her brow was set deeply in a contemplative frown as she mulled over what she was told.
After several moments, she finally said in a decidedly calm voice, "I was never too fond of Lord Tilbur. He was adequate as far as some men go, but not at all what I was hoping for you to have."
Cordelia blinked in surprise, not expecting her to have focused on that point of the evening.
"You seem to be rather calm about the whole debacle."
Lady Mayfield raised her dark gaze to look upon her niece. "You are mistaken, Cordelia. I am, livid over the matter of you being hauled about in such a fashion, but that anger is reserved for the Marquis, and is not something that you should witness."
Cordelia's lips parted in shock. "What do you plan on doing?"
Her aunt did not meet her gaze as her hands glided over the fine embroidery of the eiderdown. "That is not your concern. But at present, I shall do nothing until I have a full report of the night's events. There are several moments that you are unable to remember, which concerns me. I have asked for the doctor to visit to ensure that you will make a full recovery presently."
Cordelia lowered her gaze then, guilt building in her stomach. "You should not have worried about that. I am aware that doctors are expensive, and I do not want to cause unnecessary trouble."
"Why would you believe me calling the doctor to look after you would be any trouble?"
She pressed her lips into a firm line briefly before responding in a low voice, "Because it is an extravagance that I should never have experienced. I am the daughter of a gardener and milkmaid. It is all I have ever been. And if it were not for you, I would have followed in my mother's footsteps. I was not born to live a life of high society."
Lady Mayfield straightened her expression one of suspicion. "What has brought on these sudden ill feelings, Cordelia? There is no possible reason why you should not be a lady of superior breeding and fashion."
"Because I was born into a lowly family, Aunt Eloise. Surely, you must realize that I can never be anything more than that."
"Cordelia, tell me the reason," she stated firmly in a tone she knew she could not disobey.
With a pinched voice, she muttered, "Lord Midrake and his mother . . . they believe that I belong in a pigsty. That I am not worthy of anything more than a servant status just like my parents were."
The Countess' movements ceased, her dark gaze boring into the downcast expression of the young lady. She said nothing, did nothing, but remained as still and quiet as the statues placed in the garden.
"I see. And why do you believe them?"
"Because it is the truth, Aunt Eloise!" she suddenly burst with emotion. "You know it is! I never belonged here. You remember what a disaster I was when I first came to London all those years ago. I could do nothing right."
"And that was solely because you had received not an ounce of schooling. That miserable scribble that you claimed was writing was hardly anything to boast about. You had a large amount of education needed."
"Which is what I cannot understand."
"What do you mean?
"Why, knowing what a lost cause I was, even attempt to take me on? It has puzzled me for years, but I never dared to ask."
Lady Mayfield lowered her eyes, a tight expression on her face. "You wish to know why I ripped you away from your mother."
Cordelia hesitated at her choice of words. When she was younger, she had made it abundantly clear that she hated her aunt for displacing her from her own family with seemingly little cause. But over the years she grew to care for her aunt, especially when she had no one else. But that hurt that she sustained when she was little for being taken from her mother had never completely healed.
She shifted a little uncomfortably. "Yes."
The Countess drew in a deep breath before looking across the room, her expression lost in thought. For a moment, Cordelia thought that she would not say a word, until at last, she began to speak.
"Your mother . . . was stubborn and foolish. She wore her heart on her sleeve and felt too much empathy for every soul that crossed her path. I suppose it is a trait that most gentlemen would find desirable in a lady, but it has its consequences. And one of those was your father."
Finding a little bit of strength, Cordelia pulled herself upright in her bed and listened intently, having never known the story of how her mother and father met.
"He was a stable hand on our father's estate. But unlike most men of his ranking, Charles was bitter with the world and his lack of fortune. He grumbled and often spoke of his misfortunes to anyone who cared to listen. Your mother was often on the receiving end of those monologues. She felt sorry for him and began to help him where she could, often giving him her allowance. I suppose she thought she fell in love with him because of it.
"When our father found out, he forbid her from seeing him, but Charles was adamant to see her and eventually persuaded her to marry him. Our parents did not give their blessing to the union, but they married anyway, and so Edna was disowned by the family—something your father did not expect to occur.
"As such, they lost her allowance money, and she was forced to take on any job she could find. Everyone refused to have her as a governess, thinking that she may influence the conduct of their impressionable children. The two eventually settled at Midrake, but by that time, Charles had become a hard and unforgiving husband, who took all that he could from her, but refused any form of help from her family."
"But . . ." Cordelia interrupted with a confused frown. "Why would anyone help if she had been disowned?"
"She was still my sister," the Countess replied sombrely. "Although it broke our parents' hearts to lose a daughter, I could not bear the loss of my only sibling, and I knew that she would live a miserable life being married to her husband. So I helped, well, attempted to help in whichever way possible. By that time, I was married and expecting George. I called on her to ask if she would be willing to help me with my tasks, but Charles ensured that I never received any response. With that, I realized that when she had children of her own, they would be controlled in much the same manner as she was.
"It continued for years in that fashion. I would offer her a position, and it would either be declined or ignored. Our visits grew farther and farther apart, and when I heard of you, I knew that some way would need to be made to release you from that man. And I did, in the form of you becoming my companion and in exchange school you to become an attractive potential for the wife of a wealthy husband."
"I remember that," Cordelia replied sulkily. "You seemed so intent on me marrying when I was little . . . What changed?"
"Changed? Well, the reason I wanted you to be married was because I wanted you to be out of my sister's house permanently, but you need knowledge to attract a fine gentleman. When your parents died, I became your legal guardian, so now there was no pressure. I did not want you to marry for anything else but love. As you know, I have more than enough to sustain you as an old spinster should it have come to that. And your father was such a controlling man, that the only way that did not seem obvious was to have you marry."
Cordelia stared at her aunt, robbed of words. All these years . . . she had not even the slightest inclination that her aunt intended to protect her. Granted, she hardly remembered her father and mother, but what she could, she could interpret that what the Countess said was true. The harsh tones in which her father always addressed her mother, the lack of love and light in her mother's gaze.
It was crystal clear to her grown mind now, as it had never been before.
She lowered her gaze instinctively, feeling horrendous for having accused her aunt of anything malicious over the years. She had believed her to be nothing but an enemy when she was her closest ally all along.
"And I see your father caused more damage than I realised for you to carry so much self-doubt and questioning of your worth into adulthood," the Countess ended in a soft voice, causing Cordelia to round her shoulders as she lowered her face with a dismal expression.
"I never realised . . ." she whispered.
"Of course, you did not. You were a mere child," Lady Mayfield stated as she slowly rose to her feet. "Now you need your rest. You have had a very trying time as of late, but we will leave as soon as you are well enough for the journey."
Cordelia nodded and sluggishly burrowed down into the blankets on the bed, and she watched a little stunned as the Countess drew nearer to her and gently drew the golden tresses from her forehead.
"Do not ever doubt yourself. You are worth more than you could imagine," she whispered and kissed the crown of her head softly before turning and leaving the room as quietly as she had entered, her thoughts and actions lingering in the air long after she had gone.
FUN FACT: an allowance, back then referred to as 'pin money', was the money that women used for personal expenses. As an unmarried woman, she would only have what money her father or a close male relative gave her. Once married, she only had what her husband gave to her or what she was entitled to as part of her marriage settlement.