"What do you think of Psalm 27:1, cousin?" Gertrude had arrived just under an hour ago, and they were hardly through dinner's first course when she broke out her ever-famous biblical references.
"Oh, I know that one!" Lord Malcolm exclaimed from the other end of the dining table, looking up from his roast for the first time that evening, "Lord my God, I called to you for help, and you healed me," Malcolm finished, obviously very proud of his recitation.
Gertrude smiled from her corner of the table as she looked to Malcolm with a condescending smile, "I'm afraid not, my dearest Lord Malcolm, what you have just recited is Psalm 30:2." Malcolm smiled a goofy, embarrassed smile and shrugged his shoulders.
"I was close, though, they're practically the same number!" He said, obviously quite happy enough with himself to warrant returning back to his plate. Cordelia could feel her cousin's shoulders stiffen in her chair beside her, and Cordelia gripped her fork tightly, already anticipating another condescending retort from her cousin to their guests.
"Gertrude, I believe your mother has been writing to me about your stunning embroidery! Is that right?" Lord Alfred interjected, tactfully changing the subject to save his guest of honor from any further embarrassment.
Gertrude nodded her head rapidly, her tight bun loosening slightly, and several strands of her black hair pulled from the sides. "That's correct, Uncle. I've been crafting pieces to donate to our church, for the less fortunate."
At this, Cordelia let out a snort that made her cousin snap her head in her direction. "I'm sorry, cousin, I just didn't realize that what the less fortunate were in need of today were dainty, embroidered gloves and handkerchiefs." She felt Gertrude's stare intensify and her mouth drop open to the floor.
"I happened to have read in Women at Home catalog that every little bit you can do for the poor helps," Gertrude responded, quite proud and happy with herself, and straightened up in her chair, taking a sip of her water. Cordelia took a swig of her wine and shook her head.
"What would truly help the less fortunate, are social welfare programs," Cordelia responded, "not gloves and donated parasols."
"Cordelia," her father tried to hiss from across the table.
"I'm sorry father but it's true, so many of us have more than enough for ourselves. If we really wanted to be a help to others that don't have as much, we need to give." Cordelia wanted to stop but was starting to feel like she was rolling down a very steep hill, gaining too much momentum to slow down.
"You expect Britain's elite to give their earnings to the country's poor?" Lord Heyworth questioned, his big cheeks growing red from drink. "Girl, are you daft?"
"Excuse me, my lord?" Cordelia questioned, her own face now growing red from anger.
"Father," Lord Charles interrupted, shooting his father a concerned and silencing look.
"Cordelia, I think it's time you bid our guests goodnight for the evening," Lord Alfred said, his own strong voice overpowering all the others in the room that had begun to speak up all at the same time.
"But Papa-" Cordelia begged. Him sending her to her room was a huge blow, and very embarrassing.
"Retire for the evening now, Cordelia." Embarrassed, Cordelia rested her napkin on the table beside her barely-touched plate, and started to make her way to the door to the dining room when her father commanded her again, "bid our guests good evening, Cordelia."
She felt her ears heat up with embarrassment as if they were on fire as she bowed to the amused guests that still got to enjoy their dinner. She looked to her cousin, who was smiling at Cordelia, obviously very pleased with herself. She then locked eyes with Lord Charles, who wore the only concerned face at the table, look almost apologetic, but why? She shook it off, and turned to Lord and Lady Heyworth, "good evening," she attempted to say as gracefully as she could, not waiting for their response before she walked out the door.
Instead of heading upstairs to her rooms, she quietly crept downstairs as to not alert her father in the dining room to her detour. She wandered into the bustling kitchens to find their head cook, Mrs. Beadle, shouting orders in her thick, Scottish accent to other servants scrambling around the grand kitchen. They were placing the finishing touches on the rest of the evening's courses, and Cordelia got to see the meals she wouldn't have a chance to eat later tonight as she should.
"And what the devil are ya doing down here?" Mrs. Beadle inquired as Cordelia found herself a seat by an abandoned vegetable-cutting station. She helped herself to some celery, regretting being thrown out of the dining room before she could finish the rest of her roast.
"I was dismissed from dinner...again..." Cordelia admitted, slightly embarrassed to have to tell the intimidating Mrs. Beadle. Since she was a child, Cordelia had escaped to the off-limits rooms downstairs, and of every member of staff she'd met, Mrs. Agatha Beadle was her favorite. She was a small woman, with fiery red hair that seemed to poke out from beneath her cap when she became extra-excited. Beadle had always given Cordelia a spoon to lick or a plate to sample when she visited the kitchens, and never neglected to provide a shoulder to cry on or sage advice for the girl from early on in her youth.
"Now missy, ya best take care. This is the third time in two months your father has bid you from that table up there." Cordelia nodded, knowing that the woman was right. Mrs. Beadle's bright green eyes looked deep at Cordelia, and Cordelia waited for her to give in. "...Oh...alright then, stay there." Cordelia smiled as Mrs. Beadle prepared several plates for her of the meals she should be enjoying upstairs.
"I'm starting to think you're just enjoying eating down here more than upstairs, and I canna' say I blame ya. I've heard from a few o' the maids that these new guests are a handful an' a half. Not to mention your cousin's back in town" Cordelia bit into the shepherd's pie, the flaky crust melting in her mouth as she chewed.
"The eldest son and his father are unbearable, the mother is okay," Cordelia added, taking another bite of the pie in front of her.
"And the youngest son?" Mrs. Beadle asked, flexing an eyebrow at the young lady in front of her.
"I'm not sure what I make of him yet, but he is a man, so I'm keeping him at arm's length regardless." Mrs. Beadle nodded her head with a smile, knowing quite well what the maids and footmen were saying about the youngest son, how handsome and charming he seemed.
"Oh, I ken what ya mean, but I have it on good authority he's also quite handsome..." She responded cheekily. Cordelia rolled her eyes as she poured herself a glass of wine.
"It doesn't matter if he's handsome, he could be the King for all I care. I'd bet everything that Papa is trying to set me up with the unbearable eldest, Malcolm." Mrs. Beadle gave her a knowing smile as she stole a bit of her pie.
"You ken your da loves ya, he just wants what he thinks is best for ya." Cordelia rolled her eyes but nodded her head. As meddling and tiresome as her father is, she knew that he loved her and wanted her to have every opportunity available to her. She downed the rest of her wine, slowly beginning to feel the warmth it gave her spreading all over.
"I know," she said, finishing her pie, "I'm going to sneak back upstairs now, goodnight ma'am," Cordelia said, piling a handful of grapes into her hands for dessert. Mrs. Beadle grabbed her and gave her a big squeeze, kissing the top of her head goodnight.
"Goodnight lass," she said, getting back to barking orders at terrified staff.
Heading upstairs, Cordelia assumed the party had removed itself from the dining room. The men were most likely in the parlor, smoking and playing cards or talking politics, while the ladies were in the salon, sipping tea and nibbling on dainty biscuits. Knowing her pious cousin, she was most likely lulling Lady Heyworth to sleep with a reading from Proverbs.
What Cordelia didn't expect, however, was to collide into Lord Charles on the landing of the stairs. The grapes in her hands fell out of her hands, rolling onto the stairs below. "Lord Charles," she choked out, sneaking a glance at the cascade of fruit going down the grand staircase. It was dark, but through the dim lamplight she could still make out those deep, dark eyes.
"Lady Cordelia, allow me to assist you," he said nervously, setting down the book in his hands to pick up Cordelia's now-soiled late night snack. She bent down to collect the fruit, noticing the cover of the book now sitting on the staircase.
"Forgive me for staring, Lord Charles, but you read Dickens too?" Charles Dickens was one of her favorite authors, and she could recall many nights in which she stayed up to read his engrossing tales.
"Please, you can call me Charlie if you'd like. As for Dickens, I hardly go anywhere without it. I was just on my way downstairs to rejoin the men in the parlor to read as they debated. Our fathers are on a tangent about politics, and I don't think anyone noticed I'd left." They had gathered all the grapes, and this time Cordelia forced them into her pockets.
"Right. Well, goodnight then, Charlie." She said, hiking up her skirts and preparing to ascend up the stairs to her suite when she felt a hand graze her arm.
"I'm sorry about what happened at dinner. For what it's worth, I completely agree with what you were saying. I'm just sorry my father couldn't appreciate the truth in your words." Cordelia stood frozen there for a minute, staring into her acquaintance's eyes. She gave him a half smile and another nod of her head and ascended back up the stairs. Charlie stood there for another minute, watching Cordelia disappear like she was a dream.
Back in her own quarters finally, Cordelia realized it would be a lot harder to stay away from Lord "Charlie" Heyworth than she originally thought. She dusted off a grape and ate it, trying not to think about the floor or the hands that had touched it.