Isabelle crossed the room and pressed the bundle of wildflowers into her hands. They smelled like the woods: wild mint, heather, and little yellow flowers Cordelia didn’t know the name of but wanted to learn.
“I made my special strawberry jam,” Isabelle said, eyes bright. “And Robert promised not to eat the entire jar before I could wrap it.”
Cordelia hugged the flowers to her chest. “You didn’t have to?—”
“I wanted to,” Isabelle interrupted. “And Cordelia? You are always welcome here.Always. Not just in the house but withus.”
Something tightened in her throat again, and all she could do was nod, her eyes wide and shining.
Soon enough, they were all seated. The cake was cut—with a little help from Mason when one of the bunny heads tried to roll off—and the first bite was so sweet it nearly knocked the melancholy out of her entirely. They laughed, and they teased. The Dowager insisted Cordelia try all four kinds of jam on her plate to determine which was best. Mason didn’t say much, but he never looked away for long either.
And for one perfect hour, Cordelia forgot that her trunks were packed, and she forgot that the future loomed just outside the manor walls.
“Now,” the Dowager announced, eyes sparkling, “presents.”
Cordelia froze mid-chew.
“Oh, I… presents? You really didn’t have to?—”
“Nonsense,” said Hazel firmly, already reaching for a small parcel wrapped in crisp brown paper and tied with navy twine. “We wanted to. And we would’ve done it whether you liked it or not.”
Cordelia laughed as she took the bundle, her heart thumping in a way that had nothing to do with sugar. She untied the twine carefully and opened the paper to reveal a slender, leather-bound journal with her initials embossed in gold on the cover.
“I thought,” Hazel said, “you might want something to write in. For your plans or your adventures.”
Cordelia held it to her chest. “It’s perfect. Thank you. I’ll try not to get jam on this one.”
Next came Matilda with a shy, blushing smile and a small box that smelled faintly of lavender. Inside was a delicate silver hair comb, carved with tiny blossoms and inset with pale blue glass beads.
“I saw it and thought of you,” Matilda said. “The blue reminded me of your eyes.”
Cordelia swallowed hard and leaned across the table to hug her tightly. “I’ll wear it every time I need to feel pretty.”
Isabelle brought a small jar of homemade jam, a bundle of wildflowers, and most touching of all, a hand-drawn portrait of the two of them in the garden, rendered with more enthusiasm than realism.
Cordelia held it up with an enormous smile. “Isabelle, your artistry never fails to make me feel like I live in a magical land of long-necked ladies and very plump rabbits.”
“They’re stylized,” Isabelle said haughtily then grinned. “Besides, the jam’s better.”
The cook’s daughters had wrapped up a slightly squashed lavender sachet, which smelled divine, and Cordelia made a great show of pressing it to her heart and declaring it the greatest treasure she had ever received.
Laughter filled the room. When the table had quieted, and the last ribbons were collected and folded, she glanced toward the end of the table. Mason hadn’t moved, nor had he spoken.
Cordelia quickly looked away. Of course, he hadn’t given her a gift. Why would he? He had already given her a home, a seat at his table, and more second chances than she’d ever dared tohope for. And yet a small, traitorous part of her wished he’d thought of her, too, just enough to sayI see you.
Still, she smiled wide and bright and brave and thanked everyone again, slipping the comb into her hair and the journal beneath her arm, the wildflowers cradled like a bouquet against her chest.
About an hour later, she was standing by the open carriage door which was to take them to the Duke’s solicitor. Legal matters would be sorted. They had already said their goodbyes. They had sung her birthday song twice, in two very different keys, and the cake had long since vanished. Yet still, she lingered, her heart swollen and aching. Something inside her was trying desperately not to burst.
And then Mason was beside her with a hand outstretched to help her up into the carriage. She hesitated, wondering how come he always looked so calm, so unshaken, but this morning, there was a tension about him.
She climbed in, arranging her skirts with more fuss than necessary, and just as she sat back, Mason reached into his coat pocket.
“I have something for you,” he whispered, obviously not used to such tender moments.
Cordelia blinked, surprised. “You already gave me cake. And your scowling presence. What more could a lady ask for?”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk. He simply handed her a small, square box wrapped in dark green paper and tied with an ivory ribbon.
