“Be alone,” she added faster than her brain could stop her. She blushed fervently. “I mean, alone in the sense that we’ve been traveling all day, and I don’t know about you, but I’m very tired, exhausted even, and crowds would only exhaust me more,” she blurted out, much to his amusement.
He nodded. “I couldn’t have said it better. I mean, I could have said it in fewer words, but that’s all right.”
His comment made her chuckle then she asked. “Why don’t we bring the luggage in first?”
“Allow me,” he said, walking past her.
She rushed after him. “Allow me to help,” she suggested.
He frowned, throwing a quick glance back at her. “What sort of a gentleman would I be if I allowed you to lift a finger?”
She smiled in return, grateful for the small kindness amid the unexpected solitude. The grand house, so imposing by day, now felt intimate and inviting by candlelight. Flickering flames cast warm shadows against the walls, softening the edges of the stately furnishings.
About half an hour later, they were seated across from each other at the dining hall table. Mason set the modest array of provisions on the polished oak table: a crusty loaf of bread, a wedge of sharp cheddar, a small jar of honey, and a few slices of cold roast beef wrapped carefully in cloth.
Cordelia glanced at the humble fare and smiled inwardly. Though simple, to her, it was the sweetest feast she had ever seen, made richer by the quiet company and the soft candlelight flickering between them.
Beforehand, Mason retrieved a bottle of wine from the cellar, its deep red hue now catching the glow of the flames. He poured two glasses, the liquid catching the light like rubies, and offered one to her with a teasing smirk.
“To the unexpected,” he said, raising his glass.
Cordelia clinked her glass gently against his, her smile growing. The wine was rich and smooth, a pleasant surprise that somehow made the evening feel more special.
As they began to eat, the conversation unfolded with a lightness neither had expected. Mason raised an eyebrow, eyeing the bread with mock solemnity.
“Your taste is most regal, Your Grace. Only a real Duchess would settle for such a humble loaf.”
Cordelia laughed softly, leaning forward with a teasing spark in her eyes. “And you, Your Grace, seem far too passionate about that cheddar. One would think you believed it to be the finest treasure in the cellar.”
He grinned, taking a hearty bite of the cheese. “Perhaps I do,” he replied, winking. “But only because it’s the company that makes it truly exquisite.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she met his smile without shying away. The easy banter slipped between them like a welcome breeze, carrying away the heaviness of their titles and obligations.
Cordelia found her curiosity nudging her forward. She studied Mason’s face, a strong, sharp profile softened by the playfulness in his eyes, and couldn’t help asking. “You have so many smiles. I wonder… do they all mean the same thing?”
Mason paused, a rare moment of vulnerability flickering across his features.
“No,” he admitted with a wry smile. “Some are for the ton. You know, the polite, practiced sort. Others are for mischief or teasing. And then there are the rare ones, the true smiles, reserved for those who see beyond the surface.”
“I recognized that first one immediately,” she admitted.
“You did?” he inquired curiously. “Not many people do.”
“Mhm,” she confirmed. “And I owe it all to my mother. She had a smile for the ton always. After a while, I don’t think she even knew how to smile properly anymore. She believed that a woman’s worth was tied to her beauty and the match she made, and the only way to do this was through a perfect smile.”
She swallowed heavily, wondering if she should say the next sentence. But with this man, there was nothing else she wanted to keep a secret any longer. She felt as if he saw the real her, and the real her wanted to give him the gift of honesty.
“She always said that after marriage, and especially after bearing children, a woman lost her value. Those words… they’ve haunted me.”
“I think that sometimes, parents say or do things that haunt us, whether they mean to or not,” he mused. “What about your father?”
Mason’s hand reached across the table, finding hers in quiet comfort. Cordelia swallowed the lump in her throat and continued. “My father was a kind man, trusting almost to a fault. He believed that my guardian, a titled man, would look after me. But that trust was terribly misplaced.”
She looked up, meeting Mason’s steady gaze. She half-expected him to pull away, to prove her mother’s point, but instead he stayed, and in that quiet moment, the fragile hope of what might be shimmered between them like the candle’s soft glow.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The flicker of the candlelight painted Cordelia’s features in a way that made it nearly impossible to look away. Her words, spoken with quiet vulnerability, still lingered between them, and for a moment, he simply let the silence sit, a soft and steady thing. He wanted her to know he was listening, and truly so, not merely waiting for his turn to speak.
