Alone at last, he exhaled, the familiar comfort of the study settling around him. The letters and papers waited, orderly and unassuming, yet his mind still lingered on Cordelia’s laugh, her bright eyes, and the way she had thrown that glance back at him, equal parts mischief and dependence.
Focus,he told himself.
And so, he did. He opened the first letter. The scent of fresh ink and folded paper filled the room, but the contents were quickly forgettable: a note about a shipment of fine cloth delayed, an inquiry regarding the estate’s tenant farmers, a request for a minor donation to a distant parish.
He moved on to the next, then the next, each one duller than the last. None demanded immediate attention, none stirred any sense of urgency. As he read, he kept his thoughts halfon the letters and half on Cordelia. The letters piled up unopened, stacked neatly to one side, as he allowed his mind to wander further. Even the mundane words of the correspondence could not capture his focus. He found himself imagining her descriptions of the village festivities, how she would chatter about the games and the music, the ribbons twisting in the hands of delighted children.
Mason picked up the next letter, noticing the familiar seal of his solicitor, Mr. Greely. Breaking it open, he read the neat, precise handwriting.
To the Most Honorable Duke of Galleon,
I write with some urgency regarding the matter of your wife’s inheritance. It appears that Lord Vernon continues to pursue every avenue to gain control of her dowry. His latest course of action is both bold and vexing: he has submitted claims disputing Her Grace’s legitimacy, asserting that she is not the lawful daughter of the late Viscount of Forth.
While these allegations are without merit and would likely fail in court, the claim itself necessitates immediate attention. Should he be permitted any foothold in the matter, it could delay access to her funds or complicate matters further. I recommend that no delay occurs in preparing the appropriate legal responses.
I remain, as ever, your faithful servant,
Mr. Andrew Greely
Mason’s brow tightened as he folded the letter. The thought of Vernon, ever scheming, threatened to spoil the quiet comfort of the morning. Cordelia’s safety, both from Vernon and the threat to her fortune, was now an even more pressing concern. He knew he couldn’t tell Cordelia about any of this. No. He would take care of it himself.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Several days later, Cordelia sat in the parlor, her hands folded neatly in her lap though they trembled just slightly with suppressed excitement. Matilda and Hazel were perched nearby, each leaning forward with eager curiosity.
“And so, tell us,” Matilda began, her voice almost trembling with anticipation, “how was Brighton? Did the sea live up to all the stories?”
Cordelia’s lips curved in a small, dreamy smile. “It was… indescribable,” she admitted, her eyes brightening. “The waves, the salt on the air, the wind tossing through my hair… it was as though the world itself had opened just for us.”
Hazel gave a soft, knowing laugh. “You sound as if you might have been carried away, Cordelia.”
She faltered, a blush rising to her cheeks, realizing how much she had spoken from the heart rather than reason.
“Perhaps,” she said, her voice smoothing over the gush of sentiment, “but… of course, we spent our time well, and the place was most charming. The village, the festivities, they were delightful, and the Duke was… very attentive as one should expect of a husband.”
Matilda’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but Cordelia felt a pang of self-consciousness. She had almost spoken like a woman in love, yet now she reminded herself: it was a marriage of convenience. She inhaled slowly, letting the rational part of her mind reassert itself.
“It was a proper honeymoon,” she added with careful precision, “one might say, in every sensible respect.”
Hazel tilted her head, studying her friend thoughtfully. “Sensible, perhaps, but I detect… delight, nonetheless.”
Cordelia pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to betray the fluttering in her heart. She offered only a polite, composed smile. “Of course,” she said. “Delight is always permissible, even in the most proper of arrangements.”
Her fingers twisted in her lap as she leaned slightly forward. “Have either of you heard anything of Lord Vernon lately?” she asked cautiously, her voice almost a whisper.
Matilda exchanged a glance with Hazel before shaking her head. “No,” she said firmly. “And I sincerely hope we never do again. One scarcely recovers from the memory of that horrid intrusion at your wedding.”
Hazel’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing at the recollection. “Indeed,” she said. “It was as if a storm had struck without warning. I cannot imagine what possessed him to barge in and claim your hand. It was entirely monstrous.”
Matilda shivered. “I still recall the fear on everyone’s faces, how he pointed that accusing finger at the Duke as if the world owed him satisfaction. And His Grace was so brave, standing so steadfastly before you…”
Cordelia’s throat tightened at the memory though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Yes,” she murmured, almost to herself. “It is… difficult to believe he truly thought he could dictate my life.”
Hazel reached over, brushing Cordelia’s hand with gentle reassurance. “But he did not, and that is what matters. You are safe now, and the day was yours in the end.”
“But enough about that,” Matilda leaned forward. “Did you hear about Lady Pembroke’s ball last week? They say she outdid herself with the decorations and the gowns! Quite the spectacle, I hear.”
Cordelia nodded politely though her thoughts drifted elsewhere. Gossip never held much interest for her, yet she listened with the smallest of smiles, unwilling to seem rude. Hazel continued, recounting the latest dances and whispered courtships in the ton, and Cordelia gave gentle responses, her mind only half on the chatter.
