“I can’t attend,” he repeated.
His mother exhaled in that particular way mothers had perfected over centuries which was half frustration, half disbelief. “Nonsense. You’ve yet to be presented to the ton as husband and wife, and this is the perfect opportunity. People will expect to see you together. It would be a dreadful slight not to attend.”
Mason’s jaw tightened. “I fail to see how?—”
“No,” she interrupted, leaning forward with a pointed look. “This is not for debate. You will go. Both of you. Cordelia will need a new gown of course. I shall arrange it.”
Cordelia smiled politely though Mason caught the faintest flicker of hesitation in her expression.
He inclined his head at last, the movement slow and reluctant. “Very well.”
His mother’s satisfaction was immediate. “Excellent. I knew you’d see sense.”
“If you will excuse me, I have work to do,” Mason said, heading toward the door.
As he passed Cordelia’s chair, he felt her gaze on him. When he glanced down, the amusement that had danced in her eyes earlier was gone, replaced by sadness.
Still, he kept his stride even, his expression unreadable, and walked out as if he hadn’t noticed at all.
The secret path to Isabelle’s cottage was dappled with shifting light, the tall trees swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. Cordelia had always liked the quiet of these woods, the way the noise of London seemed to fade away the moment the canopy closed overhead.
Isabelle greeted her at the cottage door with a warm smile and an arm around her shoulders. “Cordelia, you’ve braved the forest again. Come in, come in.”
The inside smelled of baking bread and woodsmoke, the sort of homely scent that seemed to belong entirely to Isabelle. Thalia and Henry darted into the room, the little girl clutching a rag doll and the boy with a stick he clearly imagined was a sword. They chattered their greetings before scampering off to some imagined adventure.
Isabelle glanced up from setting a kettle on the hob. “Is Mason not here?”
“He… is busy,” Cordelia said, smoothing her skirt and avoiding her sister-in-law’s eyes.
A faint frown tugged at Isabelle’s mouth. “Busy. Yes, that was him before. Always in his study or off handling estate business or pretending not to hear when Mother called.” She gave a soft, rueful laugh. “But ever since you came into his life, he’s been different. Happier. Lighter. Now…” Her eyes searched Cordelia’s face. “Now he seems like his old self again.”
Cordelia felt the words settle in her chest like stones. She had thought it, too, that they had changed each other somehow, brought out something better in one another. The memory of their recent evenings together, the teasing, the shared glances, lingered in her mind like a whisper she couldn’t quite grasp.
She forced a smile that felt thin even to her. “Perhaps he is only busy.”
“Perhaps,” Isabelle said gently though her voice carried the doubt she didn’t voice.
Before Cordelia could delve more deeply into her ache, Thalia appeared, holding her doll high. “Look, Cordelia! I’ve given her a new ribbon.” She held it out proudly, the bit of blue satin tied clumsily around the doll’s waist.
“It’s beautiful,” Cordelia said warmly, touching the ribbon as though it were fine silk. “I think she looks very grand indeed.”
Henry burst in a moment later, brandishing his stick. “I’m a knight, and I’m protecting Thalia from the bandits in the forest.”
Cordelia widened her eyes. “Bandits? How dreadful. I hope you’re a very brave knight, Sir Henry.”
“The bravest,” he declared, puffing out his small chest.
They began a lively reenactment in the small space, Thalia squealing with laughter as Henry circled her in mock combat with invisible foes. Cordelia laughed too, her voice light, but there was an ache behind it she could not banish.
Isabelle glanced at her quietly, as if she could sense the tension Cordelia tried so hard to conceal.
For a while, Cordelia allowed herself to be completely absorbed in the children’s world. Thalia insisted that she was the captured princess, bound by invisible ropes that Henry, in his knightly valor, must break. Cordelia played along dutifully, pressing a hand to her chest and letting out melodramatic gasps as the little knight galloped around the room, stick held high like a sword. The way Henry’s eyes shone with excitement, the proud tilt of his chin, brought a lightness to her chest that she hadn’t realized she’d missed.
Thalia, meanwhile, took great delight in rearranging Cordelia’s hair into every imaginable style: a crown of braids, a tangle of ribbons, and each time she presented the results with a flourish.
“Goodness me! I look like a real princess!” Cordelia offered exaggerated admiration, the corners of her mouth turning upward in genuine amusement.
The children’s energy was infectious, their joy a kind of balm. And yet, beneath every smile, every gentle word, her mind returned to Isabelle’s earlier comment.
