Her eyes followed him as he turned toward the door, weighing him like a merchant appraising a rare jewel. But beneath that calculating stare, Mason caught something else, a flicker of grudging respect.
He left without another word though his mind was already moving to the next step. If she took the bait, she’d think she’d won. And that would be the moment he’d tighten the noose.
Mason stepped out into the narrow street, the faint stench of coal smoke and stale ale clinging to the air. The neighborhood was quieter than when he’d arrived, but still, a few faces peeked from behind tattered curtains, watching the well-dressed stranger who didn’t belong. He ignored them, striding toward where his carriage waited.
The conversation replayed in his head in clipped fragments: her smugness, her greed, her almost careless cruelty when speaking of her own daughter. Cordelia’s pain wasn’t an abstract thing to him anymore. It had a face, a voice, and it was sitting in that crumbling building, ready to sell her own child to the highest bidder.
He ducked into the carriage and rapped once on the roof. “To Mr. Greely’s office,” he told the driver.
Vernon would move quickly now. Mason knew the man well enough to understand he’d smell an opportunity and pounce before the dust settled. If Mason was to keep Cordelia’s name clear, he needed to be faster.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cordelia lifted her hand to knock again though the motion felt almost ceremonial, as if she were announcing her presence to a world that no longer felt entirely hers. When the door swung open, Matilda’s eyes widened, taking in the small suitcase and the disheveled dignity with which Cordelia held herself.
“Cordelia! Did the Duke throw you out?!” Matilda’s voice was half alarm, half disbelief.
Cordelia shook her head quickly, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips.
“What? No, no, no. I chose to leave myself.” She stepped inside, letting the warmth of Matilda’s parlor wrap around her. The familiar scent of fresh linens and faint lavender brought a bittersweet comfort.
Matilda closed the door behind her, taking Cordelia by the shoulders. “But why, then? Why so suddenly? What happened?”
Cordelia sank into a chair, the suitcase forgotten at her feet. She told her friend everything: the confrontation with Lord Vernon, her mother’s betrayal, and the cold, polite distance Mason now kept. Her voice trembled at times though she tried to keep it steady, each word heavy with the weight of her heartbreak.
Matilda’s face softened, but her hands fidgeted helplessly, unsure how to offer comfort. “I… I wish I could do something to help,” she murmured.
Cordelia shook her head gently. “It’s enough just to be here with a friend. That… that is all I need for now.” She allowed herself a small sigh, the tight tension in her chest loosening just slightly.
Matilda nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Then that is exactly what you shall have. You are safe here, and I am not going anywhere.”
Cordelia leaned back in the chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I’m so tired of fighting for what’s mine,” she admitted, her voice low, almost a whisper. “Sometimes… sometimes I think it would be easier just to give Vernon the money. Let him have it, and maybe he would leave me and Mason alone.”
Matilda’s eyes widened in shock. “No, no! We don’t give villains what they want, Cordelia! That’s exactly what they hope for. We fight them, no matter how exhausting it is.”
Cordelia shook her head slowly, a tired smile ghosting her lips. “But I am so tired, Matilda. Every day it’s a battle, and now…” Her voice faltered for a moment, the weight of her emotions pressing down. “I thought Mason would be the one. I thought… I thought we would end up together, despite everything.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the carpet. “But instead… instead of keeping me close, he has pushed me away. He reminded me of our agreement, of theconvenienceof it all.”
Matilda knelt beside her, placing a firm hand over hers. “Cordelia, listen to me. The Duke may think he’s protecting you or following some sense of duty, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You are not alone in this; whatever he says or does, he cannot undo what he feels. Give him time to sort everything out, even to sort himself out.”
Cordelia drew a shaky breath, letting the words wash over her. She wanted to believe them, to believe in the possibility of Mason’s love, but the ache in her chest was heavy, a constant reminder of the chasm he had created between them.
“I want to believe that,” she whispered, “I truly do… but my heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.”
Matilda’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Then we hold onto what we can. We fight, and we don’t give in to villains or despair. You are stronger than you think, Cordelia. And the Duke… he will see it, eventually. He must.”
Cordelia’s gaze drifted toward the window where a vase of flowers caught the afternoon light.
“Oh, how lovely these are,” she murmured, stepping closer. The blooms were bright and cheerful, a splash of color against the muted tones of the parlor.
Matilda rolled her eyes dramatically. “Those? From the Duke’s cousin, the Duke of Harrow,” she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
Cordelia chuckled, a soft, teasing sound. “Is something happening there after that dance?” she asked, the corners of her mouth lifting.
Matilda gasped, nearly spilling her tea. “Absolutely not!” she said, shaking her head. “I think he just likes mocking me, and the flowers are exactly that. He keeps giving me these… these empty compliments, as if I’m supposed to swoon just because he says my eyes are the color of the summer sky. Oh, please!”
Cordelia laughed louder this time, the sound carrying warmth through the room. Matilda grinned, emboldened by her friend’s amusement, and continued.
“Honestly, it’s ridiculous. I stammer because you know how I am when I’m annoyed, and he just smirks, thinking he’s charming the daylights out of me. And me, here, pretending I don’t notice how absurd it all is while he probably thinks he’s utterly irresistible.”
