“That’ll have to do,” her mother snapped and pulled the veil back over Cordelia’s face. “Hurry. We are so late!”
Mr. Winkworth held the front door and as Cordelia passed, he gave her a warm smile. Peter opened the door to her father’s carriage and helped her inside to the seat next to him. Mrs. Rinkhart carefully handed up the train so that it wouldn’t get dirty from the pavement. Peter closed the door and the carriage jerked forward. She looked at her father. He smiled at her. He was wearing a black top hat and a long black coat, with a peach bowtie that was the same color as Edith’s dress. He looked much too young and handsome to be having a daughter getting married.
“Please, Father,” Cordelia said, taking his arm in both of her hands. “I do not want to marry the Earl of Farnham. Mother is forcing me to. Please, you must help me. You are my father. Please put a stop to this.”
Her father patted her hand. “This marriage is for your own good, Cordy. If we were to jilt him now, you would have no hope of finding an eligible connection.”
“I don’t want to find an eligible connection. I am only eighteen, Father. All I want to do is go to college at Oxford. I don’t want to go live in some country estate in the middle of nowhere.”
He squeezed her hand. “Country life is rather tedious. Say, I’ll purchase you a nice house in London for a wedding present. How does that sound?”
Cordelia shook her head and bit back another wave of tears. “I do not want your money. I want your help!”
“This is only a case of pre-wedding jitters,” he said calmly, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Even your mother cried a few tears before our wedding.”
It was no use talking to her father. He thought a present could solve any problem. He’d never stood up to her mother when they were married, and now that they were divorced, she doubted he’d ever side with his daughter against his former wife. Her father would always take the easiest approach. The one that caused him the least amount of effort or discomfort. He didn’t care about her. Not really. Not beyond giving her money.
The carriage pulled up in front of the church, where crowds of spectators stood waiting and watching. She saw women pushing each other to get a closer look. A man lifted his daughter onto his shoulders so that she could see Cordelia, the newest cash countess. Cordelia didn’t smile. She didn’t wave. She allowed the footman to help her from the carriage. Her father took her arm and they walked into the church.
9
Once she and her father entered the church, Cordelia was ushered into a side room. She had barely stepped through the door, when she was hugged by three different people at the same time. All of whom were wearing that same unflattering shade of peach. Her mother must have chosen it so that her attendants did not outshine her at the wedding. Not even Alida, the beauty of their group, looked well in it.
“Why did you not return my letters?” Lucy demanded, her voice on the edge of tears.
“We’ve been so worried about you,” Julia said with a sniff.
“Why wouldn’t you see us?” Alida demanded. “I nearly raced up the stairs to your room to see you.”
Cordelia bit her lip to try to keep in her own tears. She hugged her friends tightly and shook her head. “My mother wouldn’t let me. I’ve been a prisoner in my house for nearly six months. There was always a servant at my door who kept me from leaving.”
She sniffed as she looked at Lucy. “I have never received even one of your letters, and I was not allowed any paper to write to you.”
How she wished that she would have sent the letter to Lucy for help, instead of Stuyvesant. Her father was one of the richest and most powerful businessmen in the world.
Lucy threw her arms around Cordelia again and squeezed her tightly. “I never doubted you for a moment. For weeks, no matter the weather, I have walked by your house every day at ten o’clock, hoping to see you again.”
“I tried to escape from the balcony like a fairytale, but I twisted my ankle and was caught.”
“Brilliant!” Alida said, and then her eyes widened. “Not brilliant that you were caught, but brilliant that you escaped.”
“Is your mother forcing you into this marriage?” Julia asked.
Cordelia couldn’t speak; all she could do was nod. If she spoke, tears would begin to stream from her eyes again.
“She can’t do that,” Lucy insisted. “You are eighteen years old. You are an adult.”
But Lucy knew as well as Cordelia how little power an unmarried young woman had. Lucy was forced to live with Mrs. Stewart, who was cold and uncaring but undoubtedly respectable. Something Lucy’s birth mother, the famous opera singer, was most certainly not. Both young women were subject to the whims of their wealthy parents.
Julia placed a reassuring hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “All you have to do is say no during the ceremony. The bishop is a man of God. He will not let them force you.”
“Why wait for the ceremony?” Alida insisted. “Let’s all escape now in our carriage. It would serve that uppity English lord right, as well as your harpy of a mother.”
“Alida!” Julia said in shocked accents. “You shouldn’t say that about her mother.”
“Well, it is true,” Cordelia said.
Julia covered her mouth with her hand, and Alida and Lucy laughed loudly. Cordelia even managed a half smile.
