“She’s just standing about, looking silk-gownified,” he heard Cook whisper in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
Thomas turned around to see Cordelia still standing by the carriage. He hoped that Cordelia hadn’t heard her. She made no sign that she had. Thomas hadn’t noticed before the difference between Cordelia’s clothes and Penelope’s, but he did now. Cordelia’s dress of iridescent black and violet shot silk looked sadly out of place in Ashdown. Such a dress belonged in Paris or at a fancy palace like his cousin’s estate. His mother’s and Penelope’s black clothing looked cheap in comparison.
He took his mother’s hand and led her to where Cordelia stood. “Mother, allow me to introduce you to my wife, Cordelia.”
Cordelia executed a curtsy worthy of a Russian ballerina. She smiled and held out her gloved hand to his mother. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Farnham.”
“You have excellent manners,” his mother said in an astonished voice. “I should never have thought you an American.”
“She means it as a compliment,” Penelope said.
“Cordelia, this is my family’s ward, Miss Penelope Hutchinson,” Thomas said.
They did not shake hands but bowed to each other, neither young lady looking particularly pleased with the other. Thomas realized in that moment that he did not want them to be friends—how awkward that would be. But he did not wish for them to be rivals either. To have both his wife and his first love in the same house was going to be uncomfortable, to say the least.
Thomas took Cordelia’s elbow and introduced her to the butler. “Hibbert has been at Ashdown longer than I have.”
Cordelia nodded. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Hibbert bowed back and then took over the introductions to the rest of the servants. Cordelia smiled and looked each of them in the eye. She bowed to both Mrs. Norton and Cook, before Hibbert stopped in front of an older lady with a round face and body.
“Lady Farnham, this is Miss Vaughn. The dowager hired her to be your lady’s maid,” Hibbert said in a grave tone. “If she meets your approval?”
“I am sure we shall get along splendidly,” Cordelia said, and held out her hand to Miss Vaughn.
Thomas held his breath, praying that the woman would return the gesture to his wife, but she looked from Cordelia to Hibbert in confusion.
“Servants don’t shake hands with the family,” the butler said in a dignified tone.
Cordelia dropped her arm and gave a tight smile. “Miss Vaughn.”
Hibbert continued down the line of servants until they reached a pair of young maids, probably not more than fifteen years old. This was probably their first position. They giggled as they bobbed curtsies to Cordelia.
She gave them a warm smile and cast a glance at the butler before she curtsied absurdly low and added, “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Hattie and Millie.”
Hibbert cleared his throat in obvious disapproval. Thomas felt his color rising once again. He did not want his butler to correct his wife.
“Thank you, everyone,” Thomas said. “Please return to your duties.”
The servants all looked at Hibbert before moving. Once he nodded, they all filed around the house to the servants’ entrance. His mother followed Hibbert into the house, leaving only Thomas, Cordelia, and Penelope. He glanced from one woman to the other. They were about the same height, but their figures couldn’t have been more different. Penelope was slim and straight, whereas Cordelia was all lovely curves. Penelope’s face was heart-shaped, her skin pale, her hair a warm chestnut brown, and her eyes were currently cast down. Cordelia’s complexion was bright, with a few errant freckles decorating her nose, and her luxuriant hair was not one color but many—a mixture of blonde, brown, and red. Her blue eyes looked directly into his—almost a challenge.
“Allow me to show you to your room, Lady Farnham,” Penelope said at last.
“Thank you,” she said, and gave Thomas an arched look before following her into the house.
Thomas exhaled slowly. This situation was going to be even harder than he had imagined.
12
Cordelia’s heart sank when they walked into the old house. It looked as if it were crumbling to bits—a portrait of decaying grandeur. They passed an enormous room that had weapons decorating the walls. It truly looked medieval. Miss Hutchinson led her up a large staircase to an enormous room that was shockingly bare, save a few pieces of worn furniture, including an old canopy bed that looked like Shakespeare might have slept in it. The only decoration was one enormous, moth-eaten tapestry that took up an entire west wall. The carpet on the floor was threadbare and it was impossible to tell what the original pattern had once been. The entire room was cold, drafty, and out-of-date.
The ward looked at Cordelia expectantly, as if she was waiting for Cordelia to say something.
“Thank you for showing me to my room, Miss Hutchinson.”
“Please call me Penelope, or Pen, as Thomas does,” she said with a superior smile, as if to tell Cordelia that she’d known Thomas longer than she had.
“Penelope, you may call me Cordelia,” she said with a forced smile. “We are living in the same house, after all.”
