“Do you not have pianos in America?”
“Yes, we do have pianos in America,” Cordelia said, trying to keep her tone light.
“Then you were never taught to play,” Dowager Lady Farnham stated more than asked. “Your governess never taught you how to play the piano? How very odd. But perhaps you didn’t have a governess. Are there no governesses in America?”
Poor Mr. Hudson looked down at his hands, and Mr. Ryse gave her another glance of disapproval.
Unable to keep silent any longer, Cordelia stood up. “I was lucky enough to be taught by a music master, and I should be happy to play for you.”
She walked over to the piano seat, and Penelope stole the chance to sit next to Thomas on the chaise, as if attempting to claim him. It was clear that she had feelings for Cordelia’s husband. The entire situation was uncomfortable and unfortunate. Pulling off her long gloves, Cordelia set them on her lap. When she was unhappy, music was always her greatest comfort. So, she curled her fingers on the ivory keys and played the most difficult song she had memorized: Beethoven’s “Piano Sonata No. 32 in C minor, Op. 111.”Cordelia poured all her frustrations and disappointment into the piece. When she pressed the final keys, the tips of her fingers were tender. She felt triumphant and almost happy.
Cordelia turned in her seat to look at her audience. Mr. Hudson was already on his feet, practically yelling, “Brava!”
Mr. Ryse clapped only twice.
The dowager did not look at all abashed and gave a few half-hearted claps. “You play rather well for an American. I am sure if you had been English, your performance would have been creditable.”
“Nonsense, Mama,” Thomas said, standing up. “Cordelia, you’re incredible. I’ve never heard your equal. You could be a professional.”
She glanced at Penelope, who was wiping a tear from her cheek. Cordelia no longer felt triumphant but petty. She had let her love for music take over her good manners, and she’d behaved rudely.
“I think I’ll retire early,” Cordelia said, and pulled her gloves back on. She couldn’t endure this stifling room for another minute. “I’m tired. It has been a great joy making both of your acquaintances, Mr. Hudson and Mr. Ryse.”
“Good night, dear girl,” the dowager said almost kindly.
Cordelia thought that perhaps all her mother-in-law’s comments on America were caused by her ignorance, rather than condescension. She wished she had not tried to make a joke of them.
“Good night, Dowager Lady Farnham, Penelope, Thomas.”
Her husband’s eyes glanced furtively at Penelope, but he stood up and offered his hand to Cordelia. “I’ll go with you.”
She was tempted to say no. He was only offering out of duty, but a small jealous part of her wanted to take him away from Penelope. She placed hers into his and she stole one last glance at Penelope, whose head hung low. The pit in her stomach deepened. Had the girl really hoped to win Thomas back? He was already Cordelia’s husband.
Cordelia allowed her hand to go limp inside Thomas’s, but he simply held it tighter. They walked silently up the crumbling staircase to their rooms. He stopped before her door. Cordelia’s heart beat faster—Thomas hadn’t kissed her since the stiff kiss in the chapel. Not that she’d encouraged him. How could she, when her heart belonged to Stuyvesant, and Thomas’s belonged to…
“When I asked if you’ve ever been in love and you said yes, did you mean your family’s ward, Penelope?”
Thomas dropped her hand, as if it were too hot to hold. “Why do you think that?”
“Her eyes never leave you when you’re in the same room, and you never look back,” Cordelia said. “We promised that, as friends, we would not lie to each other.”
“Yes,” he said so quietly that she had to lean closer to hear it. “But I broke it off before I came to America, and I promise that I will not encourage her attentions. She is my family’s ward, and it would cause a great deal of talk if she were to leave Ashdown.”
Cordelia sighed. It appeared that her husband wouldn’tdiscouragePenelope’s attentions either. Had he kissed Penelope? The sting of jealousy in her heart was replaced by a dull ache.
“And your gentleman? What was his name?” Thomas asked.
“It does not matter. He’s on the other side of the world,” Cordelia said, opening the door to her room and closing it behind her.
She leaned against the handle, and tears slipped down her cheeks.
Stuyvesant.
14
Hibbert handed Thomas a calling card at breakfast:Mr. Septimius Merrill, Estate Agent.
“Mr. Merrill is in the library, my lord,” the butler droned in a monotone voice. “Lord Rutledge hired him to handle your affairs whilst you were in America.”
