“I don’t need another housemaid,” she said stiffly.
Nancy whimpered.
Cordelia squeezed the girl’s bony shoulder in reassurance and then walked to windowsill and ran her white glove over it. She showed the now dusty finger of the glove to Mrs. Norton.
“I do believe we could use at least one more housemaid,” Cordelia said. “Please have Millie and Hattie show her the ropes. I would like her to receive the same wage as them as well. I’ll let you see Nancy to her new room. Thank you, Mrs. Norton.”
The housekeeper scowled at Cordelia but led Nancy out of the room. Nancy looked over her shoulder back at Cordelia, who gave her a warm smile of reassurance. Nancy grinned back and Cordelia’s own heart lightened.
If she couldn’t be happy in England, perhaps she could help others be happier and healthier.
20
It had been two months since Thomas had admitted to Cordelia that he loved Penelope. Cordelia had not mentioned it again, but it felt like she’d removed herself further from him. It was as if the entire Atlantic Ocean lay between them.
Cordelia had lived at Ashdown for as long as she’d been gone in London, but he rarely saw her. But he did hear her all morning—not her words but her music, and it was haunting. She made the grand piano make sounds he had not realized were possible from the instrument. She could play for hours on end. Misery had never sounded so beautiful.
Sometimes he saw her at luncheon, where she was always painstakingly polite to him. Most afternoons, she went through the endless crates of wedding presents from America with Mrs. Norton and the new girl she hired named Nancy. Cordelia used the gifts to make every room in Ashdown feel less drafty and more homelike.
Overlooking the renovations took up most of his day and gave him something to do. The sound of the workers sometimes drowned out the eerie melody of her music. In fact, he hadn’t heard her playing all morning. The only sound he could hear was the steady pounding of hammers on the roof. Unconsciously, he walked toward the old dining room, where Cordelia played the piano. He opened the door, and the woman sitting there was not his wife—but Penelope. He’d avoided her like his wife avoided him. It was uncomfortable being in the same room as her.
Penelope still wore the same oppressive black dress, reminding him of his father’s death. She stood up and smiled at him.
“Thomas, can I help you with something?” Her voice sounded eager.
He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I was only looking for my-my wife.”
“Cordelia teaches a music class to the children at the village school on Friday mornings,” she said, the tone of her voice shifting from eager to resigned.
“Ah, that explains why there hasn’t been any music this morning.”
“I could play for you.”
“Thank you for offering, but I need to check with the foreman about the progress of the roof. It ought to have been done by now,” Thomas said, and turned to go.
“You don’t have to avoid me.”
He finally looked at her. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m just very busy right now with the renovations. I did wish to speak to you about something.”
Hope shone on her face, and he felt another pang of guilt.
“Anything,” she said.
“I am aware that my father, as your guardian and trustee, unlawfully used your inheritance to pay his own debts. I have made arrangements for the missing monies to be replaced.”
“With her money?”
Thomas blushed. What other money was there? “Yes.”
“Then I don’t want it and I won’t take it.”
“Why not?”
“How can I accept anything fromher, when she has taken everything from me?”
Thomas almost touched Penelope’s arm to comfort and reason with her, but he flinched before contact. “It’s not Cordelia’s fault. If you wish to blame anyone, blame me.”
“I could never blame you,” she said with such earnestness, such sweetness. So different from Cordelia’s playful archness.
