“But what of the elderly, or poor women?” Cordelia asked. “If they are unable to provide the necessities for themselves or for their children, surely we should help them.”
“If you help them, then they won’t learn to help themselves,” he said.
Thomas took a large bite of ham. Perhaps he had been wrong in trying to keep Stuyvesant and Cordelia apart. The arrogant young man didn’t even realize how much he was angering her. Or how much her volunteering in the village meant to her. He finished his lunch and returned to the hunt with renewed spirits. Stuyvesant might have known Cordelia as a child, but she was a woman now. A woman with a mind of her own and the largest heart of any person he’d ever met.
37
Miss Vaughn was waiting for Cordelia to change from her tweeds to an elaborate tea gown, with a lovely V-neck and elbow-length sleeves. It was a soft pink that brought out the color of her cheeks. She picked up an exquisite pearl-handled fan painted with little flowers. Her father had purchased it for her in France. Cordelia felt a pang of homesickness. She missed her father. She missed the life she’d lived with him, where she never had to worry about anything. Life was one endless stream of lovely parties, beautiful yachts, and the next exotic city to visit.
But she wasn’t sure those lovely trips would be the same now. Even if she went with Stuyvesant, Cordelia was not the naïve girl she’d once been. If she saw those cities again, she would not only see the beautiful buildings but the poverty that they were built on. The hunger that hid behind every corner. The desperation that disguised the indignities suffered by thousands, and their glittering leaders who wore golden crowns and expensive tailoring, dripped with diamonds, and ate a feast every night while so many around them went hungry.
Cordelia looked in the mirror at her third dress of the day and the five-strand pearl necklace at her throat. Was she any different than the others? Her tea gown was made in Paris and her jewels were worth a king’s ransom.
She walked down to the green sitting room, where a Viennese orchestra was playing while her female guests listened politely. The music was lovely, but her mind was not on it. Her thoughts were on her home in America and her life there. As a child, she’d assisted her mother in many charitable projects. Sometimes they raised funds with a concert or sewed for the poor, but it wasn’t until she came to Ashdown that she’d really seen poverty face-to-face. And the face of poverty frightened her. Charity at Ashdown was not the simple give-your-money variety; Cordelia went inside of these people’s homes. She saw their dreadful living conditions and the lack of proper sanitation. She knew their names. They were not “the poor”—some vague term that had no meaning. Their names were Nancy, Mrs. Brooks, Mrs. Partridge, Phillip, Jenny, and so many more whom she longed to help. To use her own two hands to make their lives better. To give the children, especially, more opportunities for education and financial advancement. Helping in the village had brought her more joy and satisfaction than attending a hundred parties in America.
Cordelia simply could not go back to New York with Stuyvesant and pretend that the last six months hadn’t happened. That she hadn’t changed, and that on some level, she was ashamed of who she had been. At her own selfishness and self-pity. She’d been the little rich girl who had everything money could buy, except happiness.
Except freedom.
But she was no longer that girl. She was no longer forced to be obedient to her strong-willed mother and her inflexible dictates. Cordelia now had the freedom to do what she wanted to, and she wanted to help people wherever she lived. Whether she chose to stay with Thomas or divorce him to leave with Stuyvesant.
The Viennese orchestra finished their set, and Cordelia signaled Thayne to bring out tea. The footmen pushed in carts full of cakes, crumpets, muffins, and scones with jam and Devonshire cream. The ornately decorated teapot and cups were part of her wedding gifts, made of priceless bone china. Cook had outdone herself again. But Cordelia felt a pang of remorse. She was feeding people who already had so much and, in a few hours, would sit down for an eight-course dinner.
Her refraining from drinking tea would not help the poor in the village. She shook off these thoughts and carefully poured the hot beverage into the teacups. She made sure that every lady was amply provided for before taking a seat next to Penelope and smelling her sweet, lavender perfume.
“May I speak to you for a moment?”
Penelope gave her a wan smile. “Of course, Cordy.”
Cordelia looked around her to see that the other women were still near enough to hear. Penelope had never called her by that nickname before. “I was wondering if you would be willing to wear one of my costumes. My mother bought several as a part of my trousseau, and we could fool the younger members of the party.”
Penelope almost smiled as she took a bite of a crumpet. “I should think it would be quite droll.”
“So, you will do it?”
“Why not?” Penelope said, and actually smiled. “What harm could it do?”
Cordelia thanked her and went to Lucy. “I have a masquerade gown for you as well, if you’d like to wear it.”
Lucy grinned. “I would love to wearanyof your clothes. They are always exquisite.”
Cordelia laughed. Together they made their way around the room, talking to each of the guests. Lois made a joke that nearly caused her to snort tea out of her nose, and Lady Grimsby was unhappy with her bedroom accommodations. They moved to talk to her other guests Mrs. Bracken and Lady Esher, when she noticed Lady Oxenbury was watching her. She felt self-conscious under the duchess’s scrutiny but made pleasantries and continued around the room until she and Lucy were standing near her.
“And how are you doing, Lady Oxenbury?”
“Well enough.”
“Is there anything I can do for your comfort?”
“Be wise.”
Cordelia blinked. “I am not sure what you mean.”
Lady Oxenbury looked intently at her again. “You’ll reflect on this weekend for the rest of your life, and the decisions you make will determine whether you become one of the great ladies of England or fall into obscurity and disgrace.”
She had no response to this enigmatic speech. She blinked and tried to—but couldn’t—fake a smile underneath the duchess’s hawklike gaze. “I’ll try to be wise.”
“And trust your instincts. They are more correct than you know.”
