Chapter Five
“But then hecarried you up the stairs! And it was truly one of the most romantic things I have ever seen!”
Bea was supposed to be working on her needlepoint, but all she could do was think about the new Duke of Rothesay. She flung the embroidery circlet around as she recounted the story, miming Cordelia’s fainting spell.
“Bea, please,” Portia said, her expression tight.
“Have you ever seen Mrs. Norris so utterly bewildered?”
“Bea,” Cordelia moaned, lifting the warm washcloth off her face to give her a reproachful look. “I told you that you could only sit here if you were quiet,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, the flesh behind her eyes hot. Though she’d slept through the night and had dinner, she still felt the rise of bile in the back of her throat.
“A concussion,” the doctor had told her when she was packed off to bed. Hermione had invented some story, with much stuttering, of how Cordelia had slipped down the stairs after they’d been cleaned in anticipation of the duke’s arrival. The doctor chided the ladies for wearing silk slippers and then had gone promptly on his way, prescribing plenty of rest and for the curtains to be drawn at all hours of the day.
“It’s like a bloody medieval lying in room,” Portia said, lifting a candle closer to the book she was reading to make out the words.
“At least you can go outside,” Cordelia muttered. “Apparently I won’t see daylight until next week!”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you went galloping through the countryside at break-neck speeds,” Portia replied.
“And his eyes were so… so…blue,” Bea sighed from the corner.
“Bea!” Portia said, taking a small cushion from a chair next to her and flinging it across the room. Bea ducked expertly, sticking out her tongue.
“Has anyone seen or heard from Hermione?” Cordelia asked.
Portia shrugged. “Knowing her, she’s found some neglected plants to tend to in the greenhouse where she will hide until the duke leaves.”
“Is the duke leaving?” Bea asked, a hint of distress in her voice.
“Bea, if you so much as think of the duke one more time, I will personally throw you into the reflecting pond,” Portia warned, setting down the candle on the bedside table and gathering her younger sister in her arms.
“I’m too old to be held like this!”
“Nonsense. You’re not yet ten,” Portia said, gripping Bea closer to her chest and swinging her about the room. Bea squealed in happiness and Portia laughed. The commotion made Cordelia peek out from under her cloth once more. She couldn’t help but smile.
But a familiar feeling of anxiety poisoned the happiness.
“What time is it anyway?” Cordelia asked, trying to clear the foggy feeling of dread that had pooled in her stomach.
She’d been able to keep down broth and biscuits, but her stomach was still fluttering. Her sisters were spending nearly all of their free time by her side, which was a comfort. But when they were gone her mind went back to its barrage of questionsthat all seemed to ask:What will become of you and your family?
“After dinner,” Portia said.
In the darkness of her room it was difficult to tell what time it was. “Goodness!” Cordelia exclaimed, stretching her arms above her head.
“I’d like the chance to stretch my legs, at least,” Cordelia said, sitting up and fluffing the pillows behind her back.
“And go where? To apologize to the duke for ruining his walking boots?” Portia remarked, stifling laughter.
Now Cordelia chucked a pillow at her sister, who took it to the side of her pretty face. “Careful there. I’m carrying open flame!”
Sighing, Cordelia climbed out of bed and reached for a wrapper that had been discarded on the floor. Shoving her arms through its sleeves, she belted it around her waist. “I won’t be long,” she said.
*
Justin had notbeen piled under so many papers since his days at Cambridge. He pushed a hand through his hair, trying to concentrate as he reread land agreements that had been in place with tenant farmers since the early 1700s. His eyes were going crossed.
Leaning back in the leather wingback chair, he sighed, reaching for the tea Mrs. Norris had brought him a half hour ago, or had it been longer? He didn’t even need to blow on it; the tea had gone completely cold. Come to think of it, this room, the late duke’s office, was freezing. He cupped his hands over his mouth and blew, trying to warm himself up.
