Justin stiffened at that. He could sit on a horse (albeit, not well) and get around. Who did she think he was? An ignorant Londoner out for a holiday in the country? Which, though he would never admit it aloud, he was feeling very much like in the moment. “I can ride, Miss Nichols.”
The chit sniffed, lifting her chin in the air.
“Very well,” she said. “In fact, I am feeling much recovered. I will meet you tomorrow morning in the stable yard, if that pleases Your Grace.”
For some reason, hearing her pronounce his title made him uneasy. She said it with a certain air of sarcasm, which made him feel wholly unworthy of everything that had recently come into his possession.
“It does please me. Good night, Miss Nichols.”
She curtsied once more. “Your rooms are at the other end of the house, Your Grace. Shall I ring for Mrs. Norris to show you?”
“I can manage,” Justin countered.
“Oh, I am sure you can, Your Grace. And you must address me properly. It is Lady Cordelia. You will need to learn to observe these things, as the heir to the dukedom.”
He watched as she turned on her foot and marched away. He ought to have shouted down the corridor something equally cutting. The only thing that came to mind was a countdown.Only a few more weeks enduring you, he thought.And then I shall be rid of you forever.
Chapter Six
From the society of papers of one Lady Prudence DeLessops. 20 April 1825
Dear reader, it appears that fairy tales are real. The Blacksmith Duke has arrived at Hollyhead House where he will take his first steps into polite society. Your dedicated author has heard that the transition has not gone as smoothly as one would like. A Lady C.N. has apparently been the first lady to faint in the presence of this new breed of duke, who is, if rumor holds true, as handsome as he is fortunate. One thinks that the mother of the Earl of H. better call her son home as soon as possible if she wishes their match to hold.
In the meantime, all eyes have turned to Hollyhead as the reading of the late Duke of R.’s will is to take place in the next few days…
“Do you really think it’s wise to be crossing swords with the man who will very shortly be controlling our futures?” Portia asked. “I mean, I don’t like having to submit to an unknown man any more than the next woman who knows her own mind… but…”
“But what?” Cordelia snapped. She was donning her burgundy riding habit, having slept poorly the night before. She still needed to plan the week’s menu and she was mulling overwhen they could invite Lady Billings for tea; the lady had been remarkably persistent in her correspondence. No doubt the old bat wanted to have a good look at the new duke. In fact, she had received no less than thirty invitations from neighbors asking to have them for suppers, luncheons, lawn games, and other ridiculous ploys to find out about the Blacksmith Duke. Did no one remember that they were supposed to be in mourning?
Cordelia couldn’t blame them, really. It was the most exciting thing to happen in Hertfordshire, probably since Charles Nichols was written out of his father’s will over twenty years ago.
Portia shook her head. “Lia, are you feeling all right?”
Cordelia swung her head around. “Of course, I am. Why would you ask such a thing?”
Portia fiddled with her sister’s riding crop, turning it around in her hands. “It’s been two weeks and you’ve had two separate fainting spells… This past year… it has been so much, Lia, for all of us. I could write to our aunt in Northamptonshire. She would be happy to host you, until the storm has blown over at least.”
“Are youmad?” Cordelia asked, snatching the crop out of Portia’s hands. “Nothing would keep me from being there for father’s will reading.”
Portia’s eyes went hard. “I am just trying to look after you.”
Cordelia sighed, feeling bad for snapping at her. She put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “And I appreciate that, so much. But I am feeling well and this is part of my duty,” she said. “I promised father as much.”
Portia balked. “But it’s too much, Lia.”
“Nonsense! Between you and Mrs. Norris I have a veritable army behind me,” she said. With that, Cordelia kissed Portia’s cheek and strode out of the room.
The weather had been dreary since the duke arrived, so when the sun had finally broken through the clouds, Hollyhead looked like a completely different house. The main corridor hadlarge windows that allowed the sun to stream in, illuminating the portraiture that lined the walls. The wallpaper and carpets seemed brighter, cheerier. She swung her riding crop in the air so it made a swishing noise, willing herself into a good mood.
Bea met her at the top of the stairs.
“May I come?” she asked in earnest, wringing her hands in the fabric of her pinafore.
Cordelia lifted Bea up, letting her littlest sister wrap her arms around her neck and piggyback, careful of her damaged ribs. “I wish you could, my dearest, but our Freckles has a hoof abscess and needs plenty of stall rest and carrots,” she said.
“But I want to show the duke how well I can ride,” Bea said, burying her face against the plush velvet of Cordelia’s riding habit.
“But you have so many other charms besides your riding!” Cordelia began. “Well… there’s your pianoforte? Or was it the harp last time I checked?”
