“Pianoforte, but Maestro Collins is out sick with the flu,” Bea said.
“For how long?”
Bea shrugged as they rounded the bend into the kitchens.
“Well, why don’t you help Dolly with her bread making?” Cordelia suggested.
“You come here, Lady Beatrice, and help me knead,” Dolly said, punching down a particularly unruly glob of dough.
“C’mon, off you get,” Cordelia said, bending down to let Bea scramble off her onto the flagstones. Bea pouted all the way over to where Dolly stood, climbing up onto a nearby stool.
“I won’t be long, Bea, I promise,” Cordelia said.
Bea shrugged again and sighed. “It’s very hard, being the youngest sister,” she said.
“I know, pet,” Dolly said. “Now get some flour on your hands and watch what I do.”
Cordelia felt another pang in her heart as she exited the kitchen and walked into the stable yard. Bea was quite taken with the duke, but only because she did not understand the seriousness of their current circumstances. And she had no idea how to explain to her sisters what father had told her, about the truth of their situation. She was only hoping that Will would live long enough to see them married off before he exhausted the rest of the family’s coffers.
“Good morning.”
Cordelia looked up, seeing the duke standing in the yard, wearing a sensible coat and trousers. He was a sight less prickly than the night before, but she was still wary.
“No breeches?”
“I thought the tenets of polite conversation forbade us to speak on one another’s clothing,” he said, maintaining his smile.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” Cordelia said, returning his affect and smiling, secretly hoping it looked more like she was baring her teeth. “You are correct, of course.”
“Did I mention that I am a remarkably fast learner?” he said, turning to survey the property.
As they waited for Sam to finish tacking the horses, they walked side by side to the low stone wall that partitioned the parkland from the stables. The house was built into a hill to offer the best possible view of Hertfordshire’s rolling countryside. The brilliance of the morning sun almost hurt to look at.
Despite the fact that she had to ride out with the most ill-mannered man she’d ever encountered, it was a truly glorious day, and she hoped it left a good taste in his mouth.
“So,” he said, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. “Where do Hollyhead’s boundaries end and your neighbors’ begin?”
“Oh, it would be impossible to show you simply from here, Your Grace. We’d need to ride out for a good twenty minutesnorth at a canter to reach the end. I’d say it’s almost five hundred acres.”
“Four hundred and eighty-six,” the duke said, cocking his head. “Your father had recently acquired land from the—”
“Phillips family. That was some ten years ago now,” Cordelia finished.
“Actually, it was eight, just this past February,” he countered.
“You are unusually good at remembering facts, Your Grace,” Cordelia said, keeping her gaze over the reflecting pool to ensure he did not catch the annoyed expression on her face. “Whether or not that makes a good duke is another matter entirely,” she quipped, nearly balking at herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. This was not what Portia meant when she asked her to be amiable.
“As I said, I am a quick learner.” The duke leaned against the stone wall, looking unperturbed by her barbs. “Would it be terribly wrong for you to refer to me as Justin? I find ‘Your Grace’ tiresome.”
Cordelia shook her head vehemently. “Certainly not. You are a duke and you should be titled properly.”
“If Your Grace doesn’t suit, maybe you could refer to me as Mr. Wright?”
“How about Lord Rothesay?” Cordelia suggested.
“I fear that’s even worse. I’m even less of a lord than a ‘Your Grace,’” the duke said, offering her a conciliatory smile.
A chord of laughter struck her, but she swallowed it. “I am sorry to say that you might have to get used to it. Your lot in life is now to be above everyone else, in practically every room you enter.”
