Her father had confessed it on his deathbed. In an effort to make up for a few years of bad crops, he did not raise the rents on the tenants’ lands. Instead, he took the losses out of his own pocket, using money that had been saved for their dowries to prop up the farmers that lived on the estate.
Will had also proved to be useless. Instead of discussing the financial issues they faced, he promptly went down to London to drown his sorrows in gambling dens. The very thought of him abandoning their family was enough to make her want to scream. Now, the only thing they were relying on was the good nature of a blacksmith’s son, who didn’t know the first thing about dowries, or the London season, or the importance of appearing well-off when the coffers were dry.
It didn’t help that he was completely insufferable, which might have been the reason Cordelia turned into a snappish society lady around him. Her cheeks heated at the thought of their last exchange. Shaking her head, she swallowed down the nervousness that rose within her at the thought of seeing him again.
Then there was this—if he put Hollyhead House up for sale, everyone in the ton would know of their dire financial straits. The men of the marriage mart were only interested in ladies with a sizable dowry. She seriously doubted being connected to a duke who had no land or money to his name would give their standing a boost. In fact, it was more likely to be enjoyed as a scandal in the society papers. It was a disaster, all of it.
She heard the door open.
“Go away,” she groaned, turning to face whoever was invading her wallowing.
“Finally catching your breath?” Portia’s voice, though it may have sounded ugly to others’ ears, was a balm to hers.
“This has been an unequivocal failure,” Cordelia said, her voice muffled.
Portia laughed.
Cordelia twisted in her chair once more. There was no way Portia could have heard her. “I would like to know what you find so funny about this entire scene?” she asked.
Portia shrugged her shoulders. She was dressed in a black gown that made her look even more radiant, like a pearl emerging from a velvet jewelry box. It made Cordelia feel a good deal more wretched, if such a thing were possible. Glancing at the mirror, she noted her cheeks were pink and there were two red rings around her eyes. She looked sallow, tired, utterly defeated.
“It’s just nice to be reminded that my perfect elder sister also has moments of humanity,” Portia replied, coming to stand behind her, gathering Cordelia’s mass of brown curls in her hands.
Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been exceedingly human this past week, don’t you think?”
Portia smiled, reaching for a pin on the dressing table. “You have been, but I don’t think the people who matter mind at all. In fact, I thinkheis quite enchanted with you.”
Cordelia frowned. “What gave you such a ludicrous idea?”
“I always catch him stealing glances at you,” Portia said. “Especially in the evenings, after dinner. Last night, for example, when you were helping Bea with that shameful piece of embroidery she was working on.”
The dinners of late had been particularly painful. The sisters had been chastened by Mrs. Norris for avoiding the duke, especially after Cordelia had recovered. The conversations were usually stilted, Hermione and Portia keeping silent to hide their conditions, and Bea was too infatuated to form a coherent sentence. In normal circumstances it would have fallen to Cordelia to smooth things over, to account for her sisters’ bizarre behavior, but since the Incident (she could only refer to it as the Incident) at the top of Hollyhead’s main road, she’d not been able to find it in herself to be polite.
“Doubtless he was thinking of further ways to torture us,” Cordelia muttered.
“Why say that, sister?” Portia asked, chewing on a pin as she wrestled with Cordelia’s thick hair.
Not wanting to cause her further distress, Cordelia simply shrugged. Portia, who loved to needle her under usual circumstances, held off. She was silently thankful.
Cordelia rubbed her eyes, hoping that they wouldn’t betray her.
“Shall we?” Portia asked, finishing the coif by pulling a few strands of hair out, making her look tussled. Cordelia licked her fingers to tame them back into place.
Humming in satisfaction, Cordelia stood. Portia carefully handled the black gown, helping her with its many buttons and flounces. Inwardly, Cordelia’s heart began to pound as she considered ways to break the news to Portia about the duke’s plans. She cursed him, for putting her in this situation in the first place… then Will and Charles for good measure. Her father was spared. A good man like him could have never foreseen such ruin.
As the ladies entered the hall, Cordelia mustered the courage. “Portia, you should know that the duke and I… well we had a slight disagreement.”
Portia looked thoroughly amused. “Truly! I would have not guessed at that. The two of you seem like responsible, taciturn types. Over what?”
“Hollyhead.”
“Why? Does he mean to cut back Mother’s rose garden? Turn the reflecting pool into a duck pond?”
“He means to sell.”
“What?” Portia’s cheeks flushed and her eyes went bright. Anyone within twenty feet might have heard that exclamation. “He can’t mean to! This house has been the seat of the Rothesay dukedom for over three hundred years!” she shouted. “Howdarehe?”
Out of the four sisters, Portia was the most likely to breathe fire. Cordelia placed a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. She only hoped the servants would do better than to report her outburst to the duke. “I know. I am sorry to tell you in this way. I was wondering how I was going to break the news to all of you.”
