*
“I have aplan!” Portia announced as soon as they were out of sight of the men. She steered them into a nearby room, which had all of its furniture covered in white draperies.
“What is it now, Portia?” Cordelia asked. The brandy had made her light-headed and hungry. She was desperate to go down to the kitchens for a sandwich.
“We can outsmart them; I know we can!” Portia said, her blue eyes wide with excitement. She rubbed her hands togetherand began pacing the room as she spoke. “We can be one step ahead of them at all times but pretend to be aloof. When we find the jewels, we will stash them away for ourselves, or maybe use them to buy back Hollyhead.”
“But how? Portia, everything in this house and on the grounds belongs to the duke,” Cordelia replied, feeling rather despairing. “The best we can hope for is that he uses some of the jewels to help with our dowries.”
“Nonsense!” she said. “Not if they can’t find them! We get to the jewels first, have someone make off with them, cash them in when we get to London, and everyone is none the wiser. We have a bargaining chip and Mr. Whoever-he-is goes back to where he came from.”
It was a bad plan. It was the only plan. Cordelia leaned on a window, looking out at a yew tree swaying in the wind. She could picture herself there as a child, learning to read while Portia played in the gardens. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and brushed it away impatiently.
“But we will need to find a way to stall them from selling Hollyhead…” Portia said, chewing on the end of her thumbnail.
“Tell him we should host a ball,” Cordelia replied, surprising herself. A voice in her head was telling her to let it go, but there was another part of her, a stronger, more indignant part, rising up. “We will hold a ball in a month’s time. We’ll need to get Hollyhead up to snuff. We’ll tell him it will be a good chance to showcase the house and gardens to potential buyers. And of course, we’ll have potential suitors invited as well.”
“Yes! Gosh, you’re a genius, Lia!” But then, Portia’s face fell. “But… what about Lady Billings? Actually, what about Hertfordshire? Do you think people will be scandalized by us holding a ball when we should still be in mourning?”
“To be sure. But who doesn’t love a good scandal? Hopefully by that time we’ll have found the jewels and have bought ourselves some more time,” Cordelia replied.
She coughed as Portia gathered her up into her arms. “Lia… what would I do without you?”
“Oh, knowing you, you’d be getting on just fine,” she said, laughing.
“Maybe this will finally convince Rhys to get over here and propose formally,” Portia replied.
A deep, resoundingnoreverberated in Cordelia’s head. The Earl of Halton was currently somewhere in the south of France feeding strawberries to his beautiful mistress. Though she and Rhys had grown up together and were friendly, he was the last person she would be content marrying, as much as Lady Billings would have liked for it to happen. However, Cordelia wasn’t sure she would have any choice in the matter.
This was why she needed to at least try to give herself a chance. Even if she was unconvinced Portia’s scheme would work.
“We’ll see,” Cordelia said. “Let’s go and tell Bea and Hermione. I’m sure they’re anxious for some good news.”
Chapter Nine
Cordelia found theduke seated behind her father’s desk. It was almost time for dinner and Portia had instructed her to find him when he was alone. She’d also forced Cordelia into a dress that was far too lovely for an informal meal with a new guest, but her reasoning was that they’d better put their best foot forward if the plan was going to work.
“Am I interrupting, Your Grace?” Cordelia asked, doing her best to sound pliant, feminine. As if they weren’t trying to fleece him.
“Oh, good evening. No, not at all, come in,” he said, standing up from his chair.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Mr. Wright,” he corrected her, offering her a smile.
“Mr. Wright,” she tried again, walking up to his desk.
He smiled broadly at her. “I’m surprised to see you. I would have thought you’d want to have a rest before dinner. It’s been a long day, to say the least.”
“Yes, well… I have been hoping to see you. The truth is… I wanted to apologize for the other day. I spoke out of turn. You are the first person I’ve met who is…”
“Working class?” Mr. Wright finished for her, mercifully. He had stood and was leaning on the corner of the desk now, listening intently.
“Yes,” she replied. “And it’s clear that I do have some things to learn.”
“As do I,” Mr. Wright said. He hummed to himself. “Perhaps we both got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we should institute a peace for the next few weeks, while everything else is sorted out?”
“Nothing would make me happier,” Cordelia said, and that part was not an act. This had already been such a tumultuous year and she was craving stability. Even if that meant going along with this charade.
