The pounding was becoming more pronounced as she reached for Portia’s hand. At that moment, Hermione and Bea entered the dining room.
“What’s g-going on?” Hermione asked, eyeing her sisters.
“Nothing. Portia and I were discussing plans for the arrival of the new duke,” Cordelia said, as cheerfully as she could manage.
Hermione’s face darkened. At her words, Portia stood up abruptly, snatching up the copy of theTimesand striding out of the room.
“W-we aren’t going to be p-put out, are we?” Hermione asked.
“Someone is going to put us out?” Bea echoed, looking over at Cordelia in alarm.
“Of course not! We are going to have a polite chat with the new duke, and he will ensure that we are taken care of. Father has put something aside for us in his will; everything will be fine.”
Hermione stared down at her unbuttered toast. “But will we be able to stay at H-H-Hollyhead?”
The question was akin to a punch in the gut. The headache was starting to blur the edges of her vision. Standing, Cordelia managed a tight smile. “Hermione, we will have a frank discussion with the new duke, and I am sure all will be well.”
The answer did not seem to settle her younger sister, but she still nodded her head. Bea, who was still too young to fully understand the consequences of the past week, happily tucked into her breakfast.
“Hermione, please try not to worry. We will always have each other. I promise you that.”
Hermione nodded her head again, maudlin. Gripping the edge of the table, Cordelia took in a deep breath and then left the breakfast room. She needed fresh air, and fast. The laces on her corset were suddenly and unbearably tight.
“Oh, Lady Cordelia!”
Without looking, she knew it was Mrs. Norris, their chatelaine. She had been put into an absolute tizzy since news of the Blacksmith Duke broke.
“Are you sure we should allow the… themanto sleep in the duke’s bedchamber?” Mrs. Norris asked, her voice rising to analarming pitch. She raised her skirts to keep up with Cordelia’s pace.
“Yes, Mrs. Norris. All accounts say that he is the new duke, and so he should be referred to as such.”
“Oh Lady Cordelia, I am sure he will not know the difference if we put him in one of the back rooms, wouldn’t you agree?”
“As much as I would like that, Mrs. Norris, we were raised better than that.”
“But—”
“Mrs. Norris, please prepare the duke’s room. If you need me, I will be finishing my embroidery of the reflecting pond in the library,” Cordelia said, opening the glass door that led out onto the lawn.
“Oh, but Lady Cordelia, that’s an odd way to get to the library!”
Chapter Three
Justin pinched thebridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, doing his best to dig deep into the last reserves of his patience.
“A minor inconvenience, Your Grace! I’ve already sent word to the nearest coaching inn. They’ll bring us another wheel and then we’ll be well on our way!” The coach driver, for some inexplicable reason, had deep and abundant wells of cheeriness. In fact, neither the horse with the thrown shoe, the colossal downpour, the flooded bridge, the full inn, nor the broken spoke had dampened the man’s spirit.
“You can call me Justin, Briggs,” he told the driver for the millionth time, inspecting the cracked spoke himself.
And then for the millionth time, Briggs replied, “Oh no, Your Grace. That wouldn’t do… wouldn’t do at all. If Master Peverill knew I was speaking to a duke in that manner he’d have my hide.”
“Henry Peverill and I have been friends since Eton. If I say you can call me Justin, then I think he’d want you to call me Justin,” he replied, clapping a hand to Briggs’s shoulder. The driver went white, and Justin laughed.
“You’d think the richest shipping merchant in England would have access to a better carriage,” he added, daring Briggs to agree. The driver only spluttered in response. “I told your Mr. Peverill that I’d be happy to take the mail coachup to Hertfordshire. Wouldn’t hear of it. Though, now I think they must have sturdier wheels than this monstrosity,” Justin continued, gesturing to the gilt coach.
“He does have a taste for the dramatic, Your Grace,” Briggs dared.
Justin smiled. “How far away do you reckon we are?”
