And she was sorry. She was sorry for the mess she’d caused. She was sorry for her trickery and lying and blatant lack of self-control. She was sorry for going along with Portia’s schemes andfalling through the floor of a church. She was sorry for seducing the one decent man who’d elbowed his way into her life.
But she was even sorrier for having to let him go, because she’d fallen in love with him too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After splashing herface with cold water, Cordelia made her way to the drawing room. Lady Billings had already been received by Portia; the two of them were joined by Henry Peverill and Mrs. Nichols at the card table. It sounded like they were playing a heated game of whist.
“Ah! Lady Cordelia, good to see you!” Lady Billings greeted her cheerfully. “You look rather… flushed. Don’t tell me you’ve also caught a fever, dear girl.”
Cordelia smiled, settling herself on a nearby settee. Bea was all too happy to throw her embroidery hoop to the side to rush up and place the back of her hand against Cordelia’s cheek. “You do feel a little warm,” she remarked.
Mrs. Nichols eyed her with the familiar stare of a concerned mother. “Sickness spreads easily in the spring. Perhaps I shall ring for a broth?”
“I thank you for your concern,” Cordelia said, offering a wan smile. “I think a cup of tea will set me right.”
The players, satisfied with her response, went back to their game. Bea took her time picking up her embroidery again, huffing. Then Cordelia heard two voices speaking in low tones. Looking over, she saw that Hermione and Justin’s secretary were speaking. Sidling to the edge of the settee, she peered at them.
“I’m sorry,” Cordelia interjected, desperate not to be alone in her own thoughts, “I don’t think we have been properly introduced.”
The portly man stood suddenly. “You are quite right, my dear. Apologies, apologies. My name is Arthur Payne. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He held out a hand to her, and Cordelia shook it, smiling. She was getting used to ways of the London working class, musing on how she would have been shocked by the gesture only a month ago. The thought opened the door to Justin’s proposal and his assurance that she would love London, but she set that aside quickly.
“The best secretary in the East End of London!” Peverill added from his roost at the gaming table. “Justin stole you right out from under my nose, the sly sod.”
Lady Billings screeched with laughter. Portia rolled her eyes.
“To be fair, sir, I had told you I wanted a change of pace for quite a while. The shipping world became a hair too… colorful for my personal taste,” Payne replied, reaching in his pocket for a handkerchief.
“All strictly legal, of course,” Peverill replied in that smooth way of his, soliciting another laugh from Lady Billings.
“Yes, well, I was very happy to acquire employment from Mr. Wrig—oh, of course, he is a duke now, I suppose.”
“Mr. Payne, you will refer to the duke as ‘His Grace,’” Lady Billings chided him gently. “Though he is from the humblest of stock, tradition is rather important amongst our ranks.”
Portia held her cards up in front of her face, and Cordelia supposed she was sticking her tongue out at the dowager countess or doing some other impolite gesture.
“Oh, oh yes, my lady,” Payne sputtered, bringing the handkerchief up to his brow to dab the sweat that had formed there.
Lady Billings cleared her throat in a self-important manner, pleased with herself. Cordelia turned back to her sister and the flustered secretary. “Feel free to continue with your discussion,” she said, offering a smile.
“Well,” Payne said, “your sister has an excellent knowledge of botany. We were discussing the possibility of growing wine-making grapes on the estate.”
Hermione adjusted her spectacles, nodding in agreement. “I-I w-w-was curious to u-u-understand which t-t-types were suggested by the g-g-gentleman from the s-s-so…s-s-society,” she said, forcing out the last word.
Cordelia’s heart went out to Hermione but was genuinely surprised she’d struck up a conversation of her own volition. Usually, she was so reserved that her family had eventually given up trying to bring her into discussions, leaving Hermione to her own devices.
“They had suggested lighter varietals of wine, from what I remember. His Grace now has the information. I suppose it will be up to him to decide once and for all,” the secretary said.
Cordelia tried not to flinch at his words. Indeed, Justin would have the last say on everything, from Hollyhead’s fate to her own marriage.
“I s-s-suspect that the enterprise c-c-c-could prove profitable… e-especially if w-w-we decide to use the s-southern s-s-s-sl—”
“Slope,” Cordelia finished.
Hermione’s face reddened as she adjusted her spectacles. “P-precisely.”
“Certainly an interesting prospect,” Payne agreed. “Could you imagine?”
